Tayvis One-Shots

please tell em my name

Travis's POV

The world is silent, but my ears are ringing.

The press conference ended almost half an hour ago, and I still haven't moved from the couch. The remote is lying forgotten on the floor where I must've dropped it, but I can't make myself pick it up. I just sit there, my elbows on my knees, my hands hanging uselessly between them, staring at nothing.

She just told the world she's dying.

I already knew. Of course, I knew. I was in the damn doctor's office with her when we heard the diagnosis. I saw the way her whole body went rigid, how her fingers dug into my arm like she could anchor herself to me. I felt how small she was, how breakable she suddenly seemed.

ALS.

Three little letters that changed everything.

Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. A disease with no cure. No treatment that can stop it. It starts slow—weakness in her hands, little tremors in her fingers, a stumble here and there. Things we brushed off at first. But then she couldn't hold a pen without her hand shaking. Couldn't open a damn water bottle without struggling. Couldn't play guitar without her fingers betraying her.

And now? Now, some days, she can't even button up a shirt by herself.

The door creaks open.

I don't have to look up to know it's her.

But when I do, my chest caves in.

Taylor stands there, framed by the doorway, the glow from the hallway lights catching the golden strands of her hair. She looks... tired. Exhausted in a way makeup can't hide. The press conference must have drained her completely. But even now, even after telling the entire world that she's sick, she still forces a small, tired smile.

"Hey, baby," she says softly.

Her voice is weaker than it used to be. Sometimes, it's hard for her to project, like her body is betraying her in every way it can. But she still tries.

That's what shatters me the most.

I'm off the couch in an instant, closing the space between us, wrapping my arms around her like I can shield her from all of it. She lets out a small breath against my chest, her body pressing into mine like she needs this—needs me—to keep standing.

"I'm so proud of you," I whisper into her hair, pressing a kiss there.

She laughs, but it's weak, and I can feel her fingers trembling slightly against my back. "I don't know if I did the right thing."

"You did," I say firmly. "You always do."

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her blue eyes shining, the way they always do when she's feeling too much but won't let it spill over. I bring my hand up, brushing my knuckles against her cheek, feeling how cold her skin is.

"Travis..." she starts, but her voice catches, like she physically can't get the words out.

I shake my head, pressing my forehead against hers, breathing her in.

"I've got you, angel," I murmur. "No matter what."

A shaky exhale leaves her lips, and I feel the first tear hit my collarbone.

And then she breaks.

Her body shakes, and I hold her tighter. She fists the fabric of my shirt in her hands, gripping it like she's terrified of slipping away.

"I don't want to disappear," she whispers against my throat, and fuck, if that isn't the thing that finally wrecks me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding her like I can somehow stop time. Like I can somehow stop this.