I'd been planning on going back to London, or maybe back to Liverpool, I don't even remember now, but somehow I never went. I got a flat in Oxford, a shitty little place shared with a load of broke students.

As time went on, Ripper began to get less and less satisfied with his little group of friends. There wasn't much power in them, I'd sensed that from the start. Only Ripper had what it takes for real magic. Also, unlike him, the others were not true rebels. They were only comfortable within the safety of laws and rules and restrictions. He soon became bored with the minor illusions and small-time demon raising which was the best that they could manage.

So he began to spend more and more time with me. At first, all we ever talked about was magic. It was all we knew we had in common. I would come round to his flat, and we'd try out a trick or to, and then talk late into the night... but only about magic.

It was enough.

Even as we got to know each other better, conversations almost never got personal. He never talked about his family. And I certainly didn't bring up mine. I never dared ask about Ethan. But it didn't matter. We didn't need to know anything. We were who we were. Despite how little he knew about me, it was me he knew. No masks, no lies. Just John Constantine.

In many ways, I have never been as close to anyone as I was to Ripper at that time. Not Brendan, not Ric, not even Emma or Kit. It wasn't just that he saw me as I was. We were... on a wavelength, somehow. I think it's a skill that Ripper has, an ability to tell how a person needs to be treated. To know when to talk, and when to listen, and when to laugh, and when just to sit in silence.

We didn't have to get drunk to have a good time, and if we did drink, it didn't ruin things.

Hell, I'm not an easy person to get on with. I mean, I can be a right laugh, but on the other hand, I piss people off, even people I get on with. But not him. Never him. He was never annoyed with me. We never argued. I don't think he ever once called me a bastard, not even joking.

And then, when we'd known each other a while all ready, I found out that he played the guitar. For maybe an entire month, we forgot about the supernatural altogether, got lost in the slightly (but only slightly) less sinister world of punk rock. We wrote songs together, and pissed the neighbours off by turning the amps up to full volume at two o'clock in the morning.

I was young, I still believed that the world owed me something. But even so, I should have known that it was too good to last...

I didn't even notice the moment when it all began to go wrong. It seemed unimportant, and I just let it go, and it is only looking back on it now that I can see that that was when it all started.

We had been working on a new project until late into the night, and for some reason we'd been at Ripper's student place, rather than my flat. He shared the place with Ethan and Thomas and one or two others, but they weren't in. We had the place to ourselves.

We'd been trying a dangerous type of demon-raising: instead of calling forth a named demon, just fishing blindly, and hoping we'd be able to contain the buggers and find their names before they could get a hold on us and our reality. Sounds a little risky? I'm Constantine, irresponsible's my middle name. And like I've said, I didn't know how badly you could get hurt playing the games I played.

Anyway, nothing had gone wrong, and we'd been able to get all we wanted from the demon we'd caught: a little extra power, a little extra protection... but it had been hard work. We were... drained. Exhausted. We sat slumped on his floor, the remnants of our mystic circle scattered around us. He leaned his head against my shoulder, half asleep. I tried gently to push him away.

'Gotta go home, Ripper,' I murmured. 'Can't fall asleep on your floor,'

'Don't, John,' he said sleepily. 'Stay...'

I hesitated, unable to work out why I felt so uneasy.

'All right,' I said eventually. He was drifting off to sleep where he sat. I shook his shoulder. 'You don't want to sleep here. You'll get covered in blood and chalk.'

He laughed weakly. I staggered to my feet, and pulled him up after me. He leaned against me heavily, and swaying on his feet. His hands were shaking.

'John...' he whispered, and then his knees gave way. He threw his arms around my neck, and buried his head in my chest. I swore quietly.

'What's the matter? Ripper, pull yourself together mate!'

He couldn't. I was suddenly terrified that I'd pushed him to hard... he looked like he was about to pass out. I got my arms around him and manhandled him onto the bed.

'Don't go...' he murmured, and there was panic in his voice.

'I'm not going anywhere,' I said calmly. I had my arm around him still; we were sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting on my chest. He relaxed, and then after a moment, looked up at me.

'John...' he said. He was smiling slightly, but he looked very pale. 'John, I...'

I got the feeling he was about to say more, but then he shook his head and leaned against my chest again.

'What? What is it?'

'Nothing,' he murmured.

'Are you all right?'

'Think so,' he said. 'Tired...'

