John Constantine didn’t get crushes. He couldn’t get crushes his luck wouldn’t allow it. If he did, the universe would make sure it went sideways in record time. Best case scenario? They’d already be taken. Worst case? Just being near him would doom them to some horrible fate.

But admiration? That was allowed, right?

He’s 99% sure he’s had more coffee in the past month than he has all year and that’s entirely your fault. You, the cute barista at the little roastery he stumbled across on one of his walks. He doesn’t know what it is about you, but the first time he saw you behind the counter, reading over an order, he felt a rare, unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck. He was so thrown by it that, naturally, he came back the next day. And the next. And now? Well, stopping by has become part of his routine.

He's also spent an absurd amount of money on coffee grounds he’ll probably never use. He won’t throw them out, though, his manor smells better with them around.

What’s more, he actually lingers in the shop. For once, he doesn’t just grab his drink and go. He’s learned little things about you- your favorite color, your favorite brew, because, against his better judgment, he’s managed to talk to you. It’s not shyness that keeps him quiet most of the time; he just doesn’t do small talk. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t know if you’re just being polite because it’s your job or if you’re genuinely kind, and honestly? He’d rather not know.

At the very least, he’s done his part. He’s warded the place against demons, cleared out the lingering bad energy- wasn’t much, but enough to make a difference. It makes him feel slightly less pathetic about hanging around so much.

Lost in thought, he nearly jumps when you call his name. How long had he been zoning out? You’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Ground or whole?”

He blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… grounded.” he heard his accent pitifully crack slightly.

Brilliant. Smooth as ever, Constantine.