#only 5 because he understands that it is illogical to over moisturize

[avid-mreower]

this is canonically what they sleep in i know it i am in their walls

kockdaily 114 + a forgotten doodle i just found in my attic !!

18.12.23

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Wonderwall Chapter 7

Keanu Reeves x Reader A/n- Sorry if this chapter feels like it goes on forever but I refuse to extend it yet again. 

“I don’t believe that anybody, feels the way I do about you now”- Oasis.

December 1st

The restaurant is buzzing with life. Also, it’s a little colder than I anticipated, making me rethink my decision to forgo sleeves. I’m wearing a black mini cocktail dress with designer heels and very dark make-up. Compared to most of the other patrons, I feel a little over dressed, I’m meeting my friend’s girlfriend.....sort of girlfriend....whatever she is, not dining with royalty.

I’ve been at the restaurant for a little over fifteen minutes, the thin heel of my shoe tapping impatiently against my shin. We agreed to eight, but here I am at seven forty five, already ready for my second glass of wine.

Thankfully though, I’m by myself, I would have hated for this to be a double date. Jacob has gone to Colorado to meet with his family and I’ll join them next week as we make last minute preparations for the wedding. For my wedding. It’s hard to believe that I’m actually getting married in two weeks. I always thought I’d be more excited, and these days, every time I think about meeting Jacob down the aisle, it feels like something is missing. Like I’ve forgotten something hugely important and that I’ll only realize it when it’s too late. I hope that’s not the case, the last thing I want is to feel regret on one of the most important days of my life.

“You look so cute with your hair tucked behind your ear,” Samantha giggles as she proceeds to do just that before settling back into the passenger seat. We’re on our way to a restaurant in Manhattan, she’s going to meet Y/n for the first time. She looks nice tonight, her hair is curled and she’s wearing this cute pink shift dress with white flowers. 

Comfortable silence continues for a while until, through the corner of my left eye, I notice Samantha fidgeting in her seat, wringing her fingers. Maintaining one hand on the wheel, I put the other on her bare knee, squeezing affectionately, “You okay over there?”

She looks over to me, smiling tightly, blue eyes wide with unspoken worry, “Yeah,” she huffs the quickly shakes her head, “No. Not really.” Before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s telling me. This is one of the things I like about her, she says what she’s thinking, uncomplicated. “It’s just, what if this doesn’t go well? I mean, she’s Y/n Y/l/n. Mega famous movie star with awards and millions of fans. And she’s gorgeous! Like Vogue magazine gorgeous. You know she’s been on the cover right? Twice!”

I do know that. I was there for the second shoot and I have copies of both at issues at my place in L.A. In a very non-weird, plutonic way of course. “I know,” Is that the right response? I don’t know. “But it’s going to be okay,” I rub her thigh in reassurance, “Don’t be intimidated by her, she’s actually really great.”

Samantha sighs, “Of course she’s great. But she’s your best friend Keanu. What if she hates me, or sees something that you’re don’t? What if she decides that I’m no good for you.”

As I pull into a parking spot, Samantha frowns and while I don’t respond, I understand her worry. In fact, admittedly, I’m a little nervous too, because deep down, as illogical as it is, I’ve managed to convince myself that even if I can’t have Y/n, having her approve of the person I’m dating might be the next best thing. I want her to like Samantha, I need her to like Samantha. “Y/n isn’t like that. Besides, you’re right, she is my best friend, that means we have a lot in common,” Not really though, what’s that thing they say about opposites attract? “So if I like you, she’ll like you.” Great, now I’m lying to her, there’s no way I can know that for sure. “Come on,” I gently encourage her, getting out of the car to open her door, “Let’s get inside.”

Just past eight, Keanu walks in with a tall, blonde woman on his arm. She looks a few years older than me, at minimum two heads taller and very beautiful. At least my jealousy isn’t misplaced.

They approach our table and I stand in greeting. Keanu pulls me into a hug before words are exchanged and at our side, I sense that Samantha is very nervous. Am I that intimidating? When we break, He keeps an arm on my shoulder, “Y/n, Samantha. Samantha, Y/n.” 

Holding my hand out for her to shake, I chuckle, rolling my eyes, “Wow Ke, A plus for introductions,” he laughs, gesturing for us to sit and I turn my attention to Samantha, “It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard good things.”

She seems to sigh quietly in relief, “It’s great to meet you too, Keanu talks about you, a lot,” Samantha huffs, laughing quietly and Keanu blushes. Growing out his beard has really served him well, it usually hides the pinkness in his cheeks, but I know him well enough to look for it around his eyes.

“Should I be worried that there’s so much to talk about?” 

“Oh, god no,” Samantha waves me off, “It’s all great things. I’m a huge fan by the way.”

