Real Person // Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock // The Other Side
Title: The Other Side
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 37. Grin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,465
Summary: 2015 - Keanu and Sandra haven't seen each other in three years.
Author's Note: I wrote this at midnight while listening to Adele's "Hello" on repeat. Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
How long since she had last heard his voice, that tell tale rasp, in the shell of her ear? Too long since she had been next to him, within hand grasping reach, listening to his stories and reveling in his odd bark of a laugh as he listened to hers. Long work conversations which would lead into reminiscing, which would bring out the wine so they could talk about the past more freely. Free to talk about how they had been, what they had done, who they had lost, without restriction. More for him than her, really. The wine only made her braver. Brave enough to touch his hair, linger in a hug, brush his cheek with her lips.
Sandra shook her head, clearing her head of such thoughts. Bryan had recently moved in, and she was convinced that this event was what was causing thoughts of K to bloom so unexpectedly in her mind. The media was certainly having a circus over it - they had been dating less than a year!
But Sandra was over fifty now, and she was done waiting around for society’s standards to click into place. She didn’t have the patience, and she trusted Bryan enough. Enough being the keyword that both emblazoned her and frightened her. Trusted him enough to not do to her what Jesse did. But trusted him enough that she was scared she wasn’t thinking of enough motives for this relationship - unlike the lovely Internet comments that her niece was kind enough to inform her of.
The comments, damn them, made good points that the self conscious side of Sandra pestered the optimistic side with in the middle of the night. To jump from such a young girlfriend to such a (ugh) old one was suspicious. The fact that he had always expressed a need to be an actor, but hadn’t made it yet. The fact that Sandra was so sweet, so wonderful, that she deserved someone low profile like him; they just hoped nothing bad would happen.
Sandra knew that Bryan had made peace with the fact that he wasn’t meant to be an actor, and being in his late 40’s, it wasn’t a dream that was going to happen no matter who his girlfriend was. He was successful in his own right with his photography business, and Sandra was pretty sure she hadn’t given him any more exposure than he already had. He had enough connections through his modeling days, time working and teaching in Hollywood, and word of mouth. Besides, they hadn’t even talked about marriage, something Sandra wasn’t sure she was ever open to doing again.
Moving him in had been a convenience factor, plain and simple. They were full grown adults, she wasn’t in the cross hairs of Hollywood media anymore; the word got out that he was living with her a full two months after it happened. Partially this was the work of her excellent PR team; part of it was because she was at an age and point in her career where no one cared about her as the lead of entertainment news. That was for the reality “stars”, and frankly, Sandra preferred it this way. She had her share of movie successes over the past few years - Blind Side, Gravity, The Heat. But she knew her limits, knew that she didn’t have the staying power and box office draw of someone like Meryl Streep. She took what she could, flying under the radar, preferring to surprise critics with a stirring performance.
‘Maybe,’ she thought, as she picked up the phone for the tenth time, ‘if it had been like this 9 years ago, we could’ve made it work.’ she put the phone back down and let out a deep breath.
Nine years ago, they had stood in a hotel room in some foreign country and made a decision. This was it. Their last chance to get together, or she was going to forget all about him and focus solely on her husband, to make it work. No one else knew the rough patch she was going through but Keanu. The movie, and the worldwide press tour, had been a dream reprieve from the harsh reality back in Texas. He had listened to her, they had talked long into the night, they had so many close calls of physical betrayal that they had to start requesting rooms on different floors. But they knew that there was a difference between the fantasy of filming, press junkets, and hotels, and the reality of being two actors in a relationship. They knew this when they had done Speed, and they had chosen friendship then. In 2006, they chose friendship again. Keanu had his demons that he constantly struggled with, demons that he didn’t want to bring Sandra into. Sandra couldn’t bring herself to give up on her young marriage with Jesse.
Here, on the other side, she wished they had given themselves the chance - knowing the future, she wondered about the alternative.
There had been times in those nine years when she wanted to talk about it with him. Did he regret it like she did? The humble quality of his career would have made it easy for them to stay together, work more around her schedule - Lake House hadn’t jump started him like they thought it would. Would she have taken Blind Side if she had been with him? Would she have adopted Louis? In a perfect scenario, she’d like to think that she could’ve done it all, had it all. If she could go back, would having him be worth the trade of not only an Oscar, but her child?
