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Chapter Text

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In musical competition with the biggest artist in the world, Rhea Calder tries everything in her power to surpass her. All while she is focused on her success, her rival, Billie, is slowly trying to win her heart.

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𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝟐𝟐 | 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫
𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦: 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞)

✧༺♥༻∞

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇
𝟐𝟑 | 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

✧༺♥༻∞

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄
𝟐𝟏 | 𝐃𝐉/𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫
𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞/𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦: 𝐓𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨

✧༺♥༻∞

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒
𝟐𝟕 | 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦: 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬

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Welcome to Still Into You!

This book is a mix between reality and fantasy (fantasy as in the songs released in the book do not follow the original date of the release. It's all based in 2024! but for example COPYCAT will be a 2024 song)

Comments and Votes are greatly appreciated and of course encouraged!! Speak your minds!

I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter Text

BILLBOARD TOP 100
Week of November 30, 2024

1. A Bar song (Tipsy) - Shaboozey
2. Die With A Smile - Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars
3. Birds Of A Feather - Billie Eilish
4. Lose Control - Teddy Swims
5. Misery Business - Rhea Calder

...

✧༺♥༻∞

☆  RHEA  ☆

THE TONIGHT SHOW STARRING JIMMY FALLON

"Everyone welcome back Ms. Rhea Calder!"

I wave to the crowd, walking over to the iconic dark blue chairs before I sit down, giving both Jimmy and the crowd a wide smile.

"Thank you so much for having me again!" I exclaimed, placing my hands on my lap as I wiggled my shoulders excitedly.

"Thank you so much for coming back! Now, let's talk."

I nod my head, mirroring his body language as he goes serious, leading forward toward me.

"You just released a single, Misery Business, after a long break. It is currently number 5 on the Billboard Top 100 and climbing."

I smile at him, squeezing my own hand nervously, "It sure is, Jimmy."

"Now, can you tell us a little about this song? I mean it is... Wow. It's... it's powerful, it's upbeat, it's simply amazing. I for one have it on repeat and I just cannot get over it. My children love it as well."

"Yeah. It's definitely different than my older work, it's like... Taylor Swift Reputation Era if you catch my drift," I laugh, watching Jimmy chime in as the crowd laughs as well, "I think after my break and after my breakup I needed a change."

He nods, "Oh absolutely, and you embodied that amazingly. I am loving this pop-rock thing you got going on in this song."

"Thank you, Jimmy," I say, placing a hand on my heart, "I wanted a come back from that messy image I had, and I think I achieved it!" I say, looking toward the crowd. It exploded into cheer and applause and I turned back to Jimmy with a smile.

"Rhea, please, if you're willing, talk to me about the background of this song. I know you went through a very public break up, but I want to know your perspective. What drove you to create this masterpiece?"

I nod, "Yeah... So, and I will certainly not speak bad on his behalf when he is not here to defend himself, but as some may know I was in a relationship with James Rhodes and long story short, our separation is the inspiration to this song."

"Wonderful.. Wonderful.."

The interview went on, wrapping up in a quick 40 minutes before the next person went on stage. I entered backstage, meeting my best friend and producer, Maisie before we grabbed our stuff and headed out.

"I didn't expect you to talk so much about James," Maisie giggles as we walk out the back door of the building.

"I didn't either actually, but I guess that was the big question of the day."

She nods, pursing her lips, "I better not get a call from his manager. I will simply just block her number. She has been blowing me up constantly."

"Didn't I tell you to block her number ages ago?" I ask, turning to her as she walks around to the other side of the car.

We both enter the black vehicle, "Yeah but... It's not very professional of me to block someone."

I roll my eyes, "Who gives a fuck?"

She shrugs as she pulls out her phone, "I guess."

The car starts, and the driver gives me a quick nod through the mirror before he begins driving, "Back to the hotel miss?"

I look to Maisie, as if to silently ask her if that's what she wanted to do.

I look back to the driver, "Actually can you bring us to Jay's Nest."

He nods, "Sure can."

For the rest of the ride to the bar Maisie and I laugh about the interview with Jimmy. It was fun to talk with him again and compared to other interviews I've attended, he was by far the best.

The driver drops us off 10 mins later because of the traffic and we head up to the prestigious bar. It was basically the hot spot for rich people and the keycard to get in was $10,000. The only reason we had one was because of the hot bartender who gave us three free drinks every visit. Unfortunately, when we surpassed that three we had to start paying. He definitely had a little crush on us.

"Hello Beau..!" I sung as we slipped into the bar stools across the counter from our hot bartender.

"My beautiful ladies!" He exclaimed, cleaning a small glass with a white rag, "Weren't you here two nights ago?"

"Beau!" I scold, a smirk on my face, "Secrets are supposed to be kept quiet!"

He cowers, following the act as he places a finger up to his lips, "My apologies. Next time I let a secret slip, just give me a little slap right here." He teases, pointing to his posterior.

"Beau! You are so so bad."

He laughs, straightening up, "What can I get you ladies?"

"Just two cosmopolitans please!"

"You got it."

He turns away, getting started on some drinks. I turn to Maisie who had her palm in front of her mouth, but I could see the corner of her mouth peeking out and her crow's feet showing.

"What?"

"Ya'll need a room."

I roll my eyes, swatting her away, "Shut up. It's just flirty banter. Nothing serious. We both know it."

"Alright..." She sings, taking her hand away as Beau slides us our drinks then moves onto the next person at the bar. Maisie turns her entire body, our knees brushing against each other before she leans an elbow on the shiny counter.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her drink, "Bye, JLo's here."

I turn around, watching as she walks in with two bodyguards. In then turn back to Maisie, "Why does she have bodyguards, doesn't she know this place is like... protected or whatever?"

Maisie shakes her head, swirling her drink, "That woman is strange, but oh so tan. I wish my skin worked like that."

"Girl."

I shake my head, turning my body back toward the bar. The interior of this place was incredible. Like something you'd see in an Ocean's 8 movie. Bottom line, it was bougie. Something I thought I'd never get to experience.

We didn't stay long at the bar, and we certainly didn't surpass our three drinks. After, we called back the driver and headed back to our hotel. Next morning we would be heading back to LA.

✧༺♥༻∞

I sat in my bed on my phone until 11, then dressed myself and started on my way to the studio. On my way I got a call from Maisie, giving me the news that I had so desperately been waiting for.

"You finally surpassed Billie!"

It was a given that I'd eventually pass her, but I kept my cool.

"Thank goodness. She's been up there far too long."

I could hear Maisie giggle through the phone, "Rhea Calder. #1 artist in the world."

I snort, "I don't know about that."

"Just wait. When Taylor Swift dies, trust, you'll be right up there in line for #1."

"Actually, listen to this. Bruno Mars is #1."

"I cannot believe this. This is untrue."

"Yep. Well I gotta get off. I'll be at the studio in 10. Don't start without me."

"Gotcha."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

chap 1!!2&;&9/
Ofc boring at first but like what's new

Question of the day! :
We'll start easy, favorite Billie song?

Chapter Text

☆  BILLIE  ☆

"Billie this sounds like a diss track. We are not releasing a..." He laughs, "A fucking diss track."

I cringe, looking at my brother as I snatch back my notebook, "It's not a diss track. It's just..." I stuck my teeth, "the truth."

"The truth," He snorts, "Alright. Well okay. Let's do it then. It's some great lyrics, maybe we just need to tone it down a bit. Make it not soooo.... targeted?"

"What are you thinking of naming it?" He asks after I roll my eyes.

I sniff, flipping to the first page, "Copycat?"

✧༺♥༻∞

☆  RHEA  ☆

"A Holiday party? It's not even December 10th yet."

Maisie walks around me, holding a red dress in front of my body before she throws it onto the floor, "Look, I don't know what to tell ya. I was invited, and it would be good for your image. Almost everyone is going."

"Sounds like everyone just wants an excuse to let loose and ignore work."

"Well... You don't have to call it out, but yes. And so what? You probably need a damn break too. And shit, so do I."

She holds up another dress, squints, then takes it away, "Nah. This would look better on me. Fits my complexion better."

"Jesus Christ."

She giggles, skipping away toward the bathroom. I begin to pick up all the clothes on the ground, finding all the hangers then placing them back into the closet just in time for Maisie to come out. She was right. It did look better on her.

"Maisie what about the velvet Green one? Its comfy."

She shurgs, "Sure. Try that on. We can duo. You green, me red."

I grab the green dress from the closet, throwing it over my arm before I walk to the bathroom door.

"Oh! Also," Maisie says, stopping me in my tracks, "We're also going to this because I have a gig."

My mouth falls open, "Really? You could've told me earlier? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Network? I don't know. All you have to worry about is that if I'm putting on good music."

I groan loudly before shutting the door. I strip from my previous clothes, sliding the dress up my body before I zip up the back. It was tight and strapless, and with maybe some tights and gloves, a perfect wintery, holiday look.

I walk out, my palms in the air as I show her the outfit.

"Perfect!" She exclaims before running over to the closet and pulling out my Valentino platform pumps, "These would look so good."

✧༺♥༻∞

We enter the large mansion after giving our names to the bouncer. It was packed with people I've seen all over the media as well as people I've never seen in my entire life. This must have been going on for hours before we arrived and with that in mind, Maisie's set was probably next.

We walk through the crowd of people dancing, casually breaking apart Kendall Jenner and Hailey Bieber as heads into the kitchen where there's a professional bar and bartender serving up fancy drinks. We both grab something before Maisie finally says she has to let me go.

I've never been good at networking, but I guess I just had to look for someone I knew and put on a facade like I was happy to see them.

I finally let her go, standing there awkwardly with the glass in both of my hands before I begin to walk into the dancing crowd. And maybe that was my first mistake.

Immediately, I get twerked on by Lil Nas X, making me spill my drink all over my dress. He immediately turns around, his eyes wide and his hand covering his mouth.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. But Rhea, you look so beautiful gosh how are you, queen?"

I can't help but crack a smile even though I could feel the drink slowly make its way down the crevice of my boobs, "I'm good, Nas. How are you this evening?"

"So fucking drunk."

I laugh, "Really?"

He catches onto the sarcasm, "Again. I am so sorry." He then shrugs, turning back to his friends and continuing to dance. I purse my lips, exhaling deeply before I turn back, walking toward the kitchen to return the glass. I didn't need a drink anyways.

Who am I kidding, of course I do.

I ask for a refill and the bartender gives me a subtly concerned look before he pours it from the bottle straight into the glass. I end up finding an empty corner, just sipping my drink to get a little tipsy before I go and "network".

