almost | taylor swift au

chapter 1

One thing that Taylor has learned lately is that, once the sun goes down, every city feels the same. They're all serenaded to sleep by the sound of sirens and car horns. You'll be able to feel the vibrations of the bass from the club down the block. The smell of weed overtakes any relief that you could have found in the fresh nighttime air. When the world is supposed to be still, cities never seem to stop.

It's different from the world she grew up in, that's for sure. Sometimes, though she'd never admit it, she yearns for the days when all she could see for miles and miles were cows, an empty road, and cornfields, lit by nothing but the moon and the stars glittering in the sky. When she'd be able to look out her back window and see the rows and rows of Christmas trees on her family's farm, planted and waiting for the day when they'd be cut down, wrapped, and brought home with a family who would decorate the green branches with twinkling lights and handmade ornaments. When there was a time, between midnight and 5:00 in the morning, when she really could experience peace. When she was the only one crazy enough to still be awake.

It's the world she gave up when she left home to follow her dreams. Since then, she's hopped from city to city. She hasn't known a single place to be home. The closest thing she's experienced to a home has been the musty hotel that is always next to a concert venue- without fail.

The hallway always smells vaguely of cigarettes. The bed always has a mustard yellow comforter on the top, one that probably hasn't been washed in months. It's always a little too cold in the room, yet somehow also too humid. She doesn't always mind the chill. It gives her an excuse to curl up in her favorite blanket- something that reminds her of home on the nights where this isn't easy. And there's a lot of those.

Other nights, despite her best judgement, if she just can't quite bear to be alone, she finds herself not in her own room but at the door of Jett Levine's room.

Every night spent with Jett, she finds herself falling harder and harder for him. She knows that she just may be the envy of any and every girl that she sees screaming in the audience each night. And every time that she walks into his hotel room with the spare key card he inevitably slips her at check in, every time that she sees him sitting cross-legged in the dim light of a bedside lamp on the mustard yellow comforter with his long hair pulled up into a ponytail and a guitar balanced in his hands, she understands why. She feels her heart skip a beat as she looks over at him, unaware that she's keyed into his room.

"Jett," she says in a small voice.

He looks up and smiles at her. "Taylor..."

"Great show tonight," she tells him.

"After the show could be better," he winks, patting the bed beside him.

She walks over and sits down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as she looks over onto the fretboard of his guitar. "You writing again?"

"Always," he tells her. "Art never stops." He places a kiss on the top of her head before turning back to the guitar.

"Not even for me?"

"Not even for you."

Taylor sighs, running her fingers through her blonde ringlets. She listens to him as he plays chords on the guitar and murmurs traces of lyrics beneath his breath. She wonders if coming here tonight was a waste. If he's going to pay any attention to her, or if she's just risking it all to be here and be ignored.

She doesn't know how long she stays there, just watching him create, but eventually, he gets stuck and frustrated. He sets the guitar down on the bed beside him and stands up. "You want a beer?" His footsteps lead to the mini fridge in the corner.