Nova [Tayvis Fanfiction]

BLACK HOLE

20 Weeks Post Accident
Taylor Swift's Point of View
As I step into the hospital, my steps feel heavier than usual. The weight of my growing belly has made wearing heels a distant memory, and now even the flats pinch against my swollen feet. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for another visit with Travis, hoping for any small sign of change. It's become a routine—a quiet, solemn ritual of sitting by his side, holding his hand, and hoping he might somehow feel my presence.

But today, something feels different before I even reach his door. As I approach, I catch sight of a flurry of activity inside his room. A wave of shock hits me—doctors in white coats are moving around, machines are beeping, an x-ray screen lights up with images, and one doctor off to the side carefully draws a vial of Travis's blood. There's an air of urgency in the room that makes my pulse quicken.

Confused and worried, I instinctively step forward, only to feel the cold resistance of the locked door. My eyes fall on a freshly placed sign taped at eye level: "Notice: Authorized Personnel Only." A chill runs through me as I absorb those words, and I place my hand on the door, feeling an ache deeper than just the physical discomfort I've gotten used to.

Frustrated, I try to catch the attention of one of the nurses nearby. She offers me a sympathetic smile but gestures for me to wait.

A minute later, the door opens, and one of the doctors steps out, adjusting his gloves. He looks my way, recognizes me instantly, and approaches with a calm yet serious expression.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to keep the anxiety from creeping into my voice. "I wasn't told there'd be all these tests... I mean, is he okay? I haven't been able to come by for a few days, but this is... different."

The doctor's expression softens as he meets my worried gaze, picking up on the distress I'm working so hard to keep under control. "He developed a fever, and we noticed his heart rate began to rise significantly," he says gently. "After running some tests, we determined that he's developed pneumonia."

My heart sinks as I absorb the words, and the weight of them feels like a blow. Pneumonia. Of all the setbacks he could face, this one feels especially cruel. I take a shaky breath, trying to keep my composure. "How... how bad is it?"

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "It's serious, but we're monitoring him closely. We've started him on a strong course of antibiotics, and he's being given extra oxygen to support his breathing. The pneumonia adds complications, but he's in good hands, and we're doing everything we can to manage it."

I nod, feeling the sting of helplessness. "Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?"

The doctor gives me a reassuring smile, although it doesn't fully reach his eyes. "Just keep being here. It can make a difference, even if he's not fully aware."

I press my hand against the glass of the door, aching to be by his side, to hold his hand and somehow will him through this.

Days turn into an agonizing blur as I keep vigil at the hospital, alternating between watching him and pacing in the hallway outside. Every few hours, a nurse or doctor emerges to update me, and each time, I hold my breath, praying they'll tell me he's getting better. But the news remains the same: his body is struggling to fight the infection.

On the third night, as the hallway lights dim, I sit by his bed, clutching his hand as if I can transfer my strength to him. The steady rhythm of machines and his shallow breaths are the only sounds, echoing painfully in the stillness. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his hand.

"Travis," I whisper, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. "You've got to fight this. We need you here. I need you here." My fingers trace circles over the back of his hand, seeking any sign, any hint that he can hear me.