The music had switched from mainstream to more electric and I knew immediately that Maisie was starting her set. I watch the crowd in front of me blankly, watching as all the A-List celebs laughed and danced amongst themselves. Then, I catch a familiar side profile in the abiss.

I start to panic, my body going hot as I try to find an escape. Except it was already too late. He was standing in front of me and I was sweating through my alcohol drenched dress.

"Rhea? What are you doing here in this... lonely corner."

My ex, James, stood in front of me, crooked smiled as he looked me up and down, "What's up with the dress? Did you have an accident?"

"Jesus. You know what, I can't do it with you tonight."

I attempt to walk past him, but he grabs my arm tightly and pulls me back, "Don't walk away, I was talking to you."

I look up at him, squinting my eyes and glaring at him as my lips part, "You're drunk. Let go of me."

His grip becomes tighter and I wince, "Stop." I whisper through my teeth, quiet enough not to make a scene.

Except someone noticed, and walked over.

"James right?"

I turn my head to the unfamiliar voice, and James immediately lets my arm go, turning to the voice too.

"Thought so. You can leave now."

In front of us, my musical rival, the woman I've been trying to pass (and recently succeeded) on the charts. Her eyes were locked on James, not even giving me a glance, "I'm sorry, did you not hear me? I said leave."

James takes another glance at me before he shoulder-checks Billie. She stares at the ground, her body not moving before she looks up at me through her lashes.

"Corners tend to attract weirdos."

"Yet you're here."

She tilts her head, clenching her jaw before smiling, "I don't remember putting you on the invite list. Are you a plus one?"

I suck my teeth before giving her bitchy smile. I decided not to take the insult to heart, "I came with Maisie. Your DJ."

"Ahhh..." She nods, "Makes sense, because I would never put you on the list."

I inhale quickly. I didn't need this tonight, "Great! I'll leave."

I walk past her, my cheeks heated from the sudden increase in temperature in the room. I slam my glass on the bar counter before I hear her yell from behind me.

"You look great by the way! The alcohol stench coming from your dress really pulls it all together!"

My teeth grind against each other and I look up, seeing my distorted reflection in the disco balls before I make my way toward the front door. When I get into the cold air, I take out my phone, sending Maisie a quick text before I call myself an Uber.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

Someone tell rhea to get her panties out of a twist. We clearly have a hottie standing in front of us!!

Question of the Day:
What TV show or movie would you like to be in and why?

Chapter Text

First thing I do the next morning is call my manager, demanding to her that we up all advertisements on my name. We also needed to release an album quickly, hopefully in the next month or two. 

I wasn't going to let a small interaction kill my spirit and my self-image, so, we needed to move fast. Maisie was right, I was going to be the #1 artist in the world. 

Over the next week, I worked with Maisie in the studio, overlooking some songs and lyrics we had in the vault. We added more electric guitar, more bass, and more drums in order to produce the same effect that Misery Business had. We need a global jaw drop at this album and we needed the fans to lose their minds so much that there was a Grammy on the line.

This time, the Grammy's will be my bitch, not a Billie sweep. 

☆  BILLIE  ☆

2 weeks after the party

I sat on my phone, my eyebrows drawn tight as I saw the Christmas promotion Rhea Clader had put on all her social media. It was two days away from my birthday and my birthday party was just around the corner. 

In all honesty, I enjoyed Rhea's music, I just didn't enjoy her attitude. She was hardworking, yes, but she didn't know when to take a break and that was her weakness. She needed guidance and unfortunately, that could not be me. Although, after the encounter, I had with her a few weeks ago, I figured we needed a new start.

If she wants to make this a competition, I should probably get to know who I'm mopping the floor with. 

I DM'd her on Instagram, giving her a quick apology before inviting her over.

Hey. I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was a little tipsy and I didn't mean to come off as rude. I saw that James was bothering you and as any girl should, I stepped in. I think we should start anew, maybe grab a coffee? 

Surprisingly, the response came quickly. 

Hi Billie. So good to hear from you. I was a little tipsy too, but no hard feelings ok?  How does Tino's sound at 3?

I type back quickly, my eyes flicking from her profile picture to the words.

Tino's sounds great. See you then.

I never enjoyed Tino's coffee. It was a little too rich for my liking, but I would come off as picky if I had requested something else. So for the next 30 minutes, I brushed the knots out of my hair, put on mascara, lipgloss, and then went outside to my car. 

Downtown LA was crazy at this time, and I reached Tino's just a little late. But to my surprise, she too was late. So for the next 20 minutes, I sat in the back, my hood up as I chewed on a toothpick I stole from the glass bowl in the front. 

Finally, the door opened and the sounds of the LA streets quickly flooded in and then drowned back out again when the door shut. Rhea stands by the door, her creased black Doc Martens wet with rain. She takes off her jacket as she walks over to me, throwing it over the back of the chair before she sits across from me.

"You look wet," I chuckle softly as I stare at her drenched curly hair.

She squints her eyes, smiling, "Just a drizzle."

I inhale, not knowing what to say next.

"Have you ordered anything yet?" She asks, breaking the silence.

I shake my head, "Nope. Was waiting for you."

"How kind."

She stands up and I follow behind her to the counter. The worker looks at us, a little surprise in her face before she goes professional again. Her voice was a little shaky and when we went back to our table, I saw her take a picture of us out of the corner of my eye.

"How's uh... the music-making going?" she asks as she takes a sip of her mug.

She had a little snarky tone in her voice that I didn't quite appreciate, but I'll pretend I didn't hear it, "Great. Finneas and I are working on something new right now. Honestly, I think you'd like it. Maybe even resonate."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise, "Wow. I didn't know you thought of me that much, Billie."

I bite my bottom lip, snorting a laugh, "Don't flatter yourself."

She shrugs, taking another sip, "Is it about me? I know you don't like me that much."

I look away at a random couple across the store from us before finding a response, "No. It wouldn't make the charts, unfortunately."

I slam the door shut to my car immediately dialing Finneas.

"We cannot release COPYCAT!" I yell into the phone, angered at my interaction with Rhea. The entire time she seemed to be teasing me, urging for some sort of reaction. I hated it, but somehow I was intrigued with the effect it had on me.

"What? Why?"

"We just can't. It wouldn't fit the album's vibes and we... we just can't!"

"Okay okay... I guess we'll scrap it."

"Good. I'll talk to you later."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

Short chap my bad! We will start getting into the grind and juiciness soon hehe

Question of the day! :
If you were to live the rest of your life eating one food, what would it be?

Chapter Text

☆  RHEA  ☆

I sit in bed, scrolling through the countless TikToks of those AI voices trying to decipher what Billie and I's meetup was about yesterday. Somehow, even though it was a small place in LA, the paparazzi had figured out we were there and took a photo of us through the foggy window.

There were many speculations to which I rolled my eyes at. Dating and best friends were the number one assumptions. They were absolutely incorrect and very very far from the truth.

I then get a text from Maisie, my name in all caps.

RHEA
WHAT DID U DO
WHY IS #RHEAANDBILLIE TRENDING?????????????

what?
omg I stg
we got coffee to apologize for our weird encounter
and ig the paparazzi found us

TEA
THIS IS LOWKEY GOOD
BC LIKE THE FANS WILL BE ALL OVER BOTH OF U

hmmm that's true
but they're assuming were datinggggg
gross

Gross? Have u seen billie?

yes I have.

Maybe you guys can milk this. Or at least you can kinda milk it.
A bunch of her fans are going to be all over you. USE ITTTT.

real
I'll think of something
gtg get ready. cya soon

Many of the comments in the social media posts I viewed were very mixed, favoring either me or Billie. The comments saw it as some sort of competition. Some were positive, saying stuff like "my two favorite artists in one place" or the opposite "I hate Rhea. Billie needs to stay away."

Whatever they were saying, it was all wrong.

✧༺♥༻∞

I sit next to Maisie in the car as we both stare down at our phones. I was scrolling through Twitter, a small grin on my face as I liked tweets regarding Billie and I. It created uproar almost immediately and it stirred the pot tremendously. I liked tweets along the lines of us being friends, but I also liked some that portrayed us as dating.

Maisie looks over at me, catching me smiling down at my phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Liking tweets."

She snorts a laugh, "Oh boy. How's that going?"

"People are going crazy."

"I bet," She laughs before she turns back to her phone.

Suddenly, a notification drops down from the top of my phone and I feel my phone vibrate.

What the fuck are you doing?

I freeze, staring at Billie's name on my phone. Perhaps my liking spree spread like wildfire and it was now making its way to Billie. I decided not to respond, but I did get off twitter, deciding I had done enough to spur curiosity. I then put my phone down, sliding it under my leg before I turn to Maisie.

I decided not to mention it to her, figuring I'd deal with it on my own later.

Now, we just had to get through dinner with our label.

✧༺♥༻∞

I pour myself a generous glass of wine before I throw myself onto the couch. I pull my blanket up over my knees then grab my phone from the coffee table in front of me.

Finally, I open Billie's text after leaving it on delivered for 6 hours. I was already a little tipsy from dinner, but I reminded myself that I needed to respond to her.

So of course, the wine was giving me strength.

hey

No response. I stare at the blue text, waiting for it to be labeled read, but there was nothing.

I swipe out of messages, turning off my phone then grabbing the remote. I decided to turn on a show while I waited and the longer I waited, the sleepier and drunker I got.

I was getting frustrated now, so I picked up my phone and decided to text her again.

hey answer me

This time, it was read immediately. I smiled down at the phone, my eyes half lidded as I watched the bubble appear on the screen.

What was that earlier today? Why were you liking tweets of us?

Shit. I totally forgot about that. I put the wine glass down so I could type with two hands.

publicity stunt

I simply say. I then waited for her response.

Yeah so your pUbLiCiTy sTuNt is creating drama within my circle and amongst all these fans that have nothing else to do than analyze our every move.

i figured it would be good press for both of us. im struggling to find the problem

The problem is that you are encouraging everyone to say that we are dating and friends.

aww we're not friends?

She doesn't respond immediately. Instead, taking a minute before the bubble pops up.

No.

It stung just a little knowing she didn't like me one bit, but I got over it quickly.

shame. we would make a totally great pear

🍐 ?

yas pear

Suddenly, instead of texting her response, she began FaceTiming me. It caught me off guard and I began pulling my hair in front of my face and puffing it up.

"Hello?"

She seemed to be in a car with some people. It was loud compared to my quiet house.

"Sorry. That wasn't me!" She laughed, pushing away someone's head as they tried to get in the camera.

