Daylight

Taylor #5

The drive to Travis's place is quiet, the radio playing softly in the background as my thoughts swirl. It's been years since we were this close, yet somehow, everything feels so familiar—like I never stopped knowing him.

When I pull up, he's already waiting at the door, leaned casually against the frame, hands shoved in his pockets. The moment he sees me, his face lights up.

"Hey, you," he says, holding open the door as I step inside.

"Hey yourself," I reply, taking in the space. His house is warm and inviting, with just the right amount of chaos to show he actually lives here.

"Make yourself at home," he says, gesturing to the couch. "You want something to drink? Beer? Wine?"

"Wine sounds good," I say, sitting down and kicking off my shoes.

He disappears into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. "Figured you'd prefer wine over beer," he says, pouring for both of us.

I smile, taking the glass. "You guessed right. But you're still a beer guy, huh?"

"Always," he says with a grin, holding up his glass. "Cheers to...reconnecting."

"Cheers," I echo, clinking my glass against his.

We fall easily into conversation, reminiscing about old times and catching up on everything we've missed. He tells me about his life in football—the highs, the lows, the absurdity of it all. I tell him about tour life, the never-ending chaos of being on the road.

"So," he says, leaning back against the couch, "what's the weirdest fan encounter you've ever had?"

"Oh, God," I say, laughing. "Where do I even start? There was this one guy who dressed up like me and somehow got backstage. Security thought he was part of the crew."

"No way," Travis says, laughing so hard he almost spills his beer.

"I swear," I say, grinning. "He even had the curls and the sparkly dress. It was terrifying."

The night drifts on, the wine bottle slowly emptying as the conversation turns deeper. We talk about dreams, regrets, and everything in between.

But the whole time, I can tell something's on his mind. His leg bounces slightly, his fingers fidget with the label on his beer bottle.

"You okay?" I ask finally, setting my glass down.

He looks up at me, startled. "Yeah. Why?"

"You just seem... nervous," I say, tilting my head.

He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling softly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Painfully," I tease, nudging him with my foot. "What's up?"

He hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "Okay, look... I've been thinking about this a lot. And I don't want to mess this up or rush you or anything, but... I really like you, Taylor. I always have. And now that we've reconnected, I don't want to let you slip away again."

My heart is pounding as he continues.

"So," he says, his voice steady but his hands still fidgeting, "would you... would you be my girlfriend?"

For a moment, I'm frozen, the words hanging in the air. Then I break into a smile.

"Yes," I say softly. "Of course I will."

The relief on his face is immediate, and before I can say anything else, he leans in and kisses me. His lips are warm, soft, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

When we finally pull apart, I can't help but laugh softly. "You've been nervous about that all night?"

"You have no idea," he says, grinning.

"I'm glad you asked," I say, touching his arm.

He walks me to the door, his hand lingering on mine as we say goodbye.

"Drive safe," he says, his voice low and warm.

"I will," I promise, stepping out into the cool night air.

By the time I get home, my head is spinning—not from the wine, but from him. I barely make it to my bed before collapsing onto the mattress, a goofy grin on my face.

"Holy shit," I whisper to the empty room, my heart still racing. "What just happened?"

Whatever it was, it felt perfect.