His eyes were closed again.

'I'm sorry...' I whispered, but I don't think he heard me. He'd either passed out, or just fallen asleep, his head still resting against my chest.

I laid him gently down on the bed, and quietly stood up to leave. But then I looked back at him. He looked terrible, really ill. I was scared I'd hurt him, or at least let him hurt himself.

I'd said I wasn't going anywhere. I sat down on the bed next to him.

I wondered what it was that he hadn't been able to say to me.

I woke up next morning to the sound of a key in the lock. It took me a moment to work out where I was. And another moment to realise that Ripper was lying next to me with his arm flung across my chest.

I didn't have time to wonder who was opening the door before Ethan had flung it open and stepped into the room. He stared at us in dismay.

I sat up quickly, knocking Ripper's arm aside, extremely glad that I was still fully clothed.

'What the fuck?' Ethan said. I sighed.

'I suppose there's not much point saying that this isn't what it looks like. Cos it really isn't.'

Ethan threw up his hands in disgust, and stalked out of the room. I groaned, and then bent over Ripper. He still looked pale and exhausted. I shook his shoulder gently.

'Ripper. Wake up.' He opened his eyes and gazed at me for a moment. Then his eyes widened.

'John? What the fuck?' he said.

'That's what Ethan just said,' I said cheerfully. He groaned.

'Oh god...' he said, and buried his face in his hands. I patted his shoulder.

'You all right?' I asked.

'Yeah. I guess so. Hung over...' he said faintly. I looked up at him, worried.

'You weren't drinking,' I said sharply. He winced.

'No. I wasn't, was I...' he said groggily. 'What happened John?'

'Nothing much. We summoned some demons. You passed out. We'd better go talk to Ethan.'

He nodded, but hesitated another moment.

'John... what did I say to you last night...?' I looked at him for a long moment.

'Nothing,' I said eventually. 'You started to say something, or at least I thought you did, but...' I shrugged, 'Nothing.'

I couldn't tell whether he looked relieved or disappointed.

When the doorbell rang late at night, about a week later, I assumed it was Ripper... but I opened the door to find Ethan standing on my doorstep.

'Consantine...' he slurred.

I looked him up and down. He was more than a little drunk.

'You'd better come in,' I said eventually. He pushed past me into my flat, and stood staring at me. His wary, untrusting, untrustworthy eyes were the first thing I'd noticed about him when I met him, now they darted across my face, but he couldn't quite meet my eyes.

'Well. What do you want?' I asked shortly, after we'd been standing there for quite some time. He didn't answer.

'For god's sake, Ethan! It's two o'clock in the morning! What do you want?'

'Ripper...' he said with a harsh laugh, his face suddenly twisting into a grimace.

'Well I haven't bloody got him! He's probably at home in bed if he's got any sense.'

Ethan scowled.

'Very funny,' he said sullenly. 'Wha' did you do to him, Cons'antine?'

I stared at him.

'What do you mean what did I do to him?'

'Stop playing games! You know wha' I mean!'

'No, you stop bloody well playing games. I haven't got a clue what you're going on about!'

'I think you've got him bewitched!' he sneered.

'Oh for god's sake!' I snapped. 'You're not talking sense.' Ethan scowled at me.

'You hurt him, bastard!' he hissed. 'I don't know if it was something you said or something you did, but he's hurting, and it's your fault.'

I felt suddenly cold.

'I haven't done anything to him...' I said, wishing I felt more sure of that. What if he had hurt himself demon-raising? What if it was my fault?

'If you knew him like I did, you'd know there was something wrong.' Ethan said angrily.

'And what do you want me to do about it at two o'clock in the morning when he's not even here?' I yelled. Ethan went quiet.

'I just thought you ought to know,' he said, trying to regain his dignity. He turned to go.

Suddenly, I felt sorry for him. He was drunk, and miserable and confused, and ok so he was an untrustworthy bastard, but so was I. I wanted, somehow, to make things better for him.

'Ethan...' I called. He looked at me, half scowling. I hesitated.

'You haven't lost him to me, you know. It's just magic that we do together. Nothing else.'

Ethan laughed bitterly.

'Was that supposed to make me feel better?' he said resentfully. 'I know that you don't love him Consantine. And I'm sure that he doesn't love me. He's as miserable as I am. And that only makes it worse.'

He swept past me into the night.