My small grin fell and I felt a little embarrassed that I put in effort to how I looked.

"Oh."

She laughs again, "Sorry!" before hanging up. The conversation ended there. No more texts and no more calls.

I felt icky inside and a pit grew bigger and bigger in my stomach. I grabbed my glass of wine, downing the rest before I stood up and stomped over to my room.

I completely turned off my phone, placing it on the charger before I shut off my lights and tugged the covers up to my chin and closed my eyes tightly.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

Sorry for the lack of chapters recently. I have been very busy but i plan to get back into the groove!

Question of the day! :
If you were to be any fictional character who would you be and why?

Chapter Text

I woke up with a slight headache. My hair was tangled and I guess I forgot to take off my makeup too.

I roll over lazily, picking up my phone to see an empty screen. No notifications, not even from Maisie. I groan, then throw my blanket to the side before sitting up. I rub my eyes, then stand up, walking into my bathroom.

I place my phone down on the marble counter before I lean over it, placing both nails around a pimple created by not taking my makeup off last night. After I was done analyzing my face, I took some micellar water and a cotton round and took off anything that wasn't transferred to my pillow.

When I hear a chime from my phone I look down immediately, but I am disappointed. It's simply a text from a spam number.

I continue my routine, getting undressed and into the shower before I go and get dressed. Still, no texts. I don't know why I was checking my phone so often. It felt like I was obsessed and I've never been obsessed with my phone like this.

It was in my hand all day, waiting for some kind of quick vibration. Nothing. Maisie texted me a couple of times, but I didn't answer. For some reason I wanted Billie to text me, to maybe say something about what happened last night. Maybe I was just blowing it out of proportion and it really wasn't that big of a deal.

But in a way I wanted her to care.

Instead of texting her to follow up and maybe laugh about what happened, I sat down in my bed with a notebook and started writing down lyrics. They were shit, but it was my way of expressing feelings before they turned into something greater.

After 4 hours I didn't even realize had passed, my stomach began to grumble. I closed the book, threw it to the side, and started into the kitchen. Thankfully, during those 4 hours, I didn't check my phone once. It was a good way to wind down and forget about it, but the interaction still lingered in the back of my mind.

Maybe I wanted to impress her? She is a big star after all and maybe, as any human might, I wanted to be her friend. I delved deep into it as I sat at my table eating leftover Chinese. I stared at the dying bouquet of flowers in front of me, my mind whirling.

She hung up so quickly, without even saying bye.

Who was she with?

Was she showing everyone else our texts? Probably.

I hated that I was overthinking like this. This wasn't like me at all. I usually brushed shit off, but no. Why was this lingering in my consciousness?

✧༺♥༻∞

DECEMBER 17

It was a few weeks after Billie and I's interaction over text and since then, we hadn't exchanged any other words to each other.

Except the afternoon of December 17.

I was wrapping up some production with Maisie when I felt two back-to-back vibrations come from my pocket. I opened my phone to see a text from Billie, but it wasn't her words. It was simply an automated message and an invite link to her birthday party.

Strange. I could've sworn she said we weren't friends.

"Who is it?" Maisie asks, trying to put her nose into my phone.

"Billie," I scoff a laugh, "She just sent me an invite to her birthday party."

"Huh? Why did she do that?"

I shrug, "No clue."

"Well, you have to go. Her parties are the best."

I bite the flesh on the inside of my mouth, staring at the Evite link, "I don't know. Last time you dragged me there it did not go so well."

She rolls her eyes, "Whatever. You were in a piss-poor mood. Your aura probably rubbed off on everyone else."

I cringe at her words, but in a sense, she was kind of right. If you don't want to have fun, you aren't going to have fun.

So after Maisie and I parted ways, I RSVP'd to Billie's party. Hopefully this time, it won't be as bad.

✧༺♥༻∞

December 18th rolled around and Maisie and I were yet again trying to figure out what to wear. Yet this time, I took some extra steps to make sure I looked better than I did last time. I straightened my hair, putting on dark makeup to make my eyes pop, and thick heels that made my calves look good.

After we were done getting ready, we got into the car and made our way to the address.

This time, Maisie wasn't playing so she would be sticking next to me all night. When we arrived at the party, we headed inside to a loud and rowdy crowd. Everyone was dancing and the music was so loud I barely could hear Maisie when she asked me if I wanted a drink.

I said yes and we both quickly made our way to the bar to grab something.

I had to give props to Billie though. This was crazy. It had a holiday theme and the decor matched the house perfectly. I recognized everyone's faces too. There wasn't one person here who wasn't an A-list celebrity.

Being someone new to the industry and just recently in the last year blowing up, I was the one person not everyone knew.

When Maisie was stopped by some people to say hi, they always either gave me an awkward greeting or didn't acknowledge me at all. Thankfully, I was close with some people, and after we got our drinks, Maisie and I headed back to them to dance.

For the next hour, Maisie and I danced, had drinks, and spoke to our friends. Finally, I had to go to the bathroom, so I excused myself and started searching for the house.

In a quieter corridor, I searched and it was when I was passing a locked white door that I stopped abruptly.

Moving toward the wall, I gently place my back against it. I turn my head so my ear was close to the door and then I drown out all the other noise and focus on the words coming from the other side of the door.

"Rhea Calder is so obsessed with me, it's kind of cute."

I hear laughter from another girl.

"Don't get too close or she's gonna write a song about you."

They both laugh.

"Yeah but... I kind of feel bad for her. I heard nobody wants to work with her because she's so controlling."

I'm not controlling...

I hear another laugh.

"I think I heard one of her producers talk about how difficult she is to work with." The other girl says.

I gasp softly, turning my head to look into the crowd of people. I see Maisie, dancing with our friends, smiling, drinking, and having a great time.

Maisie was my only producer.

I felt my heart pounding, my ears now absorbing the loud music. More laughter came from the room and quickly I became overstimulated from all the noise.

I quickly walked back down the hall, pushing through the crowd and leaving.

I ran down the street, tears running halfway down my face before getting picked up by the wind. On the corner I stopped, gasping for breath as the chilled air pierced my lungs.

Finally, I sit down on the curb and call myself a cab.

✧༺♥༻∞

Question of the day! :
Fight Billie or fight Maisie 😡

Chapter Text

☆  BILLIE  ☆

I came out of the bedroom laughing as I entered back into the crowd of people. As I brushed past people, I received countless happy birthdays and congratulations.

However, there was one person missing in the crowd. I sent out invitations individually and made sure I knew exactly who RSVP'd. Except one RSVP was nowhere to be found.

I excused myself from my group, looking around the crowd and over the heads, but nothing.

I felt kind of a pang in my gut that made my stomach churn. Maybe it was the alcohol, but there was no way I could ignore the feeling.

I decide to find Finneas, asking him if he has seen Rhea.

He shrugged, saying no, then questioning why I cared.

I told him a lie, telling him that I had to ask her for a favor. Still, he shrugged, saying he hadn't seen her.

It was weird, because Maisie was here, and technically, I had only invited Rhea since I really didn't know Maisie as well.

I decided to text her, breaking the silence that had coated our text messages.

Hey. Did you make it to the party?

There was no response, but after a minute, it changed from delivered to read. Even after it was read, there was no answer.

I bit the inside of my lip, staring down at the text. I was conflicted between texting her again and just leaving it alone. But suddenly I was surrounded by my friends who were dragging me to the bar. So I slipped my phone into my pocket and decided to forget about it.

Maybe she couldn't make it after all.

I spent the rest of the night dancing and mingling with my friends, yet unconsciously I felt myself looking around for Rhea. I told myself not to be worried about it, but deep down I felt a little guilty. At times I think I came off too mean towards her. Or "intimidating" as Finneas would say.

Either way, I felt a little bad for always being a shitface to her. In the grand scheme of things, she really wasn't terrible.

✧༺♥༻∞

The party wrapped up around 3 am, and after everyone went home, I went straight to my room to drunkenly get ready for bed. I fall into my mattress, pulling the covers up to my chin before I close my eyes.

Time ticks slowly, my mind whirling with unnecessary thoughts and worries. I toss and turn, my stomach flipping like it's on a roller coaster. Finally, I open my eyes and open my phone to see 4:37 displayed on my home screen. I squint at the bright screen, opening my phone and navigating to messages to still see no response to my text.

I don't know if it was the frustration from being left on read or the fact that I may have had too many drinks, but I found myself texting her once more. 

Wish you came tonight. Would've been better with you here.

I stare at the text surrounded in blue as I bit my lip. This time though, it was read immediately. I wasn't prepared for a response, especially at 4 in the morning, but here I was, reading the grey words.

didn't think you'd notice I wasn't there.

The text kinda hurt my heart and in a way I could see her face as she typed it. I knew we had our differences, but I didn't want her to feel like she couldn't participate in stuff I invited her to. Speaking of, if she didn't come, why did she RSVP? And if I didn't invite Maisie, why was she there?

You rsvpd tho? Sorry but that usually means you come.

I realized too late that that came off a little rude, but the response came quick enough that I stopped overthinking it. 

yeah ik. ig I just got caught up.

I stared at the text confused. She was being dismissive and vague, plus, she didn't snap back at my comment.

Is everything ok?

yeah? why wouldn't it be?

I'm not sure. It is text, but your tone seems off? idk

I get left on read and as I stare at our conversation, I continue to chew on the skin of my lip until I rip off a piece. As I run my tongue across my lip I taste iron and blood. Why was this getting me so worked up?

Finally, the text bubble comes up on the screen.

can I call you?

Without another word, I immediately begin to call her. It takes a couple rings but finally, she picks up. The call is silent, and I am the first to speak.

"Hello?"

"Were you talking about Maisie at the party?"

I furrow my brows, my lips parting in confusion. Finally it clicks.

"You said you weren't there.."

I hear her voice crack, and my heart sinks.

"I left because I heard you laughing and talking about me. Is it true? What Maisie said about me... was it true, Billie?"

Hearing my name spoken like something fragile, like it might shatter in her throat caused something irreversible in me. My stomach started churning and I felt nauseous. Her name should have never fallen from my mouth and now, I may have fucked this all up. 

We sat in silence, the weight of her voice still pressing against me. I could hear her breathing on the other end of the line, soft and uneven.

I should have said something, anything, to break the tension. But all I did was sit there, letting the moment drag on until it felt unbearable.

And then, she hung up.

I immediately panicked, texting her quickly.

I'm sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I know I shouldn't have even spoken about you like that and you didn't deserve it.

But there was no response. 

