Tayvis One-Shots

i'll save you a seat

Travis's POV

It was supposed to be the proudest night of my life.

I smoothed the lapels of my suit, adjusted my tie, and tried to look calm. Cameras flashed from every direction as I stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, reporters shouting questions I couldn't process. I managed a few polite smiles and a wave, but my gaze kept darting to the seat chart in my hand.

Two names.

Taylor Swift.
Travis Kelce.

The world thought we were attending the Grammys together. They didn't know the truth yet. They hadn't seen the headlines that would break tomorrow morning. I kept waiting for someone to ask, but all they cared about was what I was wearing and who I was excited to see.

If only they knew.

I made it inside the theater, avoiding small talk as I found our assigned table. Her seat was perfect, front and center, as if someone had planned it knowing she would win. The chair was empty, and even though it had been less than 72 hours since I last saw her, it felt like a lifetime.

I sat down and tried to breathe. But the memory came without warning, vivid and sharp.

The sunlight had just begun to filter through the curtains. I'd woken up first, slipping out of bed to make us coffee. She loved it when I brought it to her, black with just a hint of honey.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I teased as I set the mug down beside her on the nightstand.

She blinked groggily, her hair a mess, her voice raspy with sleep. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, but she smiled up at me, soft and warm.

I leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Take your time."

She got up a little while later, padding into the kitchen where I was flipping pancakes. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, pressing her cheek against my back. "What would I do without you?" she whispered.

"You'll never have to find out," I promised.

She laughed, but there was a faint tremor in her voice. I turned, brushing my fingers against her cheek. "You okay?"

"Just tired," she said. "It's been a long few years, the tour finishing and stuff, the new album... you know?"

Something in her eyes made my stomach twist, but I didn't push. I should've pushed.

She sat down at the table, cradling her coffee in her hands. I was just pouring the syrup when I heard it—the sound of her chair scraping back abruptly, followed by a soft, terrifying thud.

"Taylor?"

She was on the floor, her coffee spilled, her body limp.

"Taylor!" I shouted, dropping everything as I rushed to her side. Her eyes were half-open, her breaths shallow and ragged.

"Hey, hey, stay with me," I begged, my hands shaking as I cradled her face. "Taylor, open your eyes!"

She didn't respond. I fumbled for my phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers.

"My-my fiancée collapsed," I stammered. "She's unresponsive. Please, please hurry."

The operator's voice was calm, giving instructions I could barely process. I tilted her head back, listening for her breath. It was there, but faint. Too faint.

The minutes stretched into eternity as I knelt beside her, stroking her hair, whispering desperate promises. "It's okay, baby. Help's on the way. Just hold on. Please hold on."

The paramedics arrived, their voices a blur of urgency as they lifted her onto the stretcher. I followed them into the ambulance, clutching her hand like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.

"Stay with me, Taylor," I whispered over and over. "Don't you dare leave me."

At the hospital, they whisked her away, leaving me alone in the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway. I paced, my heart hammering, my mind racing with every worst-case scenario.

And then the doctor came out, his expression grave.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We did everything we could, but her heart gave out. It was a congenital condition. Undiagnosed. There was nothing we could've done."

His words didn't make sense. They couldn't make sense.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You're wrong. She was fine this morning. She—she can't be gone."

But she was.

The sound of applause brought me back to the present, and I realized my hands were trembling. I clenched them into fists, trying to steady myself.

The nominees for Album of the Year were announced, and my heart felt like it might stop.

"And the Grammy for Album of the Year goes to... The Tortured Poets Department, Taylor Swift!"

The applause was deafening, but all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Her face flashed on the screens, her smile radiant as ever, but it only made the ache worse.

The presenter looked around, confused, before gesturing toward me. "Travis Kelce, would you like to accept this on her behalf?"

I stood slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me. The spotlight followed me to the stage, but I felt like I was walking through fog.

The Grammy felt heavy in my hands, heavier than it should have. I stared out at the crowd, at all the people who loved her, and my throat tightened.

"She... she should be here," I began, my voice cracking. "This was her dream. To stand on this stage, to share this moment with all of you. But yesterday... yesterday, I lost her."

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a heavy silence.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. "She'd been feeling unwell for a few weeks, but Taylor being Taylor, she refused to let it slow her down. She kept pushing, kept performing, because that's who she was. She gave everything to her fans, to her music, to the people she loved.

"But the truth was... she was sick. She had an undiagnosed heart condition. And yesterday morning, after we'd had coffee together, she collapsed. She was gone before the ambulance even got there."

My voice broke, and tears streamed down my face. The crowd was eerily quiet, the weight of my words hanging in the air.

"I don't know how to do this without her," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "She was my heart, my compass, my everything. But I know she'd want me to be here tonight. She'd want me to thank you all for loving her, for giving her a reason to keep creating, even when she didn't have much left to give."

I looked down at the award in my hands, my tears dripping onto the polished gold surface. "This isn't mine. It's hers. And I'll spend the rest of my life making sure her music, her light, never fades."

I walked off the stage to a standing ovation, but it felt distant, hollow.

Later that night, I sat alone in our bedroom, surrounded by her things. Her guitar leaned against the wall, her notebook lay open on the nightstand, and her scent lingered faintly in the air.

Her notebook had a half-written song scrawled across the pages. I ran my fingers over the ink, imagining her sitting here, humming the melody to herself.

And as I read the lyrics, I wept for the future we'd lost. For the life we'd never get to live. For her.

I stayed there until morning, surrounded by her words, her music, her memory. And for the first time, I let myself feel the full weight of what I'd lost.

i can't believe the tour is over. here are some depressing one-shots cause we all need them.