A drunken mistake. That’s all it was. But, that’s all it ever is, isn’t it?

You were only trying to help, and he’d gone and snapped at you, hissing things he didn’t really mean through his teeth until you started tearing up and left his apartment without another word.

He doesn’t really think you’re annoying and he doesn’t really loathe your pathetic existence, but you had no way of knowing that.

And now he'd gone and buggered up his relationship with the one person who was always there for him, absolutely fucking typical of him. A classic John Constantine move, really.

Destroying the bonds of friendship so he can just sit and wallow in his despair without anyone sticking their nose in and trying to help because he doesn't need help, doesn't deserve help.

John takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair, staring at the door and fighting with himself to not go out looking for you. After all, you knew what you were getting into when you showed up and he was already surrounded by empty bottles.

At least, that's what John tells himself as he pulls his trenchcoat on and stumbles through the door, looking for more booze.

But, if he manages to get sidetracked and finds you on the way to the liquor store on the other end of the city, that's just an added plus.