Chapter Text

☆ RHEA  ☆

I woke up the next morning with a slight headache and an aching stomach. Not even 5 minutes into me waking up, I hear the doorbell ring and after I don't get to it in 10 seconds, it rings again, and again, and again, until I finally yell "I'm coming!"

I open the door, my eyes barely open, my hair unbrushed, and my PJs still on. In front of me stands Maisie, a wide smile on her face. She clearly was unaware of what I had heard last night.

"What?"

Her stature and demeanor immediately change, "Hello to you too?"

"I'm not in the mood today Maisie."

She cringes, furrowing her brows together, "What? Why? Also why did you leave last-"

I cut her off, "Can you just leave please?"

"But, I was going to ask if you wanna-"

"Get off my fucking porch!" I snapped and I didn't even care. 

Her eyes widened and her joyful stance dropped. Her lips parted, shocked, before finally responding as she took a step back, "Jesus, okay." 

I watch as she walks away, not turning back as she angrily gets into her car and slams the door. She speeds away, not giving me another glance. It hurt, knowing she gave up that quickly, but what did I expect from a friend who thought it was okay to talk bad about me behind my back?

Can I even call her a friend anymore?

I walk back inside, throwing myself on the couch as I stare up at the ceiling. Suddenly a wave of grief falls over me and I feel a tear run down my cheek. I had never had any problems with friends like this, but somehow, this felt devastatingly irreversible. Without knowing why I snapped, she left so quickly, not even inquiring as to why I was acting out like that.

I found myself sitting there for an hour, crying and overthinking all the relationships in my life. If Maisie, my closest friend, could talk about me like that, who else has?

Out of everyone in my life, I found myself leaning on one person. The one person I thought was out to get me every chance she could. The one person I swore was my enemy. Now, this person was the only one I could open up to without a single ounce of judgment.

I grab my phone, skipping the texting and immediately ringing Billie's phone. It only took two rings before she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello." My voice was small, drained from sobbing.

"Rhea, hi. Are you okay? You sound horrible."

I couldn't help but manage a slight laugh, "No. Not really. Maisie just showed up at my doorstep and... one thing led to another and I yelled at her to get off my porch. The thing is, she just did."

It was silent for a second before she answered, "She just listened and left? What the hell? Didn't even question why?"

"Nope! Which is so weird. I guess she really is done with me."

I hear Billie sigh over the phone, "Don't say that. I'm sure you just came off a little too harsh and she took it too seriously."

"Well, I was serious."

She laughs, "Yeah but like.. you know. She just kinda took it to heart."

"I guess," I say quietly, "It just felt too rushed. Like, she didn't even question it."

"Yeah. That definitely is weird." She goes silent, "I'm so sorry, Rhea. I didn't mean to start anything between you guys. I just feel terrible. This is all my fault."

I shake my head, "No, honestly, you kind of saved me. And what you said about me, fuck you by the way, but whatever, I guess I can be kind of controlling sometimes."

She groans through the phone, "No stop. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I just, I don't know, I thought you hated me, so I guess I found myself saying the worst about you. In full honesty, I don't think you're that bad."

I scoff, "Gee, thanks."

She laughs, "Can I please make it up to you? How about I take you to lunch? I think I owe it to you after being a complete dick to you all the time."

I sniffle a laugh, "Sure. But I'm not picking."

She groans, "Fine."

✧༺♥༻∞

I didn't even bother putting on any makeup, nor did I bother putting on anything but sweatpants and a hoodie. My hair was still straight, so I put it into a little bun and left the house as soon as Billie had texted me she was here.

I walk out front, entering her passenger seat with a heavy thump.

I turn to her, confused with my brows raised as she just stared at me. She had a little gleam in her eye and the corners of her lips were turned ever so slightly upward.

"What?" I finally say. I immediately pulled her mirror down, checking if I had any new acne on my face that maybe she spotted and not me.

"Nothing," she says, almost in a defensive tone. She shrugs, her smile turned downward before she turns the car on. The car goes silent as we begin to exit the neighborhood.

"You clean up nice... in a very casual way." Billie finally says, breaking the silence.

I raise an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks. That's such a compliment."

Billie shrugs, hiding a smirk. "I mean it."

I bite the flesh inside my mouth, hiding a small smile as I turn my head away to look out the window. 

✧༺♥༻∞

I sit across from Billie at a small diner in a distant part of LA. Her eyes were locked on her menu as mine flicked between her face and the text in front of me. Finally, she sets it down, reaching for her water glass, "What are you getting?"

"Probably pancakes or the eggs benedict. What about you?"

"The vegan french toast. Obviously."

I smile, mimicking her tone, "Duh."

She smiles, raising her arms and setting her elbows on the table before she rests her chin on the backs of her hands, "So, what are we going to do after this?"

"There's an after this?"

She giggles, "Duh. I figured we could make a day out of this. We should probably get to know each other, you know."

I was taken aback but her forwardness. I guess I still haven't quite moved on from the fact that she basically called me a controlling bitch so naturally, I was a little confused.

"I suppose. What do you have in mind?"

She shrugs, leaning back into the booth, "I chose lunch, well, breakfast I guess, so it's your choice."

I roll my eyes, "Of course. Well... what are you willing to do?"

Her eyes were stuck on me in a way that made my heart race and I felt myself look away, "Anything."

I swirled my straw, refusing to look at her again until she wasn't looking at me with such... intensity, "I'm not a very adventurous person," I laugh, "I feel like whatever I choose it'll be boring."

She shakes her head, "Nothing is boring unless you make it boring."

I shrug, "Still."

Billie leans forward, crossing her arms on the table, almost close enough that I could see the slight speckles of mascara that had fallen off her lashes. I feel a breath catch in my throat, but I remain calm.

Suddenly, she changes the subject, "You know, I have never seen you without such a 'perfect' appearance. Wherever you go it's just... full on beat."

I laugh, "Fuck you! I was crying all morning!"

She laughs back, "But seriously! Full beat 24/7!" She leans back, a slight smirk on her lips, "Honestly, without coming off as rude, you look so much better like this. Softer almost. I can really read your face like this."

"Is that why you've been looking at me like that all morning? Trying to 'read' me?"

She bites her lip, nodding, "I guess so. You're just so serious all the time. I feel like right now... you're just... you."

I squint, deciding whether or not that was a compliment, "I just simply rolled out of bed, that's all."

"Maybe you should roll out of bed more often," She says, her voice soft, a sort of sultry undertone to it. Still, her eyes were locked on mine and I felt myself look away again.

Finally, the waitress breaks the tension between us, first asking us for a selfie before taking our food order. 

Chapter Text

I drag my finger across the plate, picking up the last of the syrup before I taste the sweetness on my finger. 

Billie watches me as she cleans up the last of her plate too, "Okay I have an idea."

"Hm." I hum.

"We can go on a little hike. Super short."

I raise my brows, "Sure why not. Super short as in like 5 minutes?"

"More like 10," She corrects, "But it's nothing hard. I promise it'll be worth it."

I nod my head, pushing my plate away from me, "Alright, well then let's get our check."

We wait there for the waitress to come back over to give us our check. Billie pays and then we gather our belongings and walk to the front door. As we turn the corner, we see the glass door covered in fog and droplets of rain.

I part my lips to say something but Billie just keeps walking, holding the door open as I walk into the pouring rain. I put up my hoodie, squinting my eyes as I B-lined straight toward Billie's car.

I start to pull aggressively on her car handle and as she walks over, her eyes dart to me.

"Pull on the handle one more time and I'll leave your ass right here."

I stop immediately, waiting for her to unlock the door before I quickly climb in, "My bad."

"My bad," she mocks, "I'm serious, I'll knock you out."

I roll my eyes playfully, "Okay, okay."

She turns on the car, backing out of the parking space before she rolls down the windows slightly. As we got on the road, I could hear the wet tires against the road and Billie's breath as we sat in a comfortable silence. The rain pounded against the roof of the car, drowning out my thoughts as I stared out the window.

After 5 minutes of silence, Billie cranks up her radio slightly until a slow indie song was playing. I could feel Billie's eyes flick between the road and me, but I ignored it, refusing to get caught up in her stare again. 

After 30 minutes, we began to enter a hilly area surrounded by trees and foliage. Thankfully, just as we pulled into a small parking lot, the rain began to slow down. We exited the car, meeting at the hood before we began walking onto the trail right in front of us.

"I used to come here when I needed to clear my head. Thought it might help you too." Billie said as she stepped in front of me, leading the way.

I stare at her back, the tips of her shiny hair moving slightly in the wind. I didn't quite know what to say. Her voice was soft, and I could tell she meant well.

I didn't know how to show my gratitude, so I did the only thing I knew, brush it off and laugh, "So this is your therapy spot?" I teased.

Yet, her tone didn't change to match mine, "Something like that."

I didn't say anything else, and we both walked in silence through the trees. I watched the trail carefully, strategically avoiding any puddles the rain had caused. 

"You smell that?"

Indeed I did, and I knew exactly what she was talking about. Possibly my favorite smell.

I nod my head like she could see, "Yeah. The rain."

"It's called petrichor. The smell."

I hum, "Cool. Where'd you learn that from?"

"Pinterest."

I laugh, "Seriously? Thats underwhelming. Thought I'd be some deep... lore thingy." I hesitate.

She shakes her head, also letting out a small laugh before turning her head to look at me, "Nope. Just something I saw."

Suddenly, as her eyes leave me and return to the trail, her foot clips a root and she stumbles, falling onto her knees in the mud. Her hands sink in, and I watch as her hat falls off her head.

She immediately laughs, plopping onto her butt as she looks up at my shocked face. I begin to laugh too, walking toward her with my hand, "Are you okay?"

She looks up, her smile bright and full of joy, "Yeah. It just popped out of nowhere."

She was covered in mud, just sitting there like it was no big deal. Her hand was covered in it too as she took my hand, but instead of using my arm as leverage to get up, she pulled me down next to her, and now, both of us were caked in mud.

"Billie!" I yell as my hand sinks into the rich ground, "This is Alo!"

She rolls her eyes, laughing, "Whatever! I can't be the only one covered in mud."

I groan, digging my fist into the ground as I stand up, "Unbelievable. I hate you."

She begins to stand up as well, wiping her hands on her shorts and putting her hat back on, "I'll live."

I roll my eyes, stomping in front of her as I continue to follow the path. I was mad, but somehow the sound of her laughter and her carefree nature caused me to forget she even pulled me in in the first place. 

