John Constantine is not used to having something to live for.
He has his magic, but it’s not tangible. It’s not something he can pull strings form, one by one, to christen as fate and wrap around his heart. It’s a feeling - an ability, too, but that’s not special, and with the people he’s met. He’s not special, not even with his power. Magic elevates him, keep him from becoming who he’s terrified to be. (Himself, only weaker. More useless).
Being a hero is something in the same. They call him a legend. John Constantine is not a legend. There is blood on his hands and Sara would laugh and say that it all washes off, eventually, but he doesn’t have that time and even if he did, the blood has soaked through to bone, and you can’t clean your skeleton. No. That crimson will stain him beyond the grave. And maybe the fear of absolution should be something worth fighting to survive for, but he knows pain well enough to not fear it like he did once.
Magic and fear keep him alive, but they are not worth living for.
Zari is different. Zari is real, her hands are real and he holds them in his and her skin is real as he draws shapes against it her lips are real as they press against his. Her smile is real as is beams back at him and something about that makes his heart pang.
Half with love, half with fear.
Because Zari Tarazi is worth living for, more than anything else he has ever known. Zari Tarazi stitches up the cracks in his heart with her very presence and the thread sparkles with fate and faith and love. Life. Zari Tarazi wants him to live and John doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s not sure, honestly, when the last time was that he wanted - really, truly, desperately wanted - to live.
So now, being faced with the sudden prospect in the form of one Ms Zari Tarazi - he isn’t sure how to feel.
Because John Constantine is not used to having someone to live for.
And he thinks it might tear him apart.
