𝗧𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗙𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦

good luck, babe

SUMMARY:
Y/N is in a complicated relationship with taylor swift, where she wants more than just fun, but taylor isn't ready to commit. after a tough conversation, Y/N decides to end things, realizing they deserve more than casual affection. though it hurts, Y/N feels a sense of freedom and relief after walking away.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the Nashville skyline as Taylor and I drove down the familiar streets, her vintage convertible cutting through the humid evening air. I had my hand out the window, letting the breeze whip through my fingers, but it did little to calm the storm inside me. I glanced over at Taylor, her silhouette bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. She looked perfect, like she always did—carefree, with her blonde hair flying in the wind and one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel.

She made it all look so easy. Being in her orbit was like standing too close to the sun, warm and intoxicating, but dangerous if I lingered too long. It wasn't that I didn't want to be there. It was that every time I got too close, Taylor would pull away, like she wasn't ready to let me in, not completely.

And God, I wanted to be let in.

The past few months had been a blur of late-night drives, stolen glances, and moments that felt like they meant everything. I kept waiting for her to say something, to call this—call us—what it really was. But she never did. She'd brush it off with that effortless charm, always teasing, always deflecting, leaving me in the dark, wondering if I was just imagining things.

But I knew I wasn't. It wasn't just in my head. Those nights when she'd show up at my door, her eyes lit up with excitement, ready to escape into the night with me—those moments were real. They had to be.

Still, there was a part of me that had always known this wouldn't be simple. Taylor Swift didn't do simple. She was a universe all her own, and I was just a girl who had somehow found herself caught in her gravity. But now, as the sun dipped lower, and the city lights began to flicker to life around us, I was starting to realize I might be chasing something I could never catch.

The song on the radio faded, leaving us in a silence that felt heavier than the night. I wanted to say something, to ask her if this—whatever this was—meant something to her too. But I was scared of what she might say.

"You know," Taylor said, breaking the quiet as if she'd been reading my mind, "we could just keep driving forever. Pretend like none of this is real."

I turned to her, confused. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I mean, who cares about labels, right? We're having fun. Isn't that enough?"

I felt my heart tighten in my chest. Fun. That's all it was to her. Fun. A game. A secret. My stomach churned, and I looked out the window, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill. I was falling for her, and she was treating this like it was just another adventure. Another thrill to chase.

"I guess I'm the fool, then," I whispered, barely able to get the words out. I didn't know if she heard me, or if she even cared. I just felt small, like I was something to be enjoyed and then discarded when the excitement wore off.

Taylor sighed, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. "Y/N, it's fine. It's cool. I mean, look at us—how could this not be enough?"

Enough. That word cut through me like a knife. It wasn't enough. Not for me, not anymore.

"You can say that we're nothing," I muttered, not daring to look at her, "but you know the truth."

She didn't respond right away, and the silence felt suffocating. I wanted her to pull the car over, to stop and turn to me, to tell me that I wasn't crazy. That this was something real. That I wasn't just another girl in her long list of fleeting romances.

But she didn't.

"I don't wanna call it off," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "but you don't wanna call it love."

The words hung between us, heavy and thick. I had said it. I had finally put into words what I had been so afraid to admit. I loved her. But she didn't love me back. Not in the way that I needed. Not in the way that made me feel safe, wanted, whole.

Taylor shifted in her seat, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "It's not like that, Y/N."

"Then what is it like, Taylor?" I couldn't help it. The frustration, the confusion, the hurt—it all came bubbling up to the surface, and I couldn't keep it inside anymore. "Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm just... *there.* I just want to know where we stand."

I could feel her eyes on me, but I didn't turn to meet them. I couldn't. If I looked at her, I'd break.

She sighed again, deeper this time. "You're not just there. You're the one I call when I need someone. You're important to me."

Important. But not *enough.*

"Important isn't the same as love," I said softly, and it felt like the final nail in the coffin. I had been fooling myself, hadn't I? Waiting for her to say something she was never going to say.

She was quiet for a long time. The city passed by in a blur, neon lights reflecting off the windshield as we sped through downtown. I wondered what was going through her mind. Was she weighing her options? Trying to figure out how to let me down easy? Or maybe she was just tired of having to deal with this, with me.

"I think I'm gonna call it off," I finally said, and even though it felt like a punch to the gut, I knew it was the right thing to do.

I couldn't keep doing this—pretending like I was okay with being second best, with being the one she called when she was bored or lonely. I deserved more than that. I deserved to be loved the way I loved her.

Taylor didn't say anything at first, and I wondered if she was even going to fight for me. For us. Part of me hoped she would. That she'd pull over, grab my hand, and tell me she was ready to stop running from whatever this was. But instead, she just kept driving.

"I don't want to lose you," she finally said, and her voice was so soft, so full of regret, that it almost made me second-guess everything.

But I had to be strong. I had to walk away, even if it felt like my heart was shattering into a million pieces.

"You already have," I whispered, more to myself than to her.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and I could feel her eyes on me, but I couldn't look at her. If I did, I'd fall apart. The tears were already threatening to spill, and I didn't want her to see me break.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

I nodded, wiping at my eyes quickly. "Me too."

The rest of the drive was quiet, the air between us heavy with all the things left unsaid. When we finally pulled up in front of my apartment, I hesitated. This was it. The end. I wanted her to say something—anything—that would make me stay. But she didn't.

"Good luck, babe," Taylor said softly, the words hitting harder than I'd expected.

I forced a smile, even though it felt like my heart was breaking. "Yeah. You too."

And with that, I got out of the car, watching as she drove away, her taillights disappearing into the night. I stood there for what felt like forever, wondering if I'd made the right choice. But deep down, I knew I had. I couldn't keep chasing after someone who wasn't ready to be caught.

I turned and walked inside, closing the door behind me, feeling the weight of everything settle on my shoulders. It hurt, more than I thought it would, but there was a strange sense of relief too.

For the first time, I felt like I was in control of my own heart.

And for the first time, I felt free.