One-Shot Collection - Keanu Reeves.

- 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙐𝙩𝙖𝙝 -

"Summer.." I sigh to myself.

I sit on the beach, sand between my toes and coating my bottom side. The cool breeze from the ocean flows through my hair, letting my skin feel it. I haven't been to the beach in forever. Not since papa died. My eyes drop at the thought of papa. He died a few summers ago, leaving me to take care of his beach house that borders this beach. I miss him more and more as the days past. I close my eyes, thinking of the times me and papa would walk along the beach, talking about surfboarding or how he met grandma on this beach. My eyes open as I hear screams from the water. I stand up, trying to find the source of the scream.

In the distant, a man appears from the water. He carries a hot pink surfboard under his left arm, his right arm clutching his face. As he comes closer, I notice a large amount of blood coming from where his hand clutches. My instincts kick in, causing me to run over to him. My papa always taught me that if you see a person who comes out of the water from a surfing accident, you help them. He told me a story once that he was on the beach and saw some man in a surfing accident. He assumed that the guy was fine because he seemed experienced, so he ignored it. Turns out later that night he was looking at the news from his area, and the man died a few minutes after he left the beach. The man drops to his knees a couple feet in front of me. His surfboard drops to the ground, sand flying. I walk up, attempting to see the wound. He struggles with slipping off his wet suit while trying to apply pressure to the wound. He swears up a storm under his breath. Pa would have a heart attack if he heard language like this.

"Here, let me help you" I say as I drop to my knees. He notices me, scanning me. The man has brown hair that cups his face, wet from the water. He has coffee eyes and tan skin. My eyes drift to his chest, which his wet suit now sits at his hips. He's toned, almost like he works out extensively. I slip off my white tank top, exposing my bathing suit top. "Thanks" he says in a moody tone, taking the shirt from my hands. He's moody, Jesus. He removes his hand off the wound, exposing a gash on the side of his face. My eyes drift from the gash to his board, his blood near the tip of the board. I laugh to myself "You hit yourself with your board didn't you" he looks at me, my white shirt soaking up his blood. He sighs "yeah, I'm still learning" our eyes meet, staring for a second. Even when he's covered in blood he's hot. He snaps back into reality, reaching out a slightly blood covered hand. "Sorry for being moody at first, my face just hurts a little" he laughs. I reach out my hand, shaking his. "Nice to meet you...." "Johnny. Johnny Utah" I smile at his last name. Utah is a funny word.

"I have a beach house over there, I have the proper supplies to clean your face up" I say, gesturing behind me. He smiles, showing his straight white teeth "You know first aid?" "yeah, a family member taught me. I used to come to this beach every weekend" I say, reminiscing. "That's cool, I come here to..." his sentence seems to fade off, losing thought. I wait for him to finish his sentence, but he occupies himself with my shirt. "Let's go clean you up". It's a known fact that a lot of the men on this beach who surf look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo himself, but there's something different about Johnny. He doesn't seem like the other surfers, cocky and in over their own head. He seems caring.

-

I hold Johnny's surfboard in my arm as we walk through the back door of my beach house. He looks around, wet suit still sitting at his hips. I'll admit, it's taking a lot of self control to not just stare at him. He looks like a Greek god that knows how to surf for fucks sake. I set his board down near my kitchen sink, reaching for the cupboard that hangs above. I open it, pulling out the first aid kit, standing on my tip toes to reach. I turn to him, catching him starring at me. We hold eyes for a second, sharing a look. I close the cupboard, bring him to the couch that nears the kitchen. He sits down beside me, pulling the shirt away from his cheek. "Sorry about the shirt by the way" I laugh "It's alright Johnny". I take the shirt resting it on the coffee table. I open the bag, pulling out rubbing alcohol. I take a clean swab, putting the disinfectant on it. His eyes watch my hand apply the swab to his face. I lean in, closing the space between us to clean it. He sucks in a breath of air, reacting to the sting of the rubbing alcohol. I clean the blood away, discarding the swab. The little space between us makes my hand a little shaky, my blood streaming with anxiety. We're close enough to kiss. But I won't. I barely know the man, get a grip. I pull out a bandage the size of my palm, applying it with medical tape. I finish up, finally pulling away and looking at my work. I study the rest of his face, gaze following every inch of his face. My eye's meet his, him realizing that I'm starring. I cough and smile awkwardly.

"That wasn't so bad was it" I say with confidence. "No I'm used to it, I work for the FBI so I'm used to getting beat up" he says with a laugh. He stops in his track, realizing he just exposed his identity. "Wow, a FBI agent. that must be cool" I say with a mocking tone, making fun of his accidental reveal. "Just don't tell anyone, I'm on a job right now and I'm supposed to be undercover" I roll my eyes "Johnny Utah, you will soon discover that I don't have many friends, so your secret is safe with me". He looks at me with a playful smile "Well, I'm your friend" He says quietly. My eyes reach his, then moving down his toned chest and arms. My heart picks up speed as my cheeks turn crimson red. "We'll, I'm glad we're friends" I say giddily.

"Me too"