Snow On the Beach (Taylor Swift x Reader)

21st

Trigger Warnings!

Brief reference to suicide, brief reference to ED.

"We should probably start experimenting with chords," I said after rewriting one of my lyrics. It was late in the afternoon and today was similar to yesterday; a combination of creating, sharing and editing possible lyrics. Taylor pulled the paper I had just been writing on towards her, reading over the lyrics.

Don't tell me I'll be pretty when I'm looking my worst,

And convince me I'll be here when it's my 21st.

"I know you said you were planning to get personal on this album but I didn't realise you were going to write songs about that." I wasn't expecting Taylor to be surprised by this song idea but I guess it made sense considering I had only ever briefly referenced the incident in my music. I had never directly addressed it in a song.

"Well, I think it's time I talked about it," I said, "what I went through is what hundreds of others go through on a daily basis. No one should feel the way I did. So I want to write a song about it." She slipped her hand into mine and gave it a squeeze.

"That's amazing," she said, "I'm really proud that you're at a point where you feel comfortable enough to do that. But remember you don't owe anyone anything, okay?" I nodded, letting her pull me into a hug. In all honesty, I was a bit terrified to dive so deep into my personal life to create songs for the public. But maybe it would spread more awareness and people would be more interested in my story. Perhaps people would care more about experiences like mine. "Do you think you'll get personal on other songs?" I shrugged, closing my eyes and resting my cheek against the softness of her hair.

"Maybe." I realised we probably shouldn't be hugging for this long and pulled away, resisting the temptation to tuck a strand of hair behind Taylor's hair. I hesitated before asking what I had been burning to know since we agreed on the theme of our album. "What about you? Do you think you'll get personal?" She bit her lip.

"I don't know," she said, staring at the other side of the room. "No one knows what happened. They don't know the extent of what I went through." I gulped, feeling a sting in my chest. What happened to me was everywhere before I had even woken up. Thousands of comments plastered all over social media, speculation, news reports, missed calls from my friends and family. But I'd never forget the first notification I opened my phone up to; the confirmation to what I had done.

Y/n Y/l/n attempts suicide after homophobic backlash following her coming out

It was right there, so blunt, so honest. Everyone knew. But worst of all, they all knew why. I had never been able to run away from it, even now when it had been seven years ago. So in a way, I guess I was jealous of Taylor. Her PR team had managed to cover up the entire incident and the media never caught on.

"Do you think you'll ever tell the public?" She sighed.

"Good question. And one that I don't have an answer to," she said, "I've lied about it in my documentary so if I ever did, I'd have to explain myself. It's only happened a few times. I still can't believe I managed to say that with a straight face because of how far from the truth that was." I shuddered just thinking about it. I had never been able to sit through the entirety of her documentary.

She got up and went over to the guitars on the wall, picking up the sleek, back acoustic with golden stars on the fretboard. I went over and picked up the bright, pine-wood guitar next to it, tuning it before joining Taylor near the piano.

"What song shall we start with?"

We spent the rest of the day experimenting with chords and strumming patterns, testing out different keys and switching up the sound with a piano. We were so engrossed with the task at hand that we forgot to eat lunch. We called it a day at 6pm and tried to organise our notes, most of the paper we had written on covered in scribbles and question marks.