I Know Places (Taylor Swift Imagines) (GxG)

"She Can't See Without Her Glasses."

yes this is inspired by My Girl

I feel like I should put some AO3 warning here like major character death or something

think younger TTPD Taylor

The guitar is too big in her hands. It always has been. Her fingers don’t stretch quite right, her grip is too stiff, and every time she tries to press down on the strings, she winces like it actually hurts. But she won’t give up. She never does.

Taylor sits cross-legged in the grass, summer humming in the air around her, her glasses slipping down her nose as she squints at her fingers. You reach out without thinking, pushing them up for her like you always do. She goes still beneath your touch, just for a second, just long enough to make your heart stutter.

“There,” you murmur, pulling back. “Try again.”

She exhales, nods, and starts again---C, G, A minor, F. The transitions are clumsy, but they’re getting better. She chews her lip, concentrating, before glancing up at you through the lenses of her glasses, eyes warm, waiting for your approval.

“How was that?” she asks, tilting her head, a soft smile curling at the corners of her lips.

You could say, Better. You could say, You’re getting there.

Instead, you say, “I love you.”

The words slip out like they’ve been waiting---coiled tight inside you, just waiting for the right moment, and now they’re here, spilling out into the thick, honey-warm air between you. You don’t know if it’s because of the way the light catches in her hair, turning it to fire, or because of the way she always sticks her tongue out just a little when she concentrates, or because of the way she looks at you now, glasses sliding down again, blinking like she didn’t hear you right.

Taylor laughs, but it’s breathless, shaky. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

She looks down at the guitar in her lap, fingers idly strumming nothing, and for the first time, she’s quiet. Her glasses slip again. She doesn’t push them up.

You could say, It’s okay. You could say, Forget I said anything.

But you don’t. You just watch her, waiting.

After a long moment, she says, “You’re my best friend.”

She doesn’t say it back.

But she doesn’t let go of the guitar, either.

The afternoon is warm, thick with the scent of grass and honeysuckle. You’re lying on your back beneath the oak tree, half-listening to the rustling leaves overhead, when you hear footsteps---her footsteps, the ones you’d know anywhere, fast and light and hers.

“Stay there!” Taylor’s voice is bright, breathless, and when you blink up at her, she’s already leaning over you, hands on her knees, glasses askew from running. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you---excitement sparking in her eyes, hair clinging to her forehead---that makes your chest go tight.

“What---?”

“I have to show you something!” She grins, rocking on the balls of her feet, jittery with anticipation. Her glasses slide down, and this time, she doesn’t wait for you to fix them---she just shoves them up herself, quick and clumsy. Then she’s gone, turning on her heel and running, long limbs moving like she’s chasing the wind.

She doesn’t say where she’s going. She doesn’t say when she’ll be back.

You watch her disappear into the trees, her laughter still ringing in your ears.