Tayvis One-Shots

calm down

Travis's POV

It had been a long day, and I could tell Taylor was wound up the moment I walked through the door. She was sitting on the couch, her laptop perched on her knees, her phone face down on the coffee table. Normally, when I got home, she'd greet me with a smile or a soft kiss, but tonight, her attention stayed glued to the screen.

"Hey, babe," I said, setting my bag by the door and kicking off my shoes. "What's up?"

She barely looked up. "Working on something for the re-recordings." Her tone was clipped, distracted.

I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, glancing over my shoulder at her. "Need anything? Food? Drink? A break?"

"No, I'm fine," she muttered, typing furiously.

I could tell she wasn't really fine, but I didn't want to push. Not yet. Instead, I leaned against the counter, watching her work. She looked amazing even when she was stressed—hair loosely tied back, glasses perched on her nose, wearing one of my hoodies.

"Big project?" I asked, trying to ease her into a conversation.

Finally, she sighed and closed the laptop, leaning back against the couch cushions. "Yes, and it's driving me crazy. I have this deadline for the Vault track and a hundred other things to do. On top of that, Tree wants me to approve a statement about something I don't even care about, and I just—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.

I crossed the room and sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Sounds like a lot. Anything I can do to help?"

She looked at me, her expression softening for a moment before hardening again. "It's not like you can write the song for me, Travis. Or deal with Tree. Or figure out why every little thing has to fall on my shoulders."

Her words weren't meant to hurt, but they stung anyway. I pulled back slightly, trying not to take it personally. "I get that you're stressed, Tay, but you don't have to do it all alone. I'm here, you know."

She groaned, running a hand through her hair. "I know. I just... I hate feeling like this. Like I can't catch my breath."

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she snatched it up, scanning the screen with a frown. "And there it is again. Another thing to deal with."

I tried to lighten the mood. "You should just tell everyone you're off-duty tonight. Queen Taylor deserves a break."

But instead of laughing or rolling her eyes like she usually would, her jaw tightened. "See, this is what I mean. You're joking around like it's no big deal, but this is my life, Travis. This is my career."

I blinked, caught off guard. "I wasn't saying it wasn't. I was just trying to help you relax."

"Well, maybe I don't need to relax. Maybe I need someone who understands how much this means to me instead of brushing it off like I'm overreacting."

And there it was—the spark that would ignite the argument to come. I could feel my frustration rising, but I forced myself to stay calm.

"I do understand, Taylor," I said evenly. "I know how important this is to you. I just don't think it's worth running yourself into the ground over."

She shook her head, standing up and pacing the room. "You don't get it, Travis. You can't get it. Your job is... it's different. You don't have the world scrutinizing your every move, waiting for you to slip up. You don't have-"

I stood, cutting her off. "Are you serious right now? You think I don't know what it's like to be under pressure? To have people waiting for me to fail? You think I don't deal with that every time I step onto the field?"