#(( but thank you for remembering my idiot's bday Shar <3 ))

[thecursedhellblazer]

It was that time of year again. The day that John didn't want mentioned and Oliver respected that in his way. He wouldn't wish John a happy birthday, but the archer tried a bit harder these days to keep the man occupied. Oliver cupped the sorcerer's cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss, his fingers moving through the blonde's hair and locking his fingers into it.

(Happy birthday John~)

John Constantine didn’t allow himself to linger on the thought of what he would have asked for, had he been given the chance to see one or more of his wishes turned into a reality. And for several reasons.

First and foremost, he knew better than to trust that kind of bullshit. Genies and creatures who promised to grant you your heart’s desires were usually vicious, cheating assholes and the rule was that they always find a way to fulfil their victim’s wishes so that they would come back and bite them in the ass in the worst ways possible.

So, as a rule, he only wished on shooting stars, strictly on the mortal plane and strictly in areas where he was sure no magic lurked. Why? Because he knew that doing so led to nothing and that it was all just a sentimental gesture. At best, a way to rekindle hope.

Secondly, even if he had decided to throw caution to the wind and try it, he wouldn’t have knows what to ask for. Not because he lacked wishes, but because there were far too many things that he wanted to see happened, erased, changed. His mother, Astra, Cheryl’s fate, his many lost friends. Ever being born. His nightmarish childhood. The fact that he was damned to Hell. The blood on his hands, the rot in his soul, the endless list of regrets.

How could he have ever picked even just a couple of things? Perhaps asking to have never been born might have solved most of it, but what of the people and the worlds he had actually managed to help saving? So, tough luck even in that case.

However, if anyone had asked him on that particular day, he would have probably said that he wanted the 10th of May wiped off from every existing calendar and the likes. At least, that way, he wouldn’t have been forced to bother to ignore the anniversary.

When the clock had hit midnight he had portaled himself back to the UK, to spend the first hours of the morning and watch dawn rising while sitting next to Mary Anne’s grave, with nothing but a good stash of liquor and a painful, sour mood as a company.

By the time the sun had come up he had been completely drunk off his ass and he had to have blacked out at some point because he had woken up in some dirty alley in living room, covered in what he had hoped was dried mud.

After that, he had stumbled his way back to Star City, because he had promised Oliver that he would have showed up at his place and he didn’t want the vigilante to enroll Chas so that they could chase him down. Normally, he might have even found it funny, but not that day. Not with that bad hangover, not when he was struggling to breathe while overwhelmed by nausea, guilt and self-loathing.

To the archer’s credit, John had to admit that his lover had really tried hard to keep him occupied without allowing him to go on a full destructive spree as per his usual.

His glass had never been empty, but never enough for him to accidentally choke on one too many mouthful of liquor. He had been forced to feed himself, but only with the kind of junk food one tended to crave while wasted. He had been confined in a close space, part of the Arrow’s hideout, but with plenty of shit he could break, had he desired to. Hell, they had even put on the music he liked, at full volume.

And Oliver had been there all the time, watching him like a hawk, but keeping his distances and not engaging him for longer than he could bear.

It had been all so thoughtful that the magician hadn’t found the heart to lash out at the other man. Damn him.

So when the vigilante had walked towards where he was currently slouched in a corner, on his way to doze off yet again, and had grabbed him by the face to draw him into a kiss, John hadn’t resisted. He had let himself being kissed, just as he had sort of allowed himself to be taken care of, enjoying the soft but firm touch in his hair.

Life still sucked badly, but even a stubborn man like John Constantine couldn’t deny that, at times, sparks of light could find their way to you even in the darker moments.

#* Blokes like me? We cheat. * ::ic:: #lostxndbroken #v. We live in a World of Darkness #(( drabble )) #(( and I'm TWO days later answering this )) #(( SORRY I haven't been much around!! )) #(( but thank you for remembering my idiot's bday Shar <3 )) #(( I didn't know if this was supposed to be the starter for something or what so )) #(( I just wrote a drabble with angsty feels LMAO ))