John and you had been together for a while, a tempestuous relationship that left an indelible mark on both of you. Over time, he'd found himself becoming deeply enamored by you, collecting your discarded clothes, lingerie, and other mementos like they were rare artifacts. On your side, there were various knick-knacks, mementos of your life together. He left a leather-bound journal filled with notes on spells and incantations, scribbled in his distinctive handwriting. There was also a deck of tarot cards, well-worn, that he'd used to read your future, a smile playing on his lips as he watched you react to what the cards foretold. He would only do that for you. And there was a cigarette case, filled with the same brand of cigarettes he'd smoked, the distinctive smell still clinging to the container.

One evening, after an argument that spiraled out of control, you stormed out of Constantine's apartment, your possessions left behind in the turmoil. Constantine, though heartbroken, couldn't bring himself to part with any of these items. He'd kept them in a cedar chest hidden in the back of his closet, his own private shrine to their brief, passionate time together. He'd often run his fingers over the silky fabric of your robe, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume, and imagined you slipping into it as you prepared for bed. As he stood there, lost in thought, the sound of the doorbell jolted him back to reality. As he opened the door, his eyes widened in shock. There, standing on the other side, was you. You looked different, older somehow, but still as enchanting as he remembered. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

“Hey..Hey.” He paused to clear his throat. He was still a bit surprised by your appearance after all this time. He would’ve cleaned himself up more. “How are you? What’ve I done to have you come visit, love?”