For these questions, she couldn’t bring herself to simply call him. It seemed so distant, so random. They used to show up at each other’s places, sets, movie premieres. They used to send each other perfect gifts ‘just because’ or write long, winding letters that said nothing and yet everything. K didn’t text, found emojis to be an abomination to mankind, but he would talk on the phone with her. But three years of silence seemed unable to be punctured by a simple, small talk phone call. No conversation of theirs had ever been mindless small talk. They called with a reason, a purpose - congratulations, birthday, a rambling that only the other would understand.
She had missed his birthday. On hers, every year without fail, he seemed to know where she was in the world and sent her a bouquet of flowers. The past July had been no different. But on his birthday merely a month ago, she had been at this event or that press junket, some time where they seemed to be no reality or date, just a blur of travel and smiles and flashes of paparazzi light. Then it was late, belated greetings per usual, and though he’d understand, that was his way, Sandra felt embarrassed. She began to put it off. Off until she could come up with the right excuse for her tardiness, the right present to make up for it, the right time so she could give him her full attention.
“Just do it,” she said aloud to the empty house. Louis was at a sleepover, Bryan was out of town working, and the emptiness and lack of current movie project was causing her to be more reflective than usual. While her agent had called it ‘striking while the iron was hot’ after Blind Side, Sandra knew she was just keeping herself busy. Keep her mind running so it couldn’t stop, pause, reflect, and wonder.
Much like it was doing right now.
“Just do it,” she repeated, and her hand twitched in response. Her heart thudded in her chest. The first step was to dial his damn number. Was he on set for the John Wick sequel? Had he done anything else? She consistently wavered between feeding off every bit of news she could get and starving herself of even the TMZ blip of a sighting. A couple months ago she had been flipping through a gossip rag to see who was front and center of the media’s attack, and there he had been, like a shot to her heart, sitting at a table and laughing. Sandra had snapped the magazine closed and immediately taken it to the office to shred.
The ringing in her ear startled her; she had dialed his number? Her heart beat faster against her rib cage; her mind went into hyperdrive with what she would say if he answered - or worse - didn’t answer.
Ring, silence. Ring, silence. Ring, silence. And just when Sandra was losing her nerve, ready to hang up before the machine caught her -
“Sandy?”
“Fuck,” she exhaled, and he chuckled, his low, nervous laugh that normally came out during press interviews and opening nights.
“Prank call gone wrong?” he offered.
“No! I mean, no, no. I just, I didn’t think you’d answer. You usually don’t answer.” this was true, and also a lie. She was hoping he wouldn’t answer.
“Well it’s pretty late. I figured you must be calling with a reason. How are you?”
Sandra choked out a dry laugh. “Ah, I’m good. We haven’t talked in awhile. I was … how are you?”
“Keeping busy,” he replied, and she closed her eyes, imagining him in his New York apartment, leaning against his patio door and looking out over Central Park. He’d be barefoot, of course, in jeans and a white tee, but she couldn’t picture his face. Beard, or no? Long hair or short? Would he have collected more wrinkles since the last time she saw him?
“Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t send anything for your birthday.”
“Not a big deal,” he said, as she knew he would. “I’ve stopped acknowledging them, at least as much as I can get away with. But tell me - what has been keeping you busy?”
Sandra filled him in on the going ons of her and Louis’ lives, excluding Bryan. As she talked about recent filmings and award shows, press junkets and business stories, she sank down to the floor and propped herself into a corner of the cabinets, staring up at the skylight while she talked. He interjected here and there with a question, but mostly listened, and she realized she had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone who listened so well. It wasn’t that Bryan or any of her friends or family were bad listeners - Keanu was just better at it. His questions weren’t nosy or self-serving, but curious and thoughtful; he didn’t try to anchor the conversation back to himself or play the ‘I have something to say about that person’ game. Sandra didn’t feel pressured to deliver a punch line, to entertain, to rush through a story to ease boredom. She just talked, answered his questions, enjoyed the attention.
After she finished a story about Louis’ latest school antic, the silence resumed in the call. Silence never bothered Keanu. He could sit in the silence, on the phone or in person, by himself or with others, for hours. Sandra always had to relearn to sit in the quiet when she was with him, as her hands twitched to get to her phone, a book, some escape outlet from her own thoughts.
Now, she closed her eyes and listened to his breathing on the phone. She imagined that he was sitting right next to her, that her head was on his shoulder, their fingers intwined, just being. The thought made her feel safe, sleepy, relaxed.
“Sandy.” he said her name so quiet, she almost missed it.
“Yeah? Oh, I’m sorry. You must be exhausted, listening to me talk about myself this whole time. I’ll let you go. What time is it over there? 3 AM?” Sandra rubbed her eyes, willing herself to stay awakee, to break away from the cozy fantasy.
