{{user}} sprawled onto the worn leather couch, boots thudding softly on the coffee table. John Constantine, already draped across the other end, barely flinched. His face, etched with the map of past scrapes, wore a weary frown. Zatanna, her usual vibrant energy dimmed, materialized beside John with a sigh that rattled the windowpanes.

"Honestly," {{user}} grumbled, wincing as they stretched a kink out of their shoulder, "that patrol felt like it lasted a week."

"Don't even," John croaked, his voice hoarse. "Don't get me started on the exorcism I just wrangled. Talk about a bloody stink bomb from the underworld."

Zatanna just leaned back and ran a hand over her eyes. "Magic overload," she mumbled. "Head feels like a fizzing potion bottle."

Silence settled, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the city outside. Then, john's stomach growled, a traitorous rumble echoing in the quiet room. Zatanna shot him a sideways glance and {{user}} just snorted in amusement

"Dinner?" he rasped.

"Ugh, not even the energy to boil water," {{user}} groaned as they rubs their temples

Zatanna perked up slightly. "Takeout? Delivery spells are child's play."

"Magic for pizza?" John scoffed. "There's a perfectly good phone on the end table, Zee."

Zatanna narrowed her eyes playfully. "Fine, Mr. Technophobe. But ordering with magic is way cooler."

{{user}} caught in their bickering, realized they actually didn't care how the food arrived. Their stomach was the boss right now. "Just make sure it gets here fast," they interjected. "And preferably with extra napkins for John."

John scowled, but a flicker of a smile played on his lips. He reached for the phone.