Author's Note: Yay, we're now pretty much at the half-way point for this story. Thanks to everyone for their continued interest. It means a lot to me.
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"John."
It was mid-morning, and John was sitting on his bed, staring at the floor. He didn't look up at the sound of Chas' voice.
"John, please look at me."
John sat stock still. How could he look at Chas?
"John," said Chas, sounding quite sorrowful, but he didn't say anything after this, merely crossed to the bedside table and placed a glass of fizzing water there.
"Aspirin." John spoke suddenly, abruptly, touched a little. He glanced up at Chas.
"Yes. I'm sorry, John." Chas ran a hand through his wayward curls, and John noticed the bloody cut on his eyebrow.
He rose automatically, his anger forgotten at the sight of Chas' injury. "Chas..." John walked towards Chas, but this time Chas didn't move or flinch. Slowly, John traced a finger along the cut, blinking.
"It happened when you dropped me, John," Chas explained quietly, eyes deep.
John, struggling to fight the urge to gently kiss the cut, tried to say sorry. Sorry was a word John Constantine had never learned to say, though he knew he owed a thousand apologies to one Chas Kramer.
"It's alright," Chas said, as though he could read John's thoughts.
If only he could. John wondered what it would be like to spill his feelings right now. He swallowed. "Just promise me one thing, kid."
"What's that, John?"
"No more drugs, Chas."
Chas, to his surprise, grinned wickedly. "I promise. I'll just think of another way to get it out of you."
John threw a pillow at him, but couldn't hide a smile.