“It’s midnight.”
“Midnight? Are you - are you in town? K, are you in LA?” if she was sleepy before, she was definitely awake now. Sandra stood up and began pacing. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He swiftly avoided her last question. “I’m meeting some agents, looking at some auditions, doing a couple meetings for Wick. Sandy, I just need to know -”
“Know what?” she interrupted, too impatient with the news of his presence to sit through complete thoughts.
“Is Bryan there? With you?”
Her cheeks reddened. Of course. Of course he wouldn’t come around or call her if Bryan was here. He knew their relationship, their friendship, was always misconstrued by her significant others. It had been a sore spot with Jesse when they were working on Lake House. Many a fight had been had after shows and magazines had cooed over the two of them, commenting on how happy and perfect they were with each other. The same shows and magazines that had begrudgingly put Sandra and Jesse together, remarking that they seemed happy but giving Jesse the shifty eye.
“Sandy?”
“Uh, no, K, no he’s not. He’s out of town. I’m alone.”
She had barely finished speaking when the intercom from her security buzzed. The text scrolled across the screen: KR here to visit. Confirm?
YES, she typed back. The dial tone buzzed; he had already hung up the phone.
Sandra hung up her own phone, ran for the front door, remembered it was raining, ran back to the front closet to grab galoshes, ran to the front door, remembered it was cold, twirled around for a coat, yelled out, ‘Fuck!’, and opened the front door.
He was just getting out of his car. She could barely make out his silhouette, let alone what he looked like or was wearing. It was pouring, she was trapped on her massive covered porch, watching him hover under his umbrella as he - what? checked he had everything? locked for robberies? rolled up the windows? Although it was only about five minutes, it felt like an eternity as she waited for him to finish up and come up to the house.
Finally, he did. He ran for it, kicking up sprays of water. As he easily jogged up the porch steps, he was bathed in light, and she marveled at his inability to age. His hair was cropped short, not like when they did Speed but close, and he was clean shaven. His clothing was dark - black windbreaker, black tee, dark jeans and sneakers. Although she knew they were the same age, she wouldn’t have put him past 40, despite his serious resting face.
“Hi,” she said, unable to come up with anything wittier. “You’re - you’re here.”
He nodded; a quick wisp of a grin flickered across his face as he leaned towards her. “I’m here.”
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 37. Grin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,465
Summary: 2015 - Keanu and Sandra haven't seen each other in three years.
Author's Note: I wrote this at midnight while listening to Adele's "Hello" on repeat. Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
How long since she had last heard his voice, that tell tale rasp, in the shell of her ear? Too long since she had been next to him, within hand grasping reach, listening to his stories and reveling in his odd bark of a laugh as he listened to hers. Long work conversations which would lead into reminiscing, which would bring out the wine so they could talk about the past more freely. Free to talk about how they had been, what they had done, who they had lost, without restriction. More for him than her, really. The wine only made her braver. Brave enough to touch his hair, linger in a hug, brush his cheek with her lips.
Sandra shook her head, clearing her head of such thoughts. Bryan had recently moved in, and she was convinced that this event was what was causing thoughts of K to bloom so unexpectedly in her mind. The media was certainly having a circus over it - they had been dating less than a year!
But Sandra was over fifty now, and she was done waiting around for society’s standards to click into place. She didn’t have the patience, and she trusted Bryan enough. Enough being the keyword that both emblazoned her and frightened her. Trusted him enough to not do to her what Jesse did. But trusted him enough that she was scared she wasn’t thinking of enough motives for this relationship - unlike the lovely Internet comments that her niece was kind enough to inform her of.
The comments, damn them, made good points that the self conscious side of Sandra pestered the optimistic side with in the middle of the night. To jump from such a young girlfriend to such a (ugh) old one was suspicious. The fact that he had always expressed a need to be an actor, but hadn’t made it yet. The fact that Sandra was so sweet, so wonderful, that she deserved someone low profile like him; they just hoped nothing bad would happen.
Sandra knew that Bryan had made peace with the fact that he wasn’t meant to be an actor, and being in his late 40’s, it wasn’t a dream that was going to happen no matter who his girlfriend was. He was successful in his own right with his photography business, and Sandra was pretty sure she hadn’t given him any more exposure than he already had. He had enough connections through his modeling days, time working and teaching in Hollywood, and word of mouth. Besides, they hadn’t even talked about marriage, something Sandra wasn’t sure she was ever open to doing again.