Finally, after caking my shoes in dirt, we enter a clearing and my lips part, my eyes widening as I stared at the now clear skies. Billie stepped beside me, giving me a smile before she stepped forward to the small bench that sat looking outward.

I sit beside her, the fabric of our clothes mixing together. I could smell her perfume, so strong that it caused my brain to go cloudy.

"I told you it was worth it."

I nod, "It really is. How did you even know about this place? It's kind of in the middle of nowhere."

"Finneas and I would come up here sometimes," She shrugged. 

I took a deep breath in, holding it in before releasing it. I felt a warmth in my chest, and although it was chilly outside, I felt comfortable.

Billie breaks the silence that grew between us, "I again want to apologize for what happened."

I close my eyes, then open them slowly, "It's not your fault. If she could walk away from me like that, then that's a problem on its own. You technically opened the door for me to see that and I should be thanking you for that."

She sighs, like my answer wasn't enough for her, "I just feel so bad though."

I felt my muscles take over, and suddenly my head was on her shoulder. As soon as I realized what I had done, I froze, my eyes widening. I immediately take my head off, turning to her with a scared look, "Sorry, I don't know why I did that."

But she wrapped her arm around the back of the bench, her hand landing on the other side of my head as she brought it back down to her shoulder.

"I don't mind it."

A small grin tugged at my lips, and for the first time, I felt comfortable with Billie. Strange, really—of all the ways we could have been brought together, it turned out to be through friendship.

I feel her fingers play softly with my hair, ever so gently coiling the curls around her finger. I watch the view, the clouds moving slowly and the sun just slightly peering out. After 10 minutes of silence, a cloud moved just shy of noticeable to reveal a dull rainbow.

"Look!"

She opens her eyes, like she had been dozing, and tilts her head slightly, "Oh, yep!"

"A rainbow!"

She smiles, staring at it, her eyes almost glazed over, "So pretty." She says softly.

I take my head off her shoulder, and her hand drops, moving to her side, "We should probably head back now, right?" I ask. 

She nods, like she had just agreed with me to agree with me. We both stand up at the same time, our bodies facing each other. I look out at the sky one last time, watching the clouds slowly reveal the rainbow before I turn back to Billie.

"Oh, your hoodie is all messed up," She says quickly, her eyes on the hoodie drawstrings. I look down, noticing the humbling unevenness of the strings. I begin to pull at them, trying to make them even, but for some odd reason, they just wouldn't listen.

"Oh my god, do you even know what you're doing?"

I chuckle as she replaced my hands with hers, "When it gets like this I usually just rip them out. No use really."

She shakes her head, her eyes focused on the strings as she carefully pulls them back into place. When I looked down, they were back in their original positions.

"Thanks," I say softly, watching her lips as they turn into a small grin.

"Now we can go back."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

rainbow metaphor question mark

Question of the day! :
What's the dumbest way you've ever injured yourself?

Chapter Text

The rain had started again, just as they climbed into the car, the soft patter against the windshield filling the quiet between them. Billie's hands rested on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping a rhythm as she waited for the defroster to clear the fogged-up glass. I watched her out of the corner of her eye, unsure of what to say or if I should say anything at all.

As the car finally hummed forward onto the slick road, the silence stretched, thick but not entirely uncomfortable. The indie playlist from earlier had resumed, a melancholic guitar strumming softly through the speakers. I glanced at the rain-speckled window, my thoughts still lingering on the moment on the bench, the weight of Billie's hand my hair, the faint scent of her perfume.

"You're awfully quiet," Billie finally said, her voice cutting through the haze.

I turned my head slightly, catching the brief flick of Billie's eyes from the road to me. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing really. Just life."

Billie's mouth twitched, but she said nothing, focusing instead on navigating a turn. The rain had slowed again, the droplets streaking lazily across the windshield.

"You always do that," Billie said, almost to herself.

"Do what?"

"Deflect. Keep things surface-level."

I blinked, my brows furrowing. "I don't... deflect. And what do you mean always? You barely even know me."

I realized after I said it that it was a little harsh. Billie bit her bottom lip, her eyes covered in a puzzled gloss, "No yeah, you're right."

The car went silent again, and I feared that I had ruined what we experienced today just by my stupid comment.

Finally, Billie exhaled sharply, the sound more frustrated than she probably intended. "It's just... sometimes I feel like you're holding back. Like you're afraid to just... be real. With me, at least."

My stomach twisted, my defenses immediately rising. "That's not fair," I said, though the words came out softer than I intended. "I'm here, aren't I? Being real with you"

"Yeah, physically," Billie shot back, though her voice lacked venom. She sighed again, softer this time, and shook her head. "Never mind. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

I didn't respond, my eyes drifting back to the window. The rain had almost stopped now, leaving the world outside glistening and new. The tension in the car pressed down on me, heavier than before. I opened her mouth to say something to lighten the mood, but the words died in my throat when Billie's hand brushed hers on the center console.

I looked at her hand out of the corner of my eyes, her pinky just slightly touching my skin. It was an accident, probably—Billie reaching for something, or maybe just shifting in her seat—but the brief touch sent a spark up my arm. My breath hitched, and for a moment, the air in the car felt too warm despite the lingering chill from the rain.

Billie froze too, her hand lingering for a fraction of a second too long before she pulled it back. Her eyes flicked to my face, and when our gazes met, the tension between us shifted into something else entirely. 

"Sorry," Billie muttered, her voice barely audible over the music. Her fingers gripped the wheel tightly again, knuckles pale.

"It's okay," I said quickly, my voice higher than usual. I cleared her throat, trying to steady myself. "It's not a big deal."

"Right," Billie said, but the way she shifted in her seat, the way her jaw tightened, told a different story.

I also couldn't shake the weight of her gesture earlier—fixing my hoodie strings. It was such a small thing, yet the way she had done it, so casually but with such focus, lingered in my mind. I caught myself stealing glances at her profile: the slight curve of her nose, the way her jaw set when she concentrated. Her lips twitched, almost like she could sense my gaze, and I quickly turned back to the window.

The tension was building, and I needed to desperately find a way out without making it weird.

"So," I started, breaking the silence. My voice felt louder than I intended in the quiet car. "Do you want to come over for a bit? Maybe hang out before you head home?"

She raised a brow, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. "Hang out?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "Like... I don't know, we could play a game or something. Cards, maybe? Or I have a couple of board games. Nothing intense."

I watch as the corner of her lips raise ever so slightly. Yet her demeanor changed, like she had ignored the tension that had just occurred between us. She was back to her teasing self, which in a way, I figured was some sort of mask.

"Cards, huh? You sure you're not just trying to beat me at something to get even for the mud?"

I rolled my eyes, leaning back in the seat. "Oh, please. If I wanted to beat you at something, I'd pick something harder than cards."

"Okay, okay," she said, her smile widening. "I'm down. As long as you don't cry when I win."

"It'll be the other way around," I shot back, trying to suppress a grin.

The tension I'd felt earlier started to dissipate as we bantered, replaced by something lighter, more playful. By the time we pulled up to my house, the air between us felt almost normal again.

We step out, the air still damp and cool from the earlier rain. I unlock the door and lead Billie inside, where the warm glow of the living room light spills across the floor.

"Shoes off," I call over my shoulder, kicking mine off by the door.

She groans but follows suit, muttering something about "house rules." I smirk, grabbing the Jenga box from the shelf before plopping down on the rug in the middle of the room.

Billie leans back against the couch, her head tilting slightly as she glances down at the mud streaks on her clothes that we somehow forgot about. "I look like I just got back from a war zone," she mutters, brushing dried dirt off her leg.

I snort, standing up and heading toward my bedroom. "Stay put. I'll get you something to change into."

Her eyebrows raise slightly. "You don't have to—"

"I do," I call over my shoulder. "No way I'm letting you ruin my couch any more than you already have."

I rummage through my drawers, pulling out a pair of soft gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that I rarely wear but can't bring myself to get rid of. They're clean and smell faintly of lavender detergent—comfortable, even if they're nothing fancy.

I come back out, handing her the clothes before I turn my head toward the hallway, "Bathroom's the second door on the right."

"Got it," she says, disappearing down the hall.

As I wait, I hear the faint sounds of her moving around—water running, the soft shuffle of fabric. When she reappears, she's a completely different person.

The hoodie is slightly too big, the sleeves covering half her hands, and the sweatpants are loose but sit snugly on her hips. Her hair is tied back into a loose ponytail, and for the first time, she looks... normal. I could even say she looked like me a bit.

"Come on," I say, waving her over.

Billie lowers herself onto the floor across from me, her fingers already fiddling with the lid of the box. She looks up, her blue eyes gleaming with playful determination. "Hope you're ready to lose."

I grin, leaning forward as I start to set up the tower. "Talk all the trash you want. Actions speak louder than words, Billie."

As I finish stacking the blocks, the competitive energy between us crackles like static electricity. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not overthinking or second-guessing anything. It's just me, Billie, and the game.

And I'm determined to win, even if it's a simple game like Jenga. 

The tower wobbles dangerously as I pull out another block. Billie's eyes narrow, her hand hovering close to steady it, but I swat her away.

"No cheating," I warn, carefully setting the block on top.

She smirks, leaning back on her hands. "It's not cheating. It's... assistance."

"Sure," I deadpan, gesturing for her to take her turn.

Billie leans forward, studying the tower like it's a chessboard. Her fingers brush against one block, then another, before settling on one near the base. I hold my breath as she pulls it free, the tower shifting slightly before stabilizing. She grins triumphantly, placing the block on top.

"Your move," she says, her voice dripping with challenge.

The game goes on for what feels like forever, the tension between us now channeled entirely into the precarious stack of wood. Every move feels like a gamble, and each time the tower sways, Billie's soft laugh breaks through the quiet, making me smile despite myself.

Eventually, I'm the one who topples the tower. I groan as the blocks scatter across the rug, while Billie throws her head back, laughing so hard she nearly falls over.

"Okay, okay, you win," I concede, throwing my hands up. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she replies, her grin wide and unrestrained.

I start gathering the pieces, but Billie shakes her head. "Leave it. We'll clean it up later." She stretches out on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows. "What now?"

The air shifts slightly—lighter, but also softer. The buzz of competition fades, replaced by something quieter.

I sit back, leaning against the couch as I think. "We could just... hang out. Watch something? Or—" I hesitate, feeling oddly self-conscious. "I have some tea we could make. Or wine. Whatever."

Billie raises an eyebrow. "Tea, huh? Didn't take you for the cozy type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," I reply with a small smile.

Her eyes linger on me for a moment before she nods. "Tea sounds nice."

