The Morning After

Taylor's head is pounding, that is the first thing she notices.

Then that her mouth is dry as a desert and finally that she is feeling slightly sick.

With a groan of familiarity at the sensations she buries her heavy head in one of the many pillows, wishing she could just fall back asleep and deal with this later.

Long fingers find their way into the singer's blonde locks at the sound and movement signaling that she is, in fact, alive.

Right, a sleepy smile makes its way onto Taylor's lips, Karlie is still here.

The model runs her fingers through Taylor's hair a couple of times, gently trying to coax her into opening her eyes and rolling over.

Taylor pretends not to notice until the other woman finally speaks, softly. She's considerate of her girlfriend's state, empathic as always, even when Taylor's pain is self-inflicted.

"Headache, sweetie?" She asks, a faint note of amusement in her voice.

Taylor just groans into the pillow again, but then finally, rolls over to meet the green eyes studying her intently.

There is a broad smile playing on Karlie's lips, the model is seemingly endlessly entertained by this whole situation.

She's seen the usually so poised, well-behaved Taylor Swift letting loose, dancing, yelling, drinking, in public. Her arms unapologetically snaked around Karlie all the while.

She's seen all that. That side of Taylor, the side that she knows,come out while outside of these four walls or in the safe company of trusted friends and she apparently finds it funny.

Taylor would've been mildly insulted if it wasn't for the gentle affection hiding just underneath the smugness, the smugness telling her: I know.

I know what you're really like and I love you. Her eyes are warm and fond.

She thinks I'm pretty. Taylor finds herself dazedly thinking, she thinks I'm pretty even right now, even like this...

"I love you," she says simply in greeting and Karlie's trademark, sunshine grin looks like it's about to split her face in two.

"I love you too; you're so beautiful in the mornings." Taylor can feel her face heat up and resists the urge to hide it in her hands like a blushing kid with a schoolgirl crush.

"Ugh, no," she protests, "I'm a mess, especially today."

"Maybe, but if you are a mess, then you're a mess that I want."

The older of the two feels her heart swell in her chest at the words; a year ago she'd been convinced that no one could ever want her. That she'd be better off just isolating herself from the world, never to open herself up to even the remote possibility of love ever again.

She'd thought she'd become jaded, broken beyond repair and yet now here she is, being told that she's wanted, loved, valued.

Words do not often fail Taylor Swift, but as she lays there looking at the woman she is lucky to have, her one and only, her lifeline she finds that now is one of those rare times that they are in fact failing her, spectacularly.

Maybe it's because she isn't fully awake yet, or because she's overwhelmed by the love she feels towards the woman in her bed.

Whatever the cause, in response she doesn't speak, she leans in to kiss Karlie.