Requested by: @USMCRules
The room was dark, the only light coming from the thin sliver of moonlight sneaking in through the curtains. It had been a week since the hit that knocked him out of the game, and Travis still wasn't fully back to himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, his fingers lightly grazing the edges of his scalp as if that might soothe the relentless pounding behind his eyes.
The doctors had told him it would take time. Concussions weren't something you just bounced back from overnight, and he knew that. He'd been through his share of injuries—broken bones, sprains, bruises that painted his body purple and blue—but this was different. This was inside his head, the one place where he couldn't just will the pain away. Every noise felt amplified, every light too bright, and even though it had been a week, the world still seemed just a little too loud.
He'd tried watching some highlights from last week's game earlier, thinking maybe that would help, but the glare from the TV had sent a sharp spike of pain through his head. He'd turned it off quickly, retreating back into the comfort of darkness, where the pain was more manageable, more distant.
The bed beside him was empty, cold even. Taylor had been in Miami for the last few days, wrapping up the final leg of her Eras tour. It was supposed to be a celebration—a whirlwind ending to a journey that had taken her around the world—but Travis couldn't be there. He hadn't even been able to watch the streams of the shows like he usually did, the sound and lights too much for him to bear. He hated it, hated how helpless he felt.
He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and stared at the screen. He hadn't texted her in hours, not wanting to worry her any more than he already had. But she was always checking in, sending voice notes when she had a moment to herself, telling him how much she missed him, how she couldn't wait to come home. He swiped through their recent messages, smiling at the pictures she sent earlier in the day—a backstage selfie, a shot of the stadium crowd, a candid of her mid-rehearsal.
A notification popped up on his screen, her name lighting up in the darkness.
*Miss you. You okay?*
Travis smiled weakly, his fingers moving slowly over the screen.
*Yeah, still the same. Head's pounding. You killing it tonight?*
Her response was almost instant.
*Wish you were here. Crowd is amazing, but I keep looking for you out there.*
His heart clenched. She was always thinking of him, even when she had thousands of fans screaming her name. He could picture her in one of those dazzling costumes, hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless—and yet, in the midst of all that, she was thinking about him sitting alone in a dark room.
*I'm always there, Tay.*
He pressed send and then leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. The quiet of the room was almost suffocating. Normally, he loved the chaos of their life—games, shows, dinners with friends and family, the constant movement. But now, the silence was all he had, and it was unbearable.
There was a soft knock at the door, so quiet he almost missed it. Travis opened his eyes, frowning. It wasn't loud enough to be someone from the house—maybe one of his teammates or his brother checking in? Slowly, he stood up, his head throbbing from the sudden movement, and padded toward the door.
When he opened it, the figure standing there made his heart stop.
Taylor.
She was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, a far cry from the glamor she usually radiated on stage. Her eyes were tired, a little puffy, like she hadn't slept much in days.
"Surprise," she whispered, her voice soft, as if she knew even her usual cheerful tone would be too much for him.
"Tay..." His voice cracked, and before he could say anything else, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, feeling the warmth of her body against his. The pain in his head didn't disappear, but for the first time in days, it felt more bearable.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice muffled against her.
"I couldn't stay away," she said simply, pulling back to look up at him. "The tour can wait. You can't."
He smiled, a small, crooked grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she said, cupping his face gently. "You're sitting here in the dark, trying to pretend like this isn't hard for you. But it is. And that's okay, Travis."
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I just didn't want you to worry."
Taylor sighed, her fingers tracing the edges of his jawline. "I'm always going to worry about you. You'd do the same for me if the roles were reversed."
"I know," he muttered. "It's just... frustrating. I hate feeling like this."
"I know you do." She led him back to the bed, guiding him to sit down. "But you're not alone. I'm here now. I'll be here as long as you need."
He looked at her, taking in the tiredness in her eyes, the way she still held herself strong for him, even when she had the weight of an entire tour on her shoulders. He didn't deserve her. He knew that much.
"You didn't have to come back, Tay."
"Yes, I did," she said firmly, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in hers. "Because I love you. And you're more important to me than anything else."
He squeezed her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding him in a way nothing else could. The pain in his head was still there, but with her beside him, it felt less consuming, like something he could endure a little longer.
They sat in silence for a while, Taylor's thumb brushing over his knuckles as they listened to the quiet of the house around them. The world outside might have been loud, chaotic, full of flashing lights and screaming crowds, but in this moment, in this room, it was just the two of them.
And for the first time in a week, Travis felt like he could breathe.
Requests ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>