I push myself up, heading into the kitchen while she stays sprawled out on the floor. As I boil water and rummage through my tea stash, I can hear her humming softly, some melody I don't recognize but find oddly soothing.

When I return, two steaming mugs in hand, Billie's sitting up, her legs crossed as she leans against the couch. She takes the mug I offer, her fingers brushing mine briefly in the exchange.

"Thanks," she says, her voice softer now.

We sit in silence for a while, the kind that feels easy and natural, as we sip our tea. The room is warm and dimly lit, the rain from earlier a faint memory. Billie tilts her head back against the couch, her eyes half-closed, and I find myself watching her for a moment longer than I probably should.

"There's something about you, Rhea, that I just can't quite put a finger on."

 Billie says suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet.

The words catch me off guard. My heart skips a beat, and I grip my mug a little tighter, trying to ignore the way my cheeks warm.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, keeping my tone light, even though her words linger in the air between us.

She shrugs, her eyes flicking to the mug in her hands before returning to mine. "I don't know. You just... surprise me, I guess."

"Is that a good thing?"

Her lips twitch into a small smile, one that feels unguarded and real. "Yeah. I think it is."

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "You're full of it, you know that?"

"Maybe," she says, her smile widening. "But I mean it."

I glance down at my tea, my thoughts swirling like the faint steam rising from the mug. I don't know what to say, so I settle for a quiet, "Thanks, I guess."

The air feels heavier now, but not in a bad way—just charged, like there's something unsaid hanging between us. I risk a glance at her and catch her staring, her expression thoughtful.

"What?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Nothing," she says quickly, looking away, but I can tell she's lying.

I don't push it. Instead, I stand up, placing my mug on the coffee table. "Alright, no more staring contests. Let's do something else before this gets too weird."

Billie chuckles, setting her mug down next to mine. "What'd you have in mind?"

I think for a moment, then gesture toward the couch. "Let's just chill. Watch something. I'll let you pick."

"Dangerous choice," she teases, but she grabs the remote and sinks into the couch, patting the cushion next to her.

I hesitate for a split second before sitting down, the space between us almost nonexistent. She flips through options on the screen, eventually landing on some old comedy. 

As the movie starts, the room quiets, save for the occasional sound of dialogue and our soft laughter. I focus on the screen, or at least I try to. But it's hard not to notice Billie, the way her body shifts slightly as she gets comfortable.

She smells like rain—earthy, clean—and the faintest hint of her perfume lingers in the air. I can feel her warmth radiating from where she sits, close enough that the side of my arm brushes hers if I lean just a little.

For a while, we both stay silent, except for the occasional chuckle or comment. The movie plays on, but my mind drifts, drawn to the small, almost unnoticeable movements beside me.

Billie tucks one leg beneath her, shifting her weight, and her knee bumps mine. She murmurs an apology, but it's unnecessary—I didn't mind.

As time goes on, I start to notice the way she's inching closer, like she's testing the waters. It's subtle—her shoulder brushing mine when she leans forward to adjust the remote, her arm resting on the back of the couch, fingers just shy of my hair.

I catch myself holding my breath, hyper-aware of everything: the flicker of the TV light on her skin, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she exhales.

It's ridiculous how much space she seems to take up in my head.

"You okay over there?" she asks suddenly, her voice soft but teasing.

I nod quickly, clearing my throat. "Yeah. Just... the movie's funnier than I expected."

She grins, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "Sure, that's it."

I can't tell if she's teasing me or calling me out, but I look away, pretending to focus on the screen.

As the movie continues, Billie shifts again, this time letting her weight settle more against me. Her shoulder presses into mine, just enough to notice but not enough to feel deliberate. I glance at her, but her eyes are glued to the screen, her expression calm, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

My heart beats a little faster, and I feel my pulse in my throat. I should probably say something, move away even, but I don't. Instead, I let the warmth of her body seep into mine, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected.

By the time the credits roll, she's fully leaned into me, her head resting lightly against my shoulder. Neither of us move, and the silence that follows feels... different. Not awkward, not heavy, just quiet, like the moment is ours to hold.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

kiss kiss kiss kiss !!!!

Question of the day! :
What do you think your childhood self would think of you now?

Chapter Text

As the credits rolled, the room settled into a deep, encompassing quiet. The weight of Billie's head against my shoulder felt grounding, almost comforting, but as she stirred, the spell broke. She sat up, stretching slightly, her fingers brushing her hair back in that effortless way she always did. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over her face.

"I should probably get going," Billie said softly, her voice breaking through the stillness. She glanced at me, her expression unreadable.

I nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that her words stirred. "Yeah, of course. It's getting late."

She stood, her movements slow, like she wasn't entirely ready to leave either. She slipped back into her shoes by the door, her fingers fiddling with the laces longer than necessary. I followed, leaning against the doorframe, unsure of what to say. Thank you? Drive safe? Don't go?

Billie turned to me, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks for tonight. It was... nice."

"Yeah, it was," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Her gaze lingered for a moment, like she wanted to say something more. But instead, she just nodded, her hand on the doorknob. "See you later, Rhea."

And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. The house immediately felt too quiet, the echoes of her laughter and the warmth of her presence fading into the stillness. I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, before turning back to the empty living room. The scattered Jenga blocks still lay on the rug, a silent reminder of her brief presence.

I sighed, brushing a hand through my hair as I started cleaning up. Each block I picked up felt heavier than it should have, like the weight of my thoughts had seeped into them. By the time the game was packed away, the sun had set completely, and the dim glow of the living room light felt cold and lonely.

With nothing else to distract me, my mind inevitably drifted back to Maisie. The words Billie had overheard her say, words I hadn't confronted her about yet, kept circling in my head. Horrible to work with. The sting of those words was sharp and unforgiving, and the memory of Maisie walking away from me on the porch only twisted the knife further.

I tried distracting myself with mundane tasks—washing the few dishes in the sink, folding a blanket on the couch—but it was no use. The quiet of the house pressed down on me, amplifying every doubt, every insecurity I'd tried to bury. Eventually, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor as tears welled in my eyes.

The dam broke before I could stop it. Silent sobs wracked my body, and I curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow like it could anchor me. The weight of everything: Maisie, Billie, the pressure of my everyone around me, it was too much. I cried until my chest ached, until my pillow was damp, and until exhaustion finally pulled me into a restless sleep.

✧༺♥༻∞

The next morning, I woke with a heavy heart and swollen eyes. My throat felt raw, and my head pounded from the night before. But despite the lingering ache, I felt a strange sense of clarity. I couldn't keep avoiding Maisie. It wasn't just about what I heard Billie say; it was about the betrayal I felt, the trust that had been broken.

I got ready with methodical precision, my movements deliberate as I dressed in a simple yet sharp outfit. If I was going to confront Maisie, I needed to feel composed, even if my emotions threatened to spill over.

I got into my car, driving toward the studio session that we had planned today. Despote what had happened, I still had a job to do. Our studio building was big and very popular amongst many artists. So when I saw James' car in the parking lot, I took a deep breath, reminding myself not to get caught up in any trouble with him. The last thing I needed was him to lecture me or... something.

When I arrived at the studio, the familiar hum of activity greeted me. The scent of coffee and faintly musty soundproofing foam filled the air. I spotted Maisie in the control room, her back to me as she adjusted some settings on the mixing board. She didn't notice me at first, too engrossed in her work.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before stepping inside. "Maisie."

She turned, surprised to see me. "Rhea. Hey. You're early." Her tone was casual, like nothing had happened, and it made my stomach churn.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice calm but firm.

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Okay... what about?"

I crossed my arms, meeting her gaze. "Billie overheard you say I'm horrible to work with."

Maisie's expression shifted, a mix of guilt and defensiveness flashing across her face. She knew it was true, and she didn't even jump to any excuses, "Rhea, that was... it wasn't like that. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Then how did you mean it?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you were talking behind my back."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, you can be... intense sometimes. Hard to read. And yeah, maybe I've vented about it. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you or our work."

I nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. "Fine. Maybe I'm intense. Maybe I'm hard to read. But you're supposed to be my friend, Maisie. If you had a problem with me, you should've come to me, not Billie or anyone else."

Maisie's jaw tightened, her frustration evident. "I'm sorry, okay? I screwed up. But you're not exactly easy to talk to when you're upset."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "Maybe I'm not. But that doesn't excuse what you said, or the way you walked away from me the other day without even asking why I was upset. You just... left."

She opened her mouth to respond, but I held up a hand to stop her. "I've thought about this a lot, Maisie. And I've decided that we can't work together anymore."

Her eyes widened, shock and anger flashing across her face. "Wait, what? You're firing me?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "I think it's for the best. For both of us. Maybe we need some space to figure things out, to... cool off. But right now, this isn't working."

"Rhea, come on," she pleaded, her voice rising. "We've been through so much together, friends forever! You can't just... throw that away."

"I'm not throwing it away," I said quietly. "I'm protecting what's left of it. Because if we keep going like this, we're going to ruin everything."

Maisie stared at me, her jaw tight, her hands clenched at her sides. Finally, she let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "Fine. If that's what you want."

She grabbed her bag, brushing past me without another word. I watched her go, my chest tight with a mix of relief and regret.

As the door swung shut behind her, I heard the faint creak of another door opening. I turned to see James stepping into the room, his expression cautious as he took in the tension that still lingered.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his voice light but laced with curiosity.

"Not anymore," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

James raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "Well, this should be interesting."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

when does james die?

Question of the day! :
What's the weirdest dream you've ever had?

Chapter Text

☆  JAMES  ☆

The glass wall of the lobby did nothing to soften the storm brewing inside my chest as I watched Rhea stride through. Her head was held high, her usual graceful confidence on full display, but something about her seemed... off. Her shoulders were too stiff, her expression too neutral, like she was holding herself together with the thinnest thread. I recognized that look; I'd seen it often enough during our time together.

I leaned back against the edge of the mixing console, debating. The rational part of me told me to leave it alone. We weren't together anymore, and she'd made it clear that she didn't need me interfering in her life. But another part, the part that couldn't quite let her go, pushed me to check on her. After all, we had history. And in some convoluted way, I still cared about her.

With a sigh, I wrapped up what I was doing, saving my work on the project. The session didn't have a hard deadline, and my curiosity, or concern, if I wanted to admit it, was eating at me. Shutting down the equipment, I grabbed my jacket and stepped out of my studio, heading toward hers.

