Who: John Constantine and Natasha Romanoff What: This is not a date. Where: John’s place When: Sunday, but like, really really early so it’s more like time if it were in limbo. Rating: tbd, probably high
He had plans later in the day — an actual job, the sort that would pay actual money. It was a rare thing indeed for John, who only just managed to slip by in life honestly and filled in the rest with tricks and lies. So really, he probably should have been preparing by having his shit together, or maybe just by sleeping on an actual schedule like most normal people.
But he wasn’t. He didn’t. Practically couldn’t. Not some days. Even if he was tired, the best he could get sometimes was staring off at the television and waiting until sleep or morning came first. And that was fine. Just fine. It was what he was doing now, in fact — lounging against the headboard in a nest of blankets, his attention focused only barely on the cop drama marathon that was going on on the flat screen across the room and the cigarette half smoked between his fingers.
It was too early, or too late depending on point of view but he figured there was no point in doing much about it now. This wasn’t anything a bit of coffee couldn’t fix.