"Oi, Gaz. Teach me how to play?"
"Yeah?" Gary looks up from the guitar through long lashes. Sounds like John asking him for somethin' is a blessing 'stead of a curse.
"Sure, why not? Three chords an' looks like these. Be the next Sid Vicious, yeah?"
"'Course you could, Johnny."
God, he means it. Really means it. That's what cuts like hell. Because John Constantine isn't gonna be anything but a petty little crook an' he knows it. But when Gary looks at him like that, all awestruck and sensual, it's painful. Another dangerous lie John wishes he could believe.