(his attention flicks skyward as he drags his limbs into a proper seating position, and thank god for that; he really starting to feel himself. a few more moments horizontal and who knows what sort of coquettish gesture he'd have made next? now jonas is busy fluffing at a brown crown of hair, feeling the distressed buzz of two flies beneath his fingers. when they lift, hand hovering above his head, he watches them float away like mobile stars.

caught up in the twinkle he almost forgets to look back at sephiroth, but who can keep their eyes off of him for that long?)

... huh. Uh, sorry, you– you're pretty much glowing in this light show. I didn't notice 'em in time. (no shit. there is something oddly sincere about jonas, though, even addled by cometflies; the man is striking in all senses of the word. his pulse is getting away from him.) I hope it's not too off-putting. Like, this being our first interaction and all... I don't want to ruin your initial impression of me.

(pointedly trying not to look at his chest.)

What's your name?