As I approached, I noticed the door to Rhea's studio swing open, and Maisie stormed out, her expression thunderous. She brushed past me without a word, her jaw clenched and her pace brisk. I turned to watch her go, confusion knotting in my chest. Whatever had happened in there, it hadn't ended well.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. Rhea stood in the middle of the room, her back to me, staring down at the soundboard as though it held all the answers to life's problems. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and the tension in her frame was palpable.

"Rhea?" I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to acknowledge my presence, but she didn't look at me. "James," she said, her voice steady but flat. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I replied, stepping further into the room. "I saw Maisie leave. She didn't look happy."

Rhea let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, she got what she deserved."

I raised an eyebrow at the harsh words that just came from her mouth. I moved closer. "What happened?"

She didn't answer right away. Her fingers gripped the edge of the console, and I noticed the faint tremble in her hands. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked, just slightly. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Rhea," I said, my tone gentler now. "Talk to me."

She shook her head again, and I saw her throat work as she swallowed hard. Her composure was crumbling, piece by piece, and I couldn't just stand there and watch her fall apart. Before I knew what I was doing, I stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

That was all it took. The dam broke.

Her shoulders shook as the first sob escaped, and she turned toward me, burying her face in her hands. I pulled her into a hug without thinking, wrapping my arms around her as she cried. Her body trembled against mine, and I could feel the weight of her pain in every ragged breath she took.

"It's okay," I murmured, my hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Let it out."

She cried for what felt like forever, the sound raw and unrestrained. I held her, grounding her as best I could, until her sobs began to subside. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked exhausted, but there was a faint sense of relief in her expression, like a heavy burden had been lifted.

"Sorry," she muttered, wiping at her face. "I didn't mean to... lose it like that."

"Don't apologize," I said, guiding her to the couch. "You've obviously been carrying a lot. You needed to let it out."

She sat down heavily, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I sat beside her, waiting patiently as she collected herself. After a few moments, she began to speak, her voice quiet but steady.

"I fired Maisie," she said, her eyes fixed on the floor. "She... she crossed a line, and I couldn't keep pretending like everything was fine. I told her we needed to take a break, both personally and professionally."

I nodded slowly, letting her continue at her own pace.

"She said things about me," Rhea went on, her voice faltering. "To Billie, to other people in the industry. She called me difficult, hard to work with. And then the other day, when I tried to talk to her... she just walked away. Like I didn't matter."

Her hands tightened into fists, and I could see the hurt etched into every line of her face. "I don't know what I did to deserve that," she said, her voice breaking again. "I thought we were friends."

I reached out, covering her hand with mine. "I'm sorry, Rhea. You didn't deserve that. Not from her, not from anyone."

She looked up at me then, her eyes searching mine. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so," I said firmly. "You're one of the hardest-working people I know, and you care about the people around you. If Maisie couldn't see that, that's on her, not you."

Her lip quivered, but she managed a small smile. "Thanks, James. That means a lot."

We sat there for a while, the silence between us comfortable. I could see her relaxing bit by bit, the tension in her shoulders easing as the weight of her emotions lifted. It was a side of Rhea I hadn't seen in a long time, vulnerable and unguarded. And for a moment, I felt a pang of regret for the way things had ended between us.

But I pushed that thought aside. This wasn't about me. It was about her.

Eventually, she straightened, brushing a hand through her hair. "I should probably get back to work," she said, her tone lighter now. "Thanks for... being here."

"Anytime," I said, standing up. "You know where to find me."

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. As I walked to the door, I glanced back at her one last time. She looked calmer, more at peace, but I knew she still had a long way to go.

Stepping out into the hallway, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Whatever had happened between Rhea and Maisie, it had clearly shaken her. And while I was glad I could be there for her, I couldn't help but wonder what it all meant for her moving forward.

But that was for her to figure out. For now, all I could do was hope she found the strength to keep going.

Chapter Text

☆  RHEA  ☆

A few days had passed since I fired Maisie. It was strange not having her around, like a phantom limb I hadn't fully realized was gone. In those days, Billie and I had been texting here and there, nothing too serious, just casual exchanges about work and random memes. We hadn't hung out yet; both of us were too busy to make time for anything more than quick messages. Still, hearing from her felt like a small anchor in the whirlwind I was caught in.

Right now, I was sitting at a long glass table in the conference room with my managers. The weight of the discussion bore down on me like the oppressive heat of a spotlight. They were talking about the release of my new album, and every word felt like a ticking clock.

"Rhea," one of them said, her voice crisp and clipped, "if we want any shot at a Grammy nomination this year, we need to get this album out by the end of the month. The cutoff is closer than you think, and we'll need time to push it."

A Grammy. I'd been nominated before, but I hadn't won. The thought of holding that little golden gramophone in my hands made my chest tighten with equal parts hope and fear. I nodded slowly, my gaze fixed on the glossy table.

"You're right. Let's do it," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head. "I'll finish everything as soon as possible."

That very day, I found myself back in the studio. The familiar hum of the equipment and the faint smell of coffee and worn leather greeted me like an old friend. But there was no time for sentimentality. I dove headfirst into the work, tweaking every detail, layering harmonies, and perfecting transitions. The studio became my home; the cold leather couch, my bed. Night after night, I pushed myself, fueled by caffeine and sheer determination. My fingers ached from playing and my ears rang from hours of playback, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I leaned back in the chair, staring at the computer screen. It was done. All the songs I'd planned to release were ready. Exhaustion hit me like a freight train. That morning, I called my managers, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

"It's finished. The album is done," I said, barely able to keep my eyes open.

Their congratulations barely registered as I stumbled into the front door of my house. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. I didn't wake up for twenty-four hours straight. When I finally came to, groggy and disoriented, I reached for my phone. Three texts from Billie and a missed call stared back at me.

My heart sank. I immediately called her back, biting my lip as the line rang. She picked up on the second ring.

"Rhea! Where the hell have you been?" Billie's voice was sharp, but there was an underlying concern that softened the edges.

"Sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I've been in the studio, trying to finish the album. I guess I lost track of time."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Damn, you really went all out, huh?" she finally said, her tone lighter now. "Well, I'm glad you're alive. I was starting to think you'd disappeared on me."

I laughed weakly. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"So, it's done?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

"It's done," I confirmed, feeling a small swell of pride amidst the fatigue.

"That's great, Rhea, but..." she hesitated. "Are you sure it's not too late for the Grammys? I mean, the album should've been out months ago. Fans need time to listen, songs need to chart, submissions need to happen..."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I'd been so focused on finishing the album that I hadn't thought about the timeline. What if all this work was for nothing?

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll talk to my managers about it."

"Good," Billie said, her tone softening again. "You've worked too hard for this to go unnoticed. Just don't burn yourself out, okay?"

"I'll try," I said, managing a small smile she couldn't see. "Thanks, Billie."

After we hung up, I didn't waste any time. I called my managers, my voice urgent as I pressed them to release the album the next day. They hesitated, citing logistical challenges, but I wouldn't take no for an answer. Finally, they reluctantly agreed.

With that settled, I turned to social media, crafting posts and teasers to build anticipation. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I poured every ounce of energy I had left into promotion. By the time I was done, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the city.

I sat back, staring at the screen, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and excitement. This was it. Everything I'd worked for was about to be put out into the world. All I could do now was wait and hope that it was enough.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed in a blur of calls and planning. My managers and I worked out the logistics for photoshoots and interviews that would follow the album release. The press was everything—it shaped public perception, fueled the fans, and, most importantly, kept my name relevant.

"We'll schedule the first shoot for two days post-release," Laura, my lead manager, said. "But we need you to be ready to jump right into interviews. You'll need soundbites about the album, your process, and the personal meaning behind some of the songs."

I nodded, jotting down notes. "I'll prep. Just let me know where I need to be and when."

Once the meeting ended, I realized I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach growled as if to chastise me for the neglect. Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I landed on Billie's name. It had been a few days since we'd hung out, and though we'd been texting, I missed seeing her in person.

"Hey," I said when she picked up after the second ring. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not really," she replied. "Why?"

"I was thinking of grabbing something and figured you might want to join me."

"Sure," she said after a pause. "Where are you thinking?"

We settled on a little café downtown, agreeing to meet at 1 PM. When I arrived, Billie was already seated at a corner table, her sunglasses perched on top of her head and her phone in hand. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.

"Hey," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "You look like you've been busy."

I laughed lightly. "That obvious?"

"A little," she teased, but her expression softened. "Everything okay, though?"

The waiter came by, and we placed our orders. Once he left, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh. "It's been... a lot. Maisie and I had a falling out, and I ended up firing her."

Billie's eyebrows shot up. "You fired Maisie? What happened?"

I hesitated, not wanting to delve into every painful detail. "She crossed a line, and I couldn't let it slide. It wasn't easy, but it had to be done."

"Wow," Billie said, clearly taken aback. "And then what? Did you just... handle all this on your own?"

"Not exactly." I hesitated again, debating how much to share. "James came by after it happened. He... helped me through it."

Billie's expression shifted, her brows knitting together in confusion. "James? As in your ex, James?"

"Yeah."

"And you let him?" Her tone was incredulous, though she was trying to mask it.

I shrugged. "He was there, and I needed someone. It wasn't a big deal."

"Rhea," she said slowly, leaning forward. "Are you sure that was a good idea? I mean, no offense, but James doesn't exactly scream 'reliable' to me."

I sighed, picking at the edge of my napkin. "It was fine, Billie. Nothing happened, and he actually... he was supportive."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. But after a moment, she relented, sitting back in her chair. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I am," I said firmly, hoping to put the topic to rest. The last thing I needed was more doubt about the decisions I'd made that week.

The food arrived, providing a convenient distraction. We ate while chatting about lighter topics—upcoming projects, funny fan interactions, and the latest industry gossip. Despite the earlier tension, it felt good to relax and just enjoy her company.

"I hate to cut this short," Billie said as she finished her meal, "but I have to run. Meetings and all that."

"Of course," I said, smiling despite the twinge of disappointment. "Thanks for coming out, though. It was nice seeing you."

"You too," she said, standing and grabbing her bag. "Text me, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

Once she was gone, I lingered at the table for a moment, sipping the last of my drink before heading home. When I walked through the door of my apartment, the familiar weight of exhaustion settled over me. Still, I couldn't resist checking my phone to see how the album promotion was performing.

The response was overwhelming. My posts were flooded with comments and shares, fans expressing their excitement and anticipation. Hashtags with my name and the album title were trending, and even a few industry insiders had shared my teasers.

A small smile tugged at my lips. For the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe all the sleepless nights and endless hours in the studio would pay off. Maybe this album would finally get me the recognition I'd been chasing for years.