Moving him in had been a convenience factor, plain and simple. They were full grown adults, she wasn’t in the cross hairs of Hollywood media anymore; the word got out that he was living with her a full two months after it happened. Partially this was the work of her excellent PR team; part of it was because she was at an age and point in her career where no one cared about her as the lead of entertainment news. That was for the reality “stars”, and frankly, Sandra preferred it this way. She had her share of movie successes over the past few years - Blind Side, Gravity, The Heat. But she knew her limits, knew that she didn’t have the staying power and box office draw of someone like Meryl Streep. She took what she could, flying under the radar, preferring to surprise critics with a stirring performance.
‘Maybe,’ she thought, as she picked up the phone for the tenth time, ‘if it had been like this 9 years ago, we could’ve made it work.’ she put the phone back down and let out a deep breath.
Nine years ago, they had stood in a hotel room in some foreign country and made a decision. This was it. Their last chance to get together, or she was going to forget all about him and focus solely on her husband, to make it work. No one else knew the rough patch she was going through but Keanu. The movie, and the worldwide press tour, had been a dream reprieve from the harsh reality back in Texas. He had listened to her, they had talked long into the night, they had so many close calls of physical betrayal that they had to start requesting rooms on different floors. But they knew that there was a difference between the fantasy of filming, press junkets, and hotels, and the reality of being two actors in a relationship. They knew this when they had done Speed, and they had chosen friendship then. In 2006, they chose friendship again. Keanu had his demons that he constantly struggled with, demons that he didn’t want to bring Sandra into. Sandra couldn’t bring herself to give up on her young marriage with Jesse.
Here, on the other side, she wished they had given themselves the chance - knowing the future, she wondered about the alternative.
There had been times in those nine years when she wanted to talk about it with him. Did he regret it like she did? The humble quality of his career would have made it easy for them to stay together, work more around her schedule - Lake House hadn’t jump started him like they thought it would. Would she have taken Blind Side if she had been with him? Would she have adopted Louis? In a perfect scenario, she’d like to think that she could’ve done it all, had it all. If she could go back, would having him be worth the trade of not only an Oscar, but her child?
For these questions, she couldn’t bring herself to simply call him. It seemed so distant, so random. They used to show up at each other’s places, sets, movie premieres. They used to send each other perfect gifts ‘just because’ or write long, winding letters that said nothing and yet everything. K didn’t text, found emojis to be an abomination to mankind, but he would talk on the phone with her. But three years of silence seemed unable to be punctured by a simple, small talk phone call. No conversation of theirs had ever been mindless small talk. They called with a reason, a purpose - congratulations, birthday, a rambling that only the other would understand.
She had missed his birthday. On hers, every year without fail, he seemed to know where she was in the world and sent her a bouquet of flowers. The past July had been no different. But on his birthday merely a month ago, she had been at this event or that press junket, some time where they seemed to be no reality or date, just a blur of travel and smiles and flashes of paparazzi light. Then it was late, belated greetings per usual, and though he’d understand, that was his way, Sandra felt embarrassed. She began to put it off. Off until she could come up with the right excuse for her tardiness, the right present to make up for it, the right time so she could give him her full attention.
“Just do it,” she said aloud to the empty house. Louis was at a sleepover, Bryan was out of town working, and the emptiness and lack of current movie project was causing her to be more reflective than usual. While her agent had called it ‘striking while the iron was hot’ after Blind Side, Sandra knew she was just keeping herself busy. Keep her mind running so it couldn’t stop, pause, reflect, and wonder.
Much like it was doing right now.
“Just do it,” she repeated, and her hand twitched in response. Her heart thudded in her chest. The first step was to dial his damn number. Was he on set for the John Wick sequel? Had he done anything else? She consistently wavered between feeding off every bit of news she could get and starving herself of even the TMZ blip of a sighting. A couple months ago she had been flipping through a gossip rag to see who was front and center of the media’s attack, and there he had been, like a shot to her heart, sitting at a table and laughing. Sandra had snapped the magazine closed and immediately taken it to the office to shred.
The ringing in her ear startled her; she had dialed his number? Her heart beat faster against her rib cage; her mind went into hyperdrive with what she would say if he answered - or worse - didn’t answer.
Ring, silence. Ring, silence. Ring, silence. And just when Sandra was losing her nerve, ready to hang up before the machine caught her -
“Sandy?”
“Fuck,” she exhaled, and he chuckled, his low, nervous laugh that normally came out during press interviews and opening nights.
“Prank call gone wrong?” he offered.
“No! I mean, no, no. I just, I didn’t think you’d answer. You usually don’t answer.” this was true, and also a lie. She was hoping he wouldn’t answer.
