IMAGINES | travis kelce + taylor swift (1)

23.1 | dancing with our hands tied.

23.1 | dancing with our hands tied.

i could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets
picture of your face in an invisible locket
you said there was nothing in the world that could stop it
i had a bad feeling.
[DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED — TAYLOR SWIFT]

____

set in 2023.

[TAYLOR]

I'm balled up in a corner of the studio, obnoxiously blaring an instrumental into my headphones, attempting to ignore the continuous vibrating coming from the back left pocket of my jeans. Along with the tune, I'm strumming my guitar to a melody I've been repeating for the last three hours, humming rhymes.

A long stretch of vibrations snaps me out of my trance. I know exactly who's calling me, and for the sake of this worried man, perhaps I should answer, but I can't bring myself to do it. I lift my guitar off of my lap, setting it on the floor next to me. I notice my fingertips are blistered and bleeding—I've been here this long?

From my pocket, I pull out my phone. Surely enough, Travis's pet name screamed at me, begging for me to accept the call—but I did not. I just stared at the glowing screen, reading bits and pieces of the hateful comments coming through on my end. I can't bring myself to pay attention to Travis, but what I can do is slide up on X to feed my brain poison.

Whore.

I hope her and Travis break up.

I'm sick of seeing her horse head when I'm trying to watch the Chiefs lose.

He played football better when he wasn't with her.

I hiccup, forcing senseless sobs back down my throat. I curl my knees to my chest, hesitantly placing my head in my hands. What if they were right? What if he became aware of these comments and agreed with every single one of them? He loves his career so much that he really shouldn't risk it for me. What if his grand plan from the start was to lock me in and toss me back out like the rest of them? Travis was a good man. He had a stable life. He didn't deserve this chaos my image would bring him.

My phone bings. I cradle the rectangle in the palm of my hand, squinting through my tears to identify the contact—Travis.

| T🫶🏻: I'll be home in about an hour, love. Are you alright?
| T🫶🏻: Why aren't you answering?
| T🫶🏻: I lied my way out of practice. I'm coming home.

I should go home. Perhaps I shouldn't have him worried too much, right? I'll meet him at his house, and I'll break up with him. I'll give him the speech I've given him at least a hundred times in our two months together. Surely, he'll be tired of hearing it by now, right? If I pull a crazy card on him, I could scare him off. He'll thank me later.

____

My breath hitches when I hear the garage door grumbling. That means he's home. That means that I'm going to have to face him. I'm going to confess to him that I'm not anybody he wants, so I'll whip out a crazy stunt on him to push him away. I don't want him to leave. I don't want to leave him. I love Travis. But, sometimes love isn't even enough. Not in this life.