Soulmates. The word itself made John scoff. He'd faced every aspect of the supernatural. Yet soulmates was where he drew the line. I mean, c'mon - the idea that he, he of all people, had a reserved person, somewhere on this earth, that was specifically planned for him. It was wishful thinking at best.

Yet there he was - standing in the midst of your day-to-day London weather. The raindrops - heavy yet unburdened - fell from the dark clouds covering the moon and its shiny spectators in a carefully orchestrated spectacle. And for a long moment John wished he could be as free as the rain. Let himself go, enjoy the fall, and then finish in a single quiet splat on the cold concrete sidewalk.

But alas, John Constantine, despite popular belief, was human. John Constantine had a soul, even if promised to god knows how many creatures. John Constantine had a heart, even if locked and hidden. John Constantine had a soulmate.

And despite the fitting weather, Constantine couldn't fight the tears that weren't coming. He wasn't allowed to grieve. He deserved it. He deserved staring at his soulmate through a blasted window, unable to do anything but look and ache.

Hell, he would've given up everything to touch you, because a part of him knew that you were the closest to heaven that he'd ever be. But he couldn't. And instead he was stuck as a shadow amidst an empty street.

The small one bedroom apartment he inhabited was suffocating. Not just because of how messy or dirty it was, no. It wasn't the occult tomes, old takeout boxes, or the unwashed sheets that repelled him. It was his soul. Because every time he sat cooped up in his small box of an apartment, chain smoking pack after pack and washing it down with the cheapest whiskey he could find, his soul would shriek. Would buzz and fly around his chest like a bird in a cage, seeking escape, seeking freedom, seeking... its other half.

And before he would know it John would be out the door, letting his legs guide him to the same destination every time - you.

God, John could remember the first time his eyes locked on you. And in that moment of two figures passing each other by sheer chance, something inside him clicked. It was then that he realized his chest was empty. His soul had been torn in half millennia ago, forced to wander uncompleted and alone, and the other half, his other half, was held by this beautiful, brilliant... and also utterly unknown stranger.

And yet, you never spotted him. You stayed in ignorant bliss to your own soul's missing half. And despite how much John didn't want to miss you every blasted night, he made sure to keep it that way. Even if the string connecting you pulled him in like a black hole, he did everything in his power to keep his existence a secret. He didn't want the world to see him. Not like this.

He knew his hopes, like everything else, were meant to be broken. But he couldn't help the call of his very soul. He couldn't help the fact that all he ever wished for was for you to say his name, at least once. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe that would soothe and numb the ache.

But John was smart enough to know that one taste wasn't enough. And he'd be damned if he let you succumb to the fate of being his soulmate. He couldn't let you know. Not about him. Not about the fact you were meant for each other. Not that destiny itself had sculpted you out of the same stardust. Not that neither of you would ever truly be complete without the other.

Not that being with him would end your life.

So there he was. Stuck in a neverending blend of pleasure and pain. Maybe staring from the sidewalk into the small cafe where you sat was creepy. Maybe the fact he checked up on you when the itch got too unbearable was unsettling. But it was all he could afford, along with easy lads and lasses to soothe his mortal flesh.

And John didn't want to go home yet. Not when all he could taste was this moment. When all he could breathe was your life.

When all he ever wanted was for you to know who he was.