“Well it’s pretty late. I figured you must be calling with a reason. How are you?”
Sandra choked out a dry laugh. “Ah, I’m good. We haven’t talked in awhile. I was … how are you?”
“Keeping busy,” he replied, and she closed her eyes, imagining him in his New York apartment, leaning against his patio door and looking out over Central Park. He’d be barefoot, of course, in jeans and a white tee, but she couldn’t picture his face. Beard, or no? Long hair or short? Would he have collected more wrinkles since the last time she saw him?
“Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t send anything for your birthday.”
“Not a big deal,” he said, as she knew he would. “I’ve stopped acknowledging them, at least as much as I can get away with. But tell me - what has been keeping you busy?”
Sandra filled him in on the going ons of her and Louis’ lives, excluding Bryan. As she talked about recent filmings and award shows, press junkets and business stories, she sank down to the floor and propped herself into a corner of the cabinets, staring up at the skylight while she talked. He interjected here and there with a question, but mostly listened, and she realized she had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone who listened so well. It wasn’t that Bryan or any of her friends or family were bad listeners - Keanu was just better at it. His questions weren’t nosy or self-serving, but curious and thoughtful; he didn’t try to anchor the conversation back to himself or play the ‘I have something to say about that person’ game. Sandra didn’t feel pressured to deliver a punch line, to entertain, to rush through a story to ease boredom. She just talked, answered his questions, enjoyed the attention.
After she finished a story about Louis’ latest school antic, the silence resumed in the call. Silence never bothered Keanu. He could sit in the silence, on the phone or in person, by himself or with others, for hours. Sandra always had to relearn to sit in the quiet when she was with him, as her hands twitched to get to her phone, a book, some escape outlet from her own thoughts.
Now, she closed her eyes and listened to his breathing on the phone. She imagined that he was sitting right next to her, that her head was on his shoulder, their fingers intwined, just being. The thought made her feel safe, sleepy, relaxed.
“Sandy.” he said her name so quiet, she almost missed it.
“Yeah? Oh, I’m sorry. You must be exhausted, listening to me talk about myself this whole time. I’ll let you go. What time is it over there? 3 AM?” Sandra rubbed her eyes, willing herself to stay awakee, to break away from the cozy fantasy.
“It’s midnight.”
“Midnight? Are you - are you in town? K, are you in LA?” if she was sleepy before, she was definitely awake now. Sandra stood up and began pacing. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He swiftly avoided her last question. “I’m meeting some agents, looking at some auditions, doing a couple meetings for Wick. Sandy, I just need to know -”
“Know what?” she interrupted, too impatient with the news of his presence to sit through complete thoughts.
“Is Bryan there? With you?”
Her cheeks reddened. Of course. Of course he wouldn’t come around or call her if Bryan was here. He knew their relationship, their friendship, was always misconstrued by her significant others. It had been a sore spot with Jesse when they were working on Lake House. Many a fight had been had after shows and magazines had cooed over the two of them, commenting on how happy and perfect they were with each other. The same shows and magazines that had begrudgingly put Sandra and Jesse together, remarking that they seemed happy but giving Jesse the shifty eye.
“Sandy?”
“Uh, no, K, no he’s not. He’s out of town. I’m alone.”
She had barely finished speaking when the intercom from her security buzzed. The text scrolled across the screen: KR here to visit. Confirm?
YES, she typed back. The dial tone buzzed; he had already hung up the phone.
Sandra hung up her own phone, ran for the front door, remembered it was raining, ran back to the front closet to grab galoshes, ran to the front door, remembered it was cold, twirled around for a coat, yelled out, ‘Fuck!’, and opened the front door.
He was just getting out of his car. She could barely make out his silhouette, let alone what he looked like or was wearing. It was pouring, she was trapped on her massive covered porch, watching him hover under his umbrella as he - what? checked he had everything? locked for robberies? rolled up the windows? Although it was only about five minutes, it felt like an eternity as she waited for him to finish up and come up to the house.
Finally, he did. He ran for it, kicking up sprays of water. As he easily jogged up the porch steps, he was bathed in light, and she marveled at his inability to age. His hair was cropped short, not like when they did Speed but close, and he was clean shaven. His clothing was dark - black windbreaker, black tee, dark jeans and sneakers. Although she knew they were the same age, she wouldn’t have put him past 40, despite his serious resting face.
“Hi,” she said, unable to come up with anything wittier. “You’re - you’re here.”
He nodded; a quick wisp of a grin flickered across his face as he leaned towards her. “I’m here.”