Keanu Reeves/ John Wick one shots

Easy Pt3

Y/n's POV

I'm laying on the bed in my room, when there is a knocking on the door. Which is strange considering I'm not expecting anyone. Whoever the visitor is, knocks three times and right when I stand from the bed to throw on my robe, they stop. Still, I'm curious, so I continue towards the door. It's probably just Nathan or Thalia. Both of who will be upset if I keep them waiting. What could they possibly want?

As I reach the door, and slide the lock open, I wonder of the person is even there still, if they are, they're suspiciously quiet. It probably would have been wise to check the peephole, but instead I swing the door open without thinking of it. My breath catches at the sight of him, he's dressed simply, jeans and a t-shirt. His hair is drying, probably still half wet from the shower he took before coming up here. He looks nice. He always looks good though, curse his good genes. 

Holding the door open, I'm rendered speechless, though I'm sure my eyes give my hurt away. Along with something else that wells up in my chest. Hope. I know the chances of him coming to ask if we could work things out is slim, he seems to be doing so well without me. Its painful to think that he doesn't need me, but it hurts more to keep holding onto the idea that he might. A part of me, the part that's angry and hurt beyond compare, wants to slam the door in his face, but I can't, I could never. I love him. 

He runs his fingers through his hair then stuffs his hands in his pockets, "Hey." He greets after a couple minutes of silence.

"Hey." I reply quietly and though my mind is protesting, but I open the door wider and step back, "Would you like to come in?"

Keanu's POV

Did she just ask me to come in? I've said one word, and she's just asking me in? This is going better than I thought it would. Y/n leads me to the living room where she takes a seat in an armchair, presumably to maintain the space between us. "I wanted to talk." I finally speak again

Y/n's legs fold beneath her and she regards me with an expression I can't quite read. "About?" Her voice is so soft that I can't tell her tone. Is she angry, sad, annoyed? Does she want to yell at me and tell me to go to hell? Or is she going to start crying like the night that I left her? Neither of them are results that I want.

"About us?"

Quickly, she counters, and finally I can read her, at least, a little. "There's not really an 'us' to talk about." So annoyed it is.

"That's my fault isn't it?" That question is meant to a rhetorical one, to lighten the mood, because, obviously, it is my fault. Yet, the mood doesn't seem the least bit lightened and all Y/n spares my are raised eyebrows and a very unamused expression. "It is. Never mind that." Fuck, What the hell is wrong with me?  Quickly, I scour my short term memory in search of something remotely useable from everything I came up with earlier. Then, it returns to me; that was all cliché bull and not useful. I need to figure this out, fast. Glancing upwards, I realize that she's looking at me, her face contorted into that mix of annoyance and anger. She's getting tired of this. I need to think fast. I need to stop thinking about how quickly this reconciliation is going to shit. As an automatic response to being so flustered, I blurt out, "I don't actually know what to say."

Y/n widens her eyes, clearly shocked. The kind of shock that turns in to visible anger, letting me know that she's had enough. "Well I do." She begins, "I can get that you weren't ready for commitment or whatever. But I don't get you coming here and saying you wanted to talk  and then having absolutely nothing to say but a couple lines of pure fucking wit! So maybe you should start talking or get the fuck out and let me keep my hurt." Her eyes have welled up with tears and she's already standing, pointing towards the door.