Nova [Tayvis Fanfiction]

METEOR

22 Weeks Post Accident
Taylor Swift's Point of View
I stand outside Travis's room, my palm pressed against the cold glass, my fingers trembling with the weight of everything that has happened. I can barely bring myself to look inside, but the urge is too strong. His room is eerily quiet now, the bustle of doctors and nurses replaced by a silence so thick, it feels suffocating. The beeping of machines and the soft murmur of conversations in the hallway are all muted, like I'm trapped in a bubble that keeps me just beyond his reach. I wonder if I even deserve to be here, if I deserve to see him like this, to be part of this at all.

I remember the first time I heard the flatline. It pierced through me like a jagged knife, and for a long, terrifying moment, I thought it was the end. The flood of loneliness that washed over me in that instant, the crushing realization that I might never hear his voice again, or feel his arms around me—it was almost too much to bear. My knees felt weak, my breath shallow, and I thought I might crumble right there on the floor. But then, just when I thought I couldn't go on, I heard the faintest sound—the softest beeping of the monitor. His heart started beating again, and in that moment, so did mine.

But now, months have passed, and the reality of the situation hangs over me like a dark cloud. Travis is still here, but barely. The doctors have said if nothing changes, they'll take him off life support. They've given us a date—one month from now. And in that time, I've watched as his condition has only worsened. There's no sign of improvement, just a slow, steady decline. Every time I visit, I feel like I'm losing him all over again. Each breath he takes feels like it's a gift, and I can't help but wonder how many more breaths he'll have.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat as I look at him through the glass. His body is still, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he's alive. But even that seems uncertain. How much longer can he hold on? How much longer can any of us?

Jason's voice cuts through the heavy silence, and I jump slightly, startled by his presence. He's standing next to me now, his eyes on Travis before turning toward me. "Let's go," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

I blink, unsure of what he means. "What?"

"I'm taking you to lunch," Jason repeats, his gaze softening with concern. "I know a spot that sells the best Philly cheesesteaks. I'll make sure no onions."

I feel a strange lump form in my throat, and for a moment, I almost can't speak. It's so simple, the offer, yet so thoughtful in the midst of all this chaos. I nod slowly, trying to find my voice. "I... I don't really feel like eating, Jason."

His expression doesn't change, but there's a slight softness to his features, something like understanding in his eyes. "It's not about the food, Taylor. It's about you getting out of here for a little while. You've been cooped up in this place for days, and I know it's hard, but you need a break."

I look back at Travis's room for a moment longer, my hand still on the glass. It's hard to leave him behind, even for a second. But Jason's right. I need something—anything—to distract me from the heaviness that hangs around me like a fog. Maybe just a small moment of normalcy.

I nod again, this time more decisively. "Okay. Let's go."

Jason smiles, relief flickering in his eyes. As we walk down the hallway, he talks lightly about the place, telling me about their famous cheesesteaks and how they have a secret sauce that everyone swears by. It's a small thing, but it's enough to pull me out of the dark space I've been in. I don't know if I'm ready to face the world outside of this hospital, but I'm grateful for Jason's insistence.

"So, no bell peppers either?" Jason teases, glancing over at me.

I give a half-hearted smile. "Bell peppers are fine. But the baby doesn't like onions, garlic, cucumbers, broccoli, peanut butter, or sweet potatoes."