I laugh off her comment and try to change the topic, eventually saved by the waiter who comes to take our order. 

Things seem to be going well. Y/n seems to like Samantha, Samantha seems to like her back. I should be relaxed. But I’m not, in fact, I’m far from it. I’m either waiting for conflict or I’m about to be conflict. I don’t even know what that means.

My foot keeps tapping the marble floor, though its inaudible, my hands are sweaty and I think I’m angry, annoyed, nervous? No clue, but I feel it in my chest and it’s deterring me from eating. 

And of course, Y/n notices. “Everything okay Ke?” Have I ever said that I love when she calls me that, because I do. Some people call me ‘KeKe’ or ‘Charlie’, but no one but Y/n calls me ‘Ke’. I like it, a lot. It just falls off her lips like she’s meant to say it. It makes me feel all warm inside, and from the minute it reaches my ears, she has my undivided attention, it’s like a siren song, and nothing can keep away from her.

Okay, maybe that was an over-exaggeration, but I swear, that’ s how it feels sometimes. Like she’s the life raft when I’m drowning.

“Keanu,” Y/n calls a little louder.

My head jerks up, my thoughts scattering like the birds do in Central Park, “Huh?”

“I asked if you’re okay,” a quick glance Samantha’s way proves that she’s intently watching our interaction, though, she looks confused, like she didn’t know something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” I assure Y/n more hurriedly than I should have. “Why?”

Y/n rolls her eyes and maybe if she didn’t look so concerned, she’d be smiling, or making a joke about how I’m never paying attention, “You’re doing that thing with you’re face,” she explains, frowning.

“What thing?” What thing? I don’t have a thing. 

“Like you’re staring but not seeing. That face you make when you’re uncomfortable, or annoyed. It goes either way really,” she shrugs, but looks at me expectantly, awaiting a response. 

Samantha is staring too and I feel oddly under pressure, as if I’m going to burst into to flames right this second. Without warning, I stand from the table, pushing my plate away a little. “I need a smoke,” I announce, walking off towards the side door.

The night air is colder than it is in Los Angeles and the ally way near the restaurant is heavy with moisture. As the door swings closed behind me, I fish a pack of cigarettes, and remove one, holding it between my lips as I search for a lighter.

There should be one in my right pocket, but because the world is somehow against me tonight, I can’t find it. I probably look like 5 kinds of idiot, grumbling to myself as I try to find a lighter that I clearly don’t have, “Fucking-”

“Need a light?” A familiar female voice interrupts. Y/n. When I turn, she’s standing near the door, holding out a little silver lighter. 

Huffing a laugh, I step nearer to her, bending a little so the tip of my cigarette can meet the open flame. “Why do you always have a lighter?” I take a long drag before blowing the smoke away from her, “You don’t smoke.”

“Do I have to smoke to own a lighter?” Her tone is light and teasing, and just for a minute, things feel as uncomplicated as they did a year and a half ago.

“You know what I mean,” despite my inner protests, I go to lean against the suspicious looking wall.

“Well,” Y/n begins, coming to stand next to me, leaving about half foot of space between us, “I always have a lighter, because my best friend is a smoker.”

I chuckle quietly and Y/n does too. I miss having moments like these. Not necessarily in a dark allies, but the ones where it’s just us, where the rest of the world doesn’t matter and we can just be. “Do you remember when you tried to get me to quit?”

Y/n laughs a little louder. It was after we had known each other for about a year and she was repulsed by the idea of cigarettes. “You’re filling your lungs with tar,” is what she had argued, yanking a pack from my hands. “Obviously,” Y/n giggles, “You went through a pack of nicotine gum in a day and drank so much coffee that we had to stay up all night watching reruns.” 

“Correction, I stayed up all night. You fell asleep at like, one am,” I point out, earning myself a louder laugh. She looks so good when she’s happy. Not that she doesn’t always look good, it’s just that when she smiles, everything seems brighter. 

“Well, I’m sorry if you can’t handle caffeine,“ Y/n accuses.

“So this is my fault now?” I turn to her and see that she’s having just as much fun as I am, “I’m not the one who tossed an entire pack of cigarettes down the garbage disposal.”

Scoffing, Y/n playfully punching my arm, “I was trying to help.”

“I lost an entire night of sleep, you broke your garbage disposal and I still smoke,” I nudge her back.

“Whatever,” she giggles. After a while Y/n rubs her hands over her arms, trying to suppress a shiver. 

“Come on, we should get you inside,” I toss the nub of the cigarette to the ground, dousing it with the toe of my boot. I reach for her hand when she doesn’t move, but Y/n doesn’t let me take it.

“No,” her changed expression is shrouded in the dimness but I can tell that it’s no longer fun and games, “We haven’t even talked about what was going on with you in there.”

