[ hair & lean ] – for the sender to brush a strand of hair out of the face, and lean in slowly for a kiss.
zatanna remembers what it is like to be kissed by john constantine. it's just the two of them, she does not know why she let him so close. but it's easy. it's easier than running and trying to put a sea between them. she's looking at him and he's older, stopped being that young man she fell in love with. it's not like he has changed, but maybe she has, the circumstances certainly have. she sees him and she does not see the fire, or death looming grim over his shoulder. she just sees him, getting lost on blue eyes. he leans in. and the old zatanna would've moved away. the old zatanna would have been upset. but she's been livining stuck in the past, like a broken record, living like a ghost, like she was the one who died.
but her mind clears, her cheeks warm. and her hands on his shoulders, the hesitation of pushing melts into the intent of pulling him just that little bit closer. leans closer and faster than him. a conscious decision. zatanna almost melts into it, the tension leaving her body. and she remembers, it's this very silly warm feeling. it's like casting magic without any of the words. she's twenty again, it's all the good with none of the bad. the rub of his stubble, the way the smell of cigarettes kisses the airs. damn you, john constantine.
