Posted in Headcanon

Play Pretend

If there is one thing John Constantine abhors with all of his essence right now, it’s goodbye.

Sure, everybody does. And he begrudgingly admit bidding farewell is a world better than losing her to the arms of Lady Death. There also is a graceful irony in a 27 Club-esque separation: a quietus when they’re at the peak and a demise when they’re still bloody infatuated.

But it still a major pain in the ass, involuntarily letting her slip away though there’s nothing he wouldn’t give to have the audacity of asking her to stay. Of being a good for nothing scum who would pull such unfair ruse on her and plead her to wait for him.


All he could have is this one last stolen moments with her, and even then he knows it’s more than what he deserves because she’d be the one who pay the higher price. For his selfish act of abiding to their whim would only carved further wound on her already scarred heart.


“Never pegged you for the Halsey type, luv,” he offhandedly comment when she softly croons the tune of Is There Somewhere. She pauses for a second, but only offer “She’s Tabby’s new obsession,” as an explanation.

It’s also apt, he could almost hear her says. Because that song hit the right notes in their memory lane and soaring feelings, conveying what’s left unspoken: regrets and relief, broken promises and crippled wishful thinking, and of their brash decision for an affinity despite knowing full well they’re only setting themselves up to fail.

Eyes closed, he keep his silence as she gently kiss his collarbone before settling on her usual resting place, face buried on the crook of his neck. Her voice was barely a whisper when she sings, “Can we pretend that we’re in love?”

And it kickstart the memories in his brain. The night he confessed his devotion though he knows it may only muck things up even more and how she half-heartedly brush it off. But he remember the shift in her attitude until, days later, she responded in kind and let those words fell out of her tongue.

“We’re not pretending, though,” he croaks. “Never were. Even now.”

He knows there will be consequences, know he’s hurting her even more by professing his heartfelt feelings. But there’s a bitter smile on her face and painful twist of knife in his heart, leaving him no choice but to surrender to his impulses. He claim her lips once again and lost himself in their kiss, hoping it’s enough to impart his devotion, his apology, and his sorrows. He hold her close until there’s no space even for air between them because, try as he might, he’s not sure he still deserves another chance to bask in her presence and let her ease the insanity in his brain.



As he got ready to leave, there’s so many things he wants to say to her. He wants to wish her well, to remind her to take better care of herself and have some bloody rest, to carve into her mind that she worth all the love in this world and people never left because she’s too broken or she tires them out – it’s just a curse of circumstances no thanks to Lord Destiny. And that he’s so fucked in love with her, still.

But the fire in her eyes had died, and the ice-cold steel on its place stop him from even opening his mouth.

It kills him inside, too, when she just nod as an answer to his “Would you be alright if I leave now?”




He wonder, now, if her heart feels as hollow and spent as his.







À la mort,

Prompt: Halsey’s Is There Somewhere.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me. I’m trying not to let it show, that I don’t want to let this go. Is there somewhere you can meet me?”



An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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