Oh. Without thinking, I blurt out, “We haven’t talked about a lot of things.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Y/n folds her arms across of her chest, taking another step back.

“What happened in L.A. Why you’re marrying Jacob even though you don’t love him. Everything that’s happened this past year.” The fact that we slept together but pretend that it didn’t happen. Why she was so worried about my fist when her fiancé was bleeding on the floor.

God, that night....

I had driven us to the hospital in her car. She had sat in the back with Jacob but every time I checked the rear view mirror, I could see her staring at me. Confused, lost, deep in a pool of thought. She had even talked him into not pressing charges. 

“Of course I lo-” she can’t even finish the word, scoffing defensively, “This isn’t about me,” her voice firms, edging with anger and she shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. 

I sigh, mirroring her motions, “I don’t want to fight about this.”

“Neither do I,” I breathe quietly. He’s right, we haven’t talked about everything. But what’s there to say? He’s clearly happy with Samantha and I’m getting married in two weeks so it’s too late to back out now, “I just want to know what’s bothering you. Tell me so I can fix it, please.” I hate when he does this, when he wallows with his problems without telling me. All I’ve ever wanted since we met was for him to know that I’m here for him, that I’d listen even if all he ever talked about was the same thing. That if I could, I’d fix everything, he’d never feel alone or sad, that the world would always be in his favor. All I’ve ever wanted was for him to know that I’m- no, don’t say it. If you say it, you mean it. If you think it, you mean it, and I can’t mean it.

“Why does it matter?” He asks, kicking the ground, hitting his thigh with his fist.

“Because,” I huff, “You matter to me, because I told you I want to-”

“You can’t fix it, there’s nothing to fix,” Keanu sighs again then approaches me, placing his hands on my shoulders. Just for a minute, my mind flashes back to the night we spent together. His hands were as warm and as pleasantly rough as they are now. “You’re always so pragmatic,” he smiles sadly, though its hard to make it out in the darkness, “Trying to solve every problem, thinking with your head, not with your heart. What does your heart tell you?“

“I already told you-”

“Yeah,” Keanu breaths, stepping closer. He smells like tobacco, smoke, cologne and leather, my heart says that it’s my favorite scent. “You said it’s not about you. But for me, it’s about you.”

“I don’t understand,” his face seems closer and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t take much to just pull him into a kiss. But I can’t, if I do, it won’t stop there, and it shouldn’t even be here.

“Neither do I,” his lips quirk into the slightest hint of a smile. “Y/n,” he breaths my name, leaning down so our faces are inches apart.”

Our noses are a hair apart, “Ke,” I probably sound more frightened than anything else. I shouldn't be doing this, feeling like this. Not about my best friend. Not when my wedding is in two weeks. Not when his girlfriend is inside, waiting for us. “We should get back inside, Samantha is probably wondering what’s keeping us,” I shimmy out of his hold and Keanu seems stunned by my behavior.

“Yeah,” he nods, dropping his hands,  looking away from me, “You’re right. You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

“Okay,” I force myself to smile, awkwardly moving around him to head back. Before I reenter though the open door, I spare Keanu one last glance, but he doesn’t reciprocate, his back is to me, head down and hands in his pockets. I want to call out to him an apologize, but I’ve already done enough damage.

December 14th

Two more days. Two more days until I watch Y/n stroll down the aisle on her father’s arm, but she won’t be walking to me. Two more days until I’ll put on a fake smile and pretend I’m happy for her. I should be, I know I should be. Everyone’s always saying that if you love someone, you’ll be happy even if their happiness isn’t you. Whoever said that has clearly never been love, because I am in no way happy. Jealous? Maybe. Sad? Definitely.

As if going to this wedding wasn’t going to be  bad enough, it had to be in the Colorado mountains. It’s cold and there’s snow everywhere for miles. The nights are much darker and the days aren’t significantly warmer. 

This morning, a guide from the resort took us skiing down the slopes near by. Contrary to my previous beliefs, skiing is not easier if you grew up playing hockey. The mechanics are completely different and now I have a bruise on my left knee from falling down so much. The best part about it was the time I had gotten to spend with Y/n. Jacob, despite growing up in this frozen over hell, does not like skiing and Samantha had stayed back at our room finishing up some paper work for her office.

The company was fun, but skiing is most definitely not something I plan on taking up as a hobby

“Hey,” I greet, strolling into our room, kicking off snow covered boots at the door and shrugging off my top coat.

Samantha turns to me, closing down her laptop, pushing her glasses up on her head, “Hi! How was the great, frozen, outdoors?”

“Very frozen and not that great,” she laughs musically and I plop down next to her. In a matter of seconds, she’s pressing herself to my side, and my arm goes around her. She might not be Y/n, but Samantha’s great. “I think it’s safe to say that this old dog is incapable of learning new tricks.”

