The crowd's roar was deafening, the lights blindingly bright as Taylor Swift stood on stage, pouring her heart into every note of "Lover." From the outside, it was another flawless performance, a dream realized — but Taylor felt as though she was running on fumes. A feverish chill gripped her, and every move sent her stomach twisting painfully. She'd been feeling it all day, the aching in her limbs, the constant nausea, but she kept telling herself she could make it through the show.
As she hit the final note of "Lover," Taylor felt the world blur for a split second. But she smiled out at the sea of fans, holding herself steady. The song concluded, and she hurried backstage for her first quick change, only barely managing to slip out of view before her stomach rebelled. She ducked into the corner, gripping a trash can as her body finally gave in. She coughed and heaved, feeling weaker with every wave that passed. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of the trash can, panting.
Her stage manager, Claire, noticed her retreat and caught sight of her as Taylor attempted to regain her composure. "Taylor, are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Taylor forced a smile, her face pale under the makeup. "Yeah... Just... just something I ate, maybe."
Claire's eyes narrowed, but Taylor was already straightening, wiping her mouth and hurrying to the wardrobe crew to complete her change into the "Fearless" outfit. She ignored the worried look Claire gave her and returned to the stage, breathing deeply and reminding herself of the motto she'd lived by for years: The show must go on.
Every time she was backstage between songs, though, the nausea would return, and each time she found herself clutching the trash can or bracing herself against the wall, her body barely cooperating. Her entire frame shook with exhaustion, and the fever seemed to grow hotter as the night went on. Claire grew more anxious with every passing song, watching Taylor deteriorate each time she came off stage.
Finally, Claire couldn't ignore it any longer. She slipped out her phone and sent a quick message to Travis, knowing that he'd want to be there for her.
The last song finally ended, and Taylor's shaky legs carried her off stage to thunderous applause. She barely made it past the curtain before her vision blurred, and she stumbled into a nearby bathroom, falling to her knees on the cool tile floor. Her head was spinning, and her stomach rolled, her whole body fighting against her. She lay there, her cheek pressed against the tiles as she tried to catch her breath, the cold floor soothing the fever that burned through her.
Moments later, she heard hurried footsteps, then felt a familiar presence beside her.
"Tay?" Travis's voice was low, laced with worry. She could barely open her eyes, but she felt him gently lifting her, his hand stroking her hair as he knelt beside her. "Why didn't you tell me you were this sick?" he whispered, his voice a mix of concern and frustration.
She tried to smile, but her lips barely moved. "Didn't... didn't want anyone to worry. Fans... waiting..."
Travis sighed, shaking his head. "You're burning up, babe." He pressed a gentle hand to her forehead, feeling the intense heat. "This isn't just a little fever."
Taylor shivered under his touch, the cool bathroom floor her only relief. Travis didn't waste any more time. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and carefully helped her to her feet, guiding her out of the venue and into the waiting car, keeping her close to him the entire way back to the hotel.
Back in the hotel room, Travis led her straight to the bathroom, helping her sit on the closed toilet as he turned on the tub, filling it with cool water. Her eyes were half-closed, her cheeks flushed a deep red, and he knew her fever must have been climbing dangerously high. She barely reacted as he gently undid her stage costume, helping her slip into a tank top and shorts.
