Call It What You Want

the show must go on

taylors pov

I can feel the knot in my stomach tightening as I get ready in the dressing room. My head is pounding and my throat is sore, but I keep telling myself it's just pre-show jitters. I look at myself in the mirror, trying to ignore the paleness of my complexion. My stylist, Lauren, is busy fixing the final touches on my hair. It's styled in loose waves, falling perfectly over my shoulders. I'm wearing a sparkly, sequined body suit shimmers under the lights, paired with ankle boots. The outfit is one of my favorites for the Lover set, a nod to the glamour and excitement of that era in my career.

"Are you sure you're okay, Tay?" Lauren asks, her brow furrowing in concern. She's noticed the change in my demeanor over the past hour. 

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just a bit of a headache. Nothing a couple of aspirin can't fix."

Lauren doesn't look convinced, but she knows better than to push it. She hands me the aspirin and a bottle of water, and I swallow the pills quickly, hoping they'll kick in before the show starts.

There's a knock on the door, and Andrea, my mom, peeks her head in. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Mom," I reply, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel. "Just a little nervous. Travis' parents are watching the show for the first time tonight, I just want to do well."

My mom walks in and gives me a hug. "You're going to be amazing, as always. Just take it easy, okay?"

I nod again, trying to reassure her and myself. I can't afford to cancel this show, not when Travis and his parents are here. It's the first time they've come to see me perform, and I want everything to be perfect. Travis has been so supportive, and I know how much this means to him.

I hear the crowd starting to fill the stadium, their excited chatter growing louder by the minute. My heart races with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

"Alright, it's showtime," I say, more to myself than anyone else. I give my mom one last hug before heading to the stage.

As I step into the platform that will carry me up to the stage, I picture Travis wearing the outfit we had picked out: a black T-shirt and jeans, his arm around his own mom, his dad standing besides them. I knew that all I would need to do once I got to stage was find the VIP tent and I would be met with his proud smile. Right? 

Over the course of the show, I began to feel worse instead of better like I'd hoped. God, what was up. I felt weak, like I could pass out, but in between the folkmore and 1989 eras I forced myself to get changed and hop back into my professional stance. 

I ignored the worried glances passed my way, knowing that if I gave myself a second I would realize how awful I felt. 

The lights dim, and the opening notes of "Style" start to play. The crowd erupts into cheers, and I step out onto the stage, the adrenaline temporarily masking the sickness that's been gnawing at me all day.

travis' pov

I watch her from the side of the stage, my heart swelling with pride. She's incredible, the way she commands the stage, her voice strong and clear. But as the set goes on, I notice she's not moving as energetically as she usually does. Something's off.

"Is she okay?" my mom whispers, her hand squeezing my arm.

I nod, though I'm not entirely sure. "Yeah, she's just been feeling a bit under the weather today."

We watch as she powers through "Blank Space," the crowd singing along with every word. But then, during "Shake It Off," I see her falter. She stumbles slightly, catching herself on one of her dancers. My heart skips a beat.