One-Shot Collection - Keanu Reeves.

- 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚 -

I won't make it.

I stare at my bloody hangs, my head growing light headed. I put my hands back on the bleeding wound in my side. I draw closer and closer to his apartment, the door only a few steps away. I muster any last strength in me, leaning against his door. I bring my free weak hand, knocking lightly on the old wooden door. I lean, exhausted. My breathing grows short, blood loss getting the best of me. I hear some rummaging around, the door opening.

I come face to face with John, his usual short black hair disheveled and white button up. His eyes grow wide, gaze moving to my wound. I flash a sad smile, knees growing weak. I practically collapse into his arms, my eyes growing heavy. "Shit, shit, shit, no stay with me" he says, smacking my face a little. I regret thinking I could kill the half-breed alone. I regret taking him on alone, thinking I'd make it out alive. He brings me into the apartment, quickly slamming the door shut. He swears under his breath like a sailor, bringing me over to the couch in the almost empty apartment.

He sheds off my blood stained jacket, lifting up my white t-shirt. He quickly examines my wound, fingers lightly trailing in the blood. "Fuck, what the hell were you doing?" he asks, voice stern. He runs off, grabbing supplies from his bathroom aggressively. I can't help but let out a ragged laugh. Oh John, even in dying situations your sarcasm is going strong. He comes back, first aid supplies in hand. I study him, my hooded eyelids looking over me. I scan his body trying to remember every last detail, not sure if I'll see him again. He starts to clean up my cut, taking rubbing alcohol to my wound. I'm too weak to even react to the pain.

I feel a slight wave of sadness, my mind telling me that this is the end. John's eyes move to mine, a newly lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. He notices I'm fazing out, trying to wake me up. My eyelids grow heavy, my strength to hold them back finally leaving. "Shit! wake up, I'm not fucking playing around!" he exclaims, smacking me over and over again. My eyes completely fall closed, my vision going black. I'm sorry.

-

Before I even open my eyes, I realized I survived. Jesus, I was so ready to die. dammit. Guess the devil still wants to keep me around. A wave of pain washes over me, the pain source coming from the side of my stomach. I let out a long groan, opening my eyes. I look around my surroundings slowly, realizing I'm in John's apartment. I shiver, the cold air hitting my skin. I look down and realize I'm topless, simply only covered by my bra. A white bandage is covering the left side of my stomach, a little blood stain soaking through. My eyes gaze outside the window, the moonlight shining in.

"John?" I croak out. I hear some scrambling in the distance, a topless John emerging from his bathroom. He holds a cigarette between his lip, toothbrush in his one hand. My cheeks grow red, even under all the pain I am. My gaze falls on his toned chest, muscles defined. He walks towards me, taking a drag from his cigarette. "How you feeling?" he asks, dropping his toothbrush on the kitchen counter. "Like shit" I rasp back, trying to sit up. A sharp pain hits my stomach, making me suck in a breath. I push myself up, gritting my teeth through the pain.

"Where's my shirt?" I ask, looking around the apartment. He smirks, eyebrow quirked. "I threw it away" he says, heading towards the trash. I roll my eyes "I don't want it back if it's been in the trash John" I reply, my tone annoyed. "Figured" he replies, coming to sit beside me on the couch. I lean over on my knees, burying my face in my palms in exhaustion. "You look like shit" he says, bumping into me slightly. I scowl "Oh thanks".

"What did you get yourself into?" he asks, our eyes meeting. "I was in a brawl with some half-breed, but something was off. He was extremely powerful...I've never sent one back that was that strong" I say, thinking on the bits of memory from the fight. He snickers, taking a drag from the cigarette. "What's funny?" "Nothing, I just thought you were going to die" he says, looking down at the floor. I sigh, looking off into the distance. "Me too. I guess I secretly wished that I would so that I didn't have to deal with this stupid fucking job" I mutter, picking the cigarette from his fingers. His gaze follows the cigarette as I inhale, blowing the smoke out with a sigh.

"I was actually hesitant on coming here, I thought you wouldn't help me" I continue, taking another drag. He tilts his and furrows his brows "Why wouldn't I help you? You were literally dying on my door step" he retorts. I meet his eyes, my eyebrows raised. "Well, I don't know, we did land on bad terms when you decided you were too good to date me" I say in defense, handing the cigarette back to him. He rolls his eyes, heading towards the kitchen. He stays silent as he pulls out two glasses, pouring scotch into them. "You'll come to learn that someone like me isn't meant to be someone's prince in shining armor" he says, coming back and handing me a scotch filled glass. I take a sip, face knit. "What do you mean 'someone like me' ? I do the same thing you do, you aren't special" I respond, turning my gaze to him. He sighs, swallowing his glass of scotch quickly.

The chemistry in the air grows tight, my mouth becoming dry. He stares at me for a moment, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray across from the couch on the table. He turns to me, his dark looming eyes searching mine. He leans in closer, the smell of scotch, toothpaste, and Tabaco on his breath. He's hesitant, like he's trying to make a choice. I lean as well, pain spreading through my rib. I grit my teeth slightly, closing my eyes through the pain. My eyes wander to his lips, flushed from the alcohol.

He grabs the back of my head, pulling me in for a kiss. His lips feel electric on mine, my lips melting under his touch. Old feelings rush back into my body, an old wound of buried love re-opening. He kisses me with a passion, a fire burning in him. My free hand finds his upper arm, the other trying not to spill scotch on the couch. He pulls away, letting me bury my head into his neck. Suddenly I feel glad that I didn't die, glad that I could experience his kiss another time.

"John, thank you for saving me" I say quietly, the words mumbling against his neck.

"Thank you for not dying" he responds, grabbing locks of my hair and playing with them.