isn't it? [taylor swift]

chapter 63

The apartment was still dark when Leia woke.

Not midnight-dark, but that silvery-blue kind that slipped through the windows just before sunrise, painting soft shadows across the floorboards. She didn't open her eyes right away. Her body was warm, tangled in the duvet, the faint weight of what she assumed was probably Olivia stretched across her calves. The world was quiet. Still.

Then she remembered.

Her album was out.

Ethereal had officially been released into the world while she slept. A body of work that had taken over her life - had nearly undone her at times - was now living in people's phones, headphones, apartments. In strangers' rooms, in friends' car rides, in someone's heartbreak playlist. It was out there, and there was no taking it back.

Riven had been kind enough to post on her socials when it came out at midnight, knowing she wanted to just sleep and not worry too much about first impressions of the album as it came out. She loved sees fans get excited at midnight release but she was so tense from her panic attack previously that she thought it was best to just let him handle the rollout. 

Hence why her release day was the one day that she didn't have any promo events this week.

Leia opened her eyes slowly, blinking up at the ceiling.

She didn't feel panicked. That was the first surprise. She didn't feel euphoric either.

What she felt was... quiet. Not numb or empty. Just quiet. Like the inside of her chest had stopped echoing for the first time in a long time.

Carefully, she slipped out from under the duvet, trying not to disturb Taylor beside her. But of course, Taylor stirred anyway.

"Mm?" came the sleepy murmur behind her.

Leia turned, pausing at the foot of the bed. "Just getting a drink."

Taylor's voice was thick with sleep. "It's still dark."

"I know." Leia offered a soft smile as she cast a look at the blonde buried under the covers. "Can't sleep."

Taylor hummed in understanding and tugged the blankets tighter around herself, eyes already drifting shut again. "Come back soon."

"I will."

Leia padded barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment had that stillness she loved - like it was holding its breath. She filled the kettle, the familiar click and hum grounding her as the water began to heat. In the living room, Tate lifted his head from the rug and blinked at her, then sighed and flopped back down.

Her phone was on charge on the kitchen counter.

She didn't check Twitter. Didn't open Instagram or her text messages.

Instead, she pulled up her music app, found ethereal, and hit play.

The opening notes of the first track drifted into the room - low, spacious, layered with static and piano. She leaned against the counter, mug cradled in her hands once the tea was steeping, and just... listened.

Each track slid into the next like a tide rolling in. She'd lived inside these songs for so long, had revised, rewritten, recorded, re-recorded. But now they were whole. She wasn't adjusting EQ or swapping lyrics. This was it.

By the fourth track, her throat had gone tight.

Not because of nerves. Not even because of pride.

But because it felt like saying goodbye to something only she had known.