“Aww,” Samantha coos, her slender arms going around me as she leans up to kiss my jaw, “You’re only as old as you feel babe,” she giggles.

“Well right now I’m feeling exactly fifty five,” I laugh and Samantha crawls into my lap, a mischievous glint in her baby blues, “Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing?”

“Trying to make you feel younger,” she muses, letting one of her hands slide down to my crotch as she leans in to kiss me.

December 15th

Jacob sleeps peacefully on his side of the bed while I’m sitting on the balcony, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, on my third glass of wine. There’s a knot in my stomach and a tightness in my chest though I can’t tell if it’s just pre wedding jitters or pure fright. I’ve thought about waking my mother with the issue, but I don’t think she’ll be much help. This morning, at breakfast, when I told her that I was nervous, all she could sum up was, “I don’t know what to tell you hun, I still can’t believe you’re marrying an investment banker in the middle of snowy nowhere.” 

Sometimes I can’t believe it either. I always though I’d marry someone who did what I did, or just a man who could share my appreciation for film and arts. Someone who knew how to have fun without leaving the house, who didn’t jump at the next reason to yell. A man who didn’t make a relationship seem like so much work. If I’m being completely honest, I wish I was marrying someone like Keanu.

As the thought crosses my mind, and I finish the last draining of wine from the bottle, my phone vibrates on the little end table, the screen flashing with a calendar notification that simply reads, “Wedding day.” 

It’s officially the day of my wedding and I’m not even excited. Unlocking the phone, I somehow end up in my gallery, biting my lip as I flip through the pictures I’ve taken with him. There’s so much more with me and Keanu than there are with Jacob. I’m smiling in most of them and even as I reminisce, a smile threatens my lips.

Some are from the day Keanu and I went to Santa Monica Pier, in one of the pictures, he has a couple stuffed animals under his arm; at the end of the night he had insisted I keep them. I still have them. Another is from my birthday last year. I didn’t want to do anything but he had bought me a cake and VIP tickets to a concert. We had gone together and had stumbled back to a London hotel room drunk, waking up smelling like booze and adorned with merchandise. The earliest snap is from last Christmas, when we had gone shopping together and we had taken the picture during lunch at one of our favorite spots in New York. I’m not sure how I never noticed it, but I had been looking at the phone while Keanu had been looking at me.

“What are you doing?”  I ask myself in a soft whisper. This isn’t what I want, it’s not even close. It’s....a breath stealing contrast. 

Clumsily, I stand from the chair, not even caring that the blanket has fallen to the floor. As I stand, my head feels lighter and it takes a minute before my vision steadies. In retrospect, an entire bottle of wine might not have been my best idea.

Still, though my mind is blurry, one thing is alarmingly clear. It should have been all along, and maybe it was, but I was so busy trying to do the most logical thing that I forgot about everything else. I said yes to Jacob because it made sense, he’s familiar, he stays despite my flaws and I stay in spite of his. We’ve been together for years, more on than off, marriage felt like the only thing left for us. But is that what I really want? Familiarity mistaken for love.

What does your heart tell you?

I know what it’s telling me, it’s been screaming the same thing for months, years. But every time I heard it, I stifled it. I’m in love with Keanu.

I stare up at the darkness while Samantha lies next to me, wearing only one of my shirts, wrapped up in the sheets. I’m flat on my back, trying to make out the dark veins on the oak ceiling, sifting through my thoughts. I feel like I’m always thinking, but getting no where.

Beside me, my phone vibrates and when I pick it up, it’s a text from Y/n. ‘You up? Can we talk?’

My fingers move quickly across the screen, typing a response, ‘Sure, meet you downstairs?’

‘Great.’ Her response is almost as immediate as me getting out of bed and getting dressed.

I hurry to get into a pair of jeans and a thick flannel with a jacket over it. This place is way too cold. What could she want to talk about this late? Nothing good can come from a conversation past midnight, edging into the morning of her wedding.

Pocketing my phone, I forgo waking Samantha to explain and decide to just creep out of the room before bounding down the stairs, my feet hitting the carpeted stairs in quick muffled thuds.

When I get to the lounge, which is deserted save for the both of us. Y/n’s hair is wind blown and for some reason I’m worried that she might have gone outside this late in nothing but a pair of yoga pants and a cable knit sweater. 

The pale yellow light coming from the little lamps along the walls is dim, but it’s enough to illuminate the calm, quiet distress renting her features, “Hey, what’s going on Y/n? Is everything okay?” I reach out to touch her shoulder and she wrings her hands in front of her.

It takes a while but when she finally speaks, Y/n’s voice is thick with emotion and her eyes are teary, “Ke,” she breathes, her voice breaking, “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

*****

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