Imagines (Beyonce x y/n)

Long Distance 2

My jaw dropped. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor, the connection to the voice still whispering from it severed. Giselle. My Giselle. Was Beyoncé. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles. The pieces, like a million scattered fragments of a shattered mirror, suddenly snapped into place, forming a terrifyingly coherent picture

The "bad lighting" on FaceTime. Of course. How else could a global superstar hide her identity? The Amiah comment – she hadn't seen Amiah in a blurry background, she'd seen Amiah next to me in the stadium. The "She touches you a lot?" – not jealousy over a friend, but over Amiah touching me while she was watched  from the stage. Her sudden distance, the clipped answers, the silence today – the stress of this deception, perhaps, or the growing proximity of the reveal. It all made a sickening, crystal-clear sense.

I stared at her, my vision blurring at the edges, the thrumming energy of the stadium outside the room feeling like a distant, distorted echo. She stood there, no longer the untouchable icon, but a woman whose eyes were wide with a heartbreaking mix of fear and desperate hope. Her hand, still clutching her own phone, dropped slowly to her side. The silence stretched, vast and deafening, punctuated only by the frantic beat of my own heart.

"G-Giselle?" I managed, the name feeling foreign and unreal on my tongue when spoken to her. It was a mere whisper, laced with a betrayal so profound it choked me.

Her lips trembled. "Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft, devoid of the stage power, imbued instead with a fragile vulnerability that almost made me forget my anger. "I... I can explain."

"Explain?" My voice, when it finally found strength, was shaky, rising in pitch. "Explain what? Explain why the woman I've been in a relationship with for months... is Beyoncé? Explain why you've been lying to me? Every single day? Every single call?" My hand instinctively rose to my head, raking through my hair. "The 'long work days'? The 'bad lighting'? The 'can't tell you where I am'?" I laughed, a raw, bitter sound that held no humor. "You were on world tour, Giselle! You were performing in front of thousands! I was watching you perform! From the crowd! You were watching me!"

Her eyes were welling up, shiny with unshed tears. "I know, Y/N. I know how this looks. It's... it's complicated."

"Complicated?" The word was a hot, sharp blade. "You think this is 'complicated'? I thought I knew you. I told you everything. My life. My hopes. My fears. And you... you were... her." I gestured wildly at her, at the shimmering costume, at the impossibility of it all. "You're a global icon! And you... you were pretending to be... normal? With me?"

She took a hesitant step forward, her hand reaching out before faltering, dropping back to her side. "Y/N, please. I never meant to hurt you. It wasn't... it wasn't a game. It started... it started small. A chance encounter, online. I was just Giselle then. Just a woman looking for... for something real, something away from... all of this." She gestured around the room, to the subtle signs of her colossal career. "You were so genuinely kind, so funny. You saw me, not the persona. And I... I fell for you."

"Fell for me?" My voice was cracking now, grief and anger warring within me. "While you were lying to my face? Every single day? Did you ever intend to tell me? Or was I just... a distraction? A little secret project for when you were bored on tour?"

"No!" Her voice was suddenly firm, though still laced with pain. "Never. That's not it at all. I wanted to tell you. Every day I wanted to. But how? How do you tell someone... that? Without them thinking you're insane, or a fraud, or that you're just some kind of twisted joke? And the longer it went on, the harder it became." She took another shaky breath. "I was terrified, Y/N. Terrified of losing you. Terrified you'd hate me. Terrified you'd think I was crazy for even trying to have a normal life, a normal relationship."