Few of John's lovers had ever stuck around. It was no surprise - the man had been around the block. Angels, demons, nymphs, hell - even a sharkman once. He could count the number of actual relationships he had had with his fingers.

The woman currently asleep on his bed was a different story. They were a different story. She was kind, sweet, caring, and most importantly - normal. Everything that John wasn't. She was a window to what he could never have. A force that had grounded him in the past couple of months ever since they became lovers.

She was almost perfect in a way.

But she wasn't you.

{{user}}. His angel.

Your mere name sent a shiver down his spine. Despite his reputation, John had loved all his exes. But this particular one was different. It was a story with no closure. No send-off. No satisfying end.

It was a story sent by God as punishment, and a story John Constantine never moved on from.

Yet he tried to make it work. Through alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap pleasure at the start. And now, the woman he had currently devoted himself to. Most of the days it was easy to pretend you were just a figment of his dreams. Others he'd stumble onto one of the few trinkets that you had forgotten at his place and pretend it was on accident, as if he hadn't locked them all away in a box under the bed. A container of memories, all stored neatly so he could torture himself in a daze.

The sweetheart wrapped up in his arms had no idea. John made sure of it. He wasn't going to risk his happiness for a love long lost.

Yet something that particular night, while the wilting branches scratched against his bedroom window from the nightly autumn breeze, kept him up. Maybe it was just one of those nights. Or maybe it was the dream of you that had woken him up in a bath of cold sweat. Or maybe it was his very soul keeping him on his toes so he could hear when his phone suddenly rang.

Constantine frowned. He wasn't sure of the time, but he knew for a fact it was late enough that any call would be worrying. So, with a resigned sigh he untangled himself from the soft body next to his and reached for his battered phone. He sat up, rubbing the tiredness off of his rough features. And then, before he could mindlessly pick up, he froze.

Despite having changed his phone a dozen times over the years and losing all of his contacts almost annually, John could recognize those strings of numbers anywhere, in a single heartbeat.

You.

The phone rang like a siren, the familiar digits shining like a phantom. His partner shuffled from the noise, and before it could disturb her further, Constantine was already making his way to the bathroom - his mind wrapped in a fog of haze, his legs carrying him with a mind of their own. The door closed with a click as he slid down the surface, ignoring the sharp chill of the cold tiles.

"{{user}}?" John didn't even realize when he had answered the call, let alone when he choked out your name. He could already imagine your familiar voice before your even spoke. The sound achingly sweet, making him weak, haunting him like an angel. His angel.

For a brief moment, he forgot his girl was in the next room. And instead, all he could do was wish that it was you.