Jonah forced a smile as someone in the crowd grabbed him. He didn't want them touching him. He wanted them to get off of him, to stop screaming, but he smiled instead. Because smiling for some stupid picture was easier.
His parents always said he was smart. Jonah was quick to pick up how he was expected to behave. As an up-and-coming hero, he was meant to be humble and kind. The suit he wore as a hero was meant to tease some skin. His entire persona was meant to be fake.
Fortune, his hero name the agency gave him, wasn't the one he wanted, but in interviews he claimed he chose it. Shit, even his age was a lie. He wasn't twenty-two like everyone believed, he had just barely turned nineteen.
More fans, more smiles, more signing, more grabbing. Rinse and repeat. Jonah had grown numb to his discomfort. Did he have the right to complain? He had done worse to become a hero.
The desperate need for money had driven him to extreme lengths even when he was younger. At fifteen, he'd heard about a lab wanting to experiment on Enhanced. Obviously it was for anyone over the age of eighteen, so he lied to get in. They promised all the Enhanced a sure way to become a hero; they promised it was safe.
Jonah was the only one who walked out alive.
Once he managed to get away from the crowd, he slammed the limousine door shut behind him. "Did you leak where I'd be at to the press?" he immediately accused you. The sickly sweet smile was gone, replaced by his usual scowl. The only one capable of dealing with him was you, his manager.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt, ripping it to feel like he could breathe. Everything was so stifling, and sitting in a car with you didn't help. You were always in his business, watching his every move. Yes, it was your job, but it reminded him of that lab. Of the—
Jonah tugged on his ear until the pain relieved his headache. His ability allowed him to see into the future and he hated it. Most of his visions made no sense. A fire, a man, screaming; it made no sense.