He's my endgame! (Tayvis)

The night before

Taylor packed slowly.

Not because she didn't know what she was doing, but because she did.

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with clothes that meant nothing and one outfit that meant too much. She moved around it like it might speak first, folding and unfolding the same sweater, checking the weather in Kansas City for the third time even though she already knew the answer.

Cool. Clear. Uncomplicated.

She sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence stretch.

There was no dramatic moment. No rush of certainty crashing into place. Just a steady awareness that had been building all week, brick by brick, until it felt solid enough to stand on.

Her phone buzzed.

Not Travis.

Tree.

You okay?

Taylor smiled faintly. Yeah. Just thinking.

That's never just thinking with you, Tree replied. Want to talk?

Taylor glanced at the suitcase again. At the quiet room. At the version of herself that had learned how to protect what mattered by keeping it small.

I think I already decided, she typed.
After a pause: I just need to do it without making it a thing.

The response came a moment later.

Then do it your way.

Taylor set the phone down and stood. She folded the outfit carefully and placed it on top of everything else, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.

Her phone rang.

This time, it was Travis.

She stared at the screen for a second before answering, like acknowledging it would make something real.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he replied, voice warm and familiar. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," she said. "I was up."

There was a brief pause, not awkward, just thoughtful.

"I just got back," he said. "Figured I'd check in. Make sure you're okay."

"I am," she said honestly.

"That good 'okay' or the complicated one?" he asked, gently.

She smiled to herself. "Both."

"I can handle both," he said easily.

She moved to the window, city lights glowing below. "Do you ever get the feeling that something's about to change, even when nothing's actually happened yet?"

"All the time," he said. "Usually right before a game. Or... something important."

She leaned her forehead against the glass. "I keep thinking about what it means to be seen. About how much of that has ever really been my choice."

He didn't rush to answer.

"That's not something you owe anyone," he said finally. "Including me."

"I know," she said. And she did, that was the problem. "But I also don't want to keep hiding things just because I'm afraid of what people might turn them into."

Another pause.

Not heavy. Just careful.

"I'm not asking you for anything," Travis said. "And I won't. I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I'm good. I trust you."

Her chest tightened, slow, steady, grounding.

"That's why this feels different," she admitted. "You don't try to steer it."

"I don't need to," he said. "You know what you're doing."

She closed her eyes.

They talked for a few more minutes, about nothing important. About his flight. About how she never slept well in hotel beds. About how he always slept best the night before a game.

Eventually, the conversation softened, winding itself down naturally.

"I should let you rest," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You too."

"Travis?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said. Not for the call. For everything else.

"Anytime," he replied. "Sleep well, Taylor."

When the line went quiet, she didn't feel the urge to fill the space.

She changed into pyjamas and slid under the covers, phone resting beside her. The room felt calmer now, like the decision had stopped circling and finally landed.

For the first time, she let herself imagine it, not the cameras, not the crowd.

Just walking into the stadium.
Just sitting down.
Just being there.

Her heart didn't race.

It settled.

Taylor closed her eyes and exhaled.

Tomorrow, she wouldn't be hiding.

Tomorrow, she would choose him, not loudly, not for anyone else.

Just honestly.

And for once, that felt like enough.