As I set my phone down and stretched out on the couch, I allowed myself to imagine it—standing on that stage, holding a Grammy, knowing that all my hard work had been worth it. The thought was enough to carry me to sleep, a quiet optimism settling in my chest.

Chapter Text

(this chapter was written before the real Feb 2 grammys. This chapter portrays what SHOULD have happened...)

☆  FEBRUARY 2, 2025  ☆
THE GRAMMYS

The Grammys. A night of stars, glamour, and relentless tension. In the month since my album's release, life had been a whirlwind. "Crazy Girls" had climbed to number three on the global charts, and my album was a colossal success. Now, here I was, nominated for not one but two Grammys: Best Pop Vocal Album and Best Pop Solo Performance. The latter was a mixed bag of nerves and excitement. Billie was in the running too.

I sat in the makeup chair backstage, trying to keep my breathing steady. My phone rested in my hand, Billie's name lighting up the screen. We'd exchanged texts earlier in the day, wishing each other good luck in the most nonchalant way possible. It was a weird dynamic—we were friends now, but tonight, we were competitors.

Good luck tonight. Don't steal my thunder though, lol.

No promises ;)

The stylist pulled my hair into soft waves, her hands methodical and swift. I stared at my phone, rereading our exchange, while the familiar buzz of pre-show chaos hummed around me. My heart pounded. I'd been nominated for a Grammy before, but I'd never won. This was my chance, my moment.

"All done," the stylist said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. She handed me a gold dress, the kind that clung to every curve. It shimmered under the dressing room lights, radiating confidence. I slipped it on, letting the fabric mold to me like armor. My team nodded in approval as they adjusted the hem and added final touches.

The limo ride to the Crypto Arena was surreal. Downtown LA buzzed with energy, the streets lined with fans hoping for a glimpse of their favorite stars. I glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as nerves churned in my stomach. By the time we arrived, the adrenaline had kicked in. Stepping onto the red carpet felt like stepping onto a battlefield. Paparazzi shouted my name, cameras flashed, fans screamed. I posed, smiled, turned, and smiled again. Each click of a camera felt like a hammer pounding into my chest.

Once inside the arena, the chaos melted into a sea of celebrities and glittering lights. My seat was near the front, a coveted spot. On my left sat Sabrina Carpenter, looking effortlessly beautiful, and on my right, Gracie Abrams, her demeanor calm and collected. The three of us exchanged polite smiles as we settled in.

Trevor Noah's voice boomed through the arena, his charisma lighting up the room. The opening monologue was a blur; I could barely focus. My leg bounced uncontrollably, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress. Award after award passed, each winner met with thunderous applause. The anticipation built like a crescendo, and finally, it was time for Best Pop Vocal Album.

My name was called as a nominee, and the camera zoomed in on me. I plastered on a smile, praying it didn't look as fake as it felt. The announcer opened the envelope, the tension thick enough to choke on.

"And the Grammy goes to... Short n' Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter!"

The room erupted in applause. Sabrina's face lit up as she rose from her seat, hugging those around her. I clapped, my hands moving on autopilot as she passed by me to accept her award. "Congratulations," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the applause.

Disappointment settled in my chest like a stone. I forced myself to smile, to keep clapping, but my mind was already racing. One down, one to go. I couldn't let this get to me, not yet.

The show dragged on, each performance and acceptance speech stretching time like taffy. My nerves were fraying by the second. Then, finally, it was time. Best Pop Solo Performance. My heart felt like it might beat out of my chest. The nominees flashed on the screen, my face alongside Billie's and a few others. The camera panned to Billie, who looked confident as ever. She sat next to Finneas, her brother and collaborator, who gave her an encouraging smile.

The announcer's voice cut through the air, each word landing like a drumbeat. "And the Grammy goes to..."

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum

My heart was racing...

"Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish!"

The crowd erupted. Billie's expression shifted to surprise before breaking into a radiant smile. She hugged Finneas and rose from her seat, making her way to the stage. I clapped, my hands moving mechanically. My cheeks burned, my jaw tightening as I forced a smile. The cameras were on me, I could feel them, but I refused to let them catch a crack in my facade.

Inside, I was seething. The disappointment from earlier now mixed with anger and resentment. I'd worked so hard, poured everything into this album, and for what? To be overshadowed by Billie again? She was my friend, at least, that's what I told myself, but tonight, she was my rival, and she'd won.

Billie's speech was gracious, her voice steady as she thanked her team and fans. She even gave a nod to the other nominees, which only twisted the knife deeper. As she walked back to her seat, clutching her Grammy, our eyes met for a brief moment. She smiled, a genuine, warm smile. I returned it, but inside, I was crumbling.

The rest of the show passed in a blur. By the time it ended, I felt drained, like all the energy had been sucked out of me. As I left the arena, the cheers of fans outside felt distant, like they were meant for someone else. My limo ride home was silent, my phone buzzing with congratulatory texts that I couldn't bring myself to answer.

At home, I collapsed onto my couch, still in my dress, the weight of the night pressing down on me. I opened my phone and scrolled through social media, seeing fans raving about Billie's win and congratulating her. My promo posts for the album were still getting traction, but it all felt hollow.

I stared at the ceiling, the disappointment settling in my bones. I'd come so close, but it wasn't enough. Not this time. But as I lay there, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered, There's always next year.

Hope was a fragile thing, but it was all I had. And for now, it would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

The headache was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. It pounded relentlessly, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat as I blinked my eyes open. I was still sprawled on the couch, my gold dress wrinkled and uncomfortable against my skin, remnants of last night's makeup smeared across my face. I hadn't even made it to my bed. Exhaustion had claimed me the moment I got home.

I sat up slowly, the world tilting slightly as I did. My body felt as hollow as my soul. Last night had drained me. Every ounce of energy and every bit of hope. Losing was one thing, but losing to Billie? It stung in a way I hadn't anticipated. My mind replayed the moment over and over: the envelope opening, the announcement of her name, the way she walked up to the stage with that confident smile. It wasn't fair. I had poured my heart into this album, worked tirelessly, sacrificed so much, and still, it wasn't enough.

For her, it seemed effortless. She just walked in and took what could have been mine. No, what should have been mine. The thought made my stomach churn with a mixture of bitterness and resentment. Billie knew she was going to win. That's why she'd looked so composed, so self-assured. I couldn't help but hold a grudge against her. Even if we were... friends, I guess, I hated how easily success seemed to come to her.

I tried to shake the thoughts away as I peeled myself off the couch. My dress felt suffocating now, a cruel reminder of last night. I yanked it off, tossing it onto the floor with more force than necessary, before heading to the bathroom. The makeup came off with harsh scrubbing, my skin red and raw by the time I was done. My reflection stared back at me, tired and defeated.

This wasn't who I wanted to be.

I pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, not caring about the uneven strands that stuck out. A pair of old leggings and a faded T-shirt replaced the dress. I needed to clear my head, to get away from the spiral of negativity that was swallowing me whole. Before I could overthink it, I grabbed my sneakers, slipped them on, and stepped outside.

The cold air hit me immediately, sharp and unforgiving, but it was exactly what I needed. The snow crunched under my shoes as I started running, each step pounding out some of the frustration that bubbled inside me. My breath came out in visible puffs, and the wind whipped against my skin, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Forty minutes, maybe longer. I had no idea how much time had passed when my lungs finally gave out. I stopped, bending over with my hands on my knees as I gasped for air. My chest burned, my nostrils stung, and tears pricked at my eyes from the relentless wind. It wasn't just the running; it was everything. The weight of last night, the overwhelming sense of failure, the bitterness I couldn't let go of.

The streets were silent, everyone tucked away in their warm homes. I envied them, their peace and comfort. Straightening up, I started jogging again, this time sticking to the empty road. The quietness was eerie, the only sound was my shoes hitting the pavement and my labored breathing.

Then I heard it: the hum of an engine behind me. A car. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the headlights approaching slowly. Instinctively, I veered toward the sidewalk, but as my foot landed, it hit a slick patch of ice. My legs flew out from under me, and I crashed onto the ground, the impact jarring my entire body. My face hit the icy pavement, pain radiating immediately from my nose.

I groaned, lifting a trembling hand to my face. When I pulled it away, crimson stained my fingertips. Great. Just what I needed. Blood dripped onto the snow, bright and stark against the white.

The car behind me came to a stop. I heard the door slam shut and hurried footsteps crunching through the snow.

"Rhea? Oh my god, are you okay?"

That voice. Familiar and unmistakable. Billie. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Of course. The last person I wanted to see right now.

I groaned again, more out of frustration than pain. Of all people to witness this... "I'm fine," I muttered, though my voice sounded anything but convincing.

She was already crouching beside me, her brows furrowed in concern as she assessed the situation. "You're bleeding," she pointed out, as if I hadn't noticed.

"Yeah, thanks," I said, my tone sharper than intended. I was angry—at myself, at her, at the universe for putting me in this position. I tried to push myself up, but my hands slipped on the icy ground, and I nearly fell again.

Billie's hands were on me in an instant, steadying me. "Hold on," she said, her voice softer now. "You're going to hurt yourself even more."

I wanted to argue, to tell her I didn't need her help, but the truth was I did. My nose throbbed, my knees stung, and my pride was already in shambles. Reluctantly, I let her guide me to her car. She opened the passenger door and helped me inside, the warmth of the vehicle a stark contrast to the freezing air outside.

She handed me a tissue from the glove compartment. "Here, for your nose."

"Thanks," I muttered, pressing it to my face. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but it still hurt like hell.

Billie got into the driver's seat, glancing over at me with a mixture of concern and something else I couldn't quite place. "What were you doing out there?" she asked. "It's freezing, and the roads are a mess."

I shrugged, not wanting to admit the truth. "I just needed to clear my head."

"By running in the snow?" Her tone was gentle, but there was an edge of exasperation.

I didn't respond, staring out the window instead. The streets blurred together as she drove, her presence both comforting and infuriating. I didn't want her pity or her concern. I wanted... I didn't even know what I wanted anymore.

"Rhea," Billie said, her voice softer now. "I know last night was tough. But you're not alone, okay? I'm here."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I wanted to believe her. But the bitterness lingered, a shadow I couldn't shake. I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else.

The rest of the ride was silent, the weight of unspoken words filling the space between us. When she finally pulled up to my house, I mumbled a quick thanks and got out of the car, not looking back as I closed the door behind me. I hadn't even asked her why she was in my neighborhood, but I could guess it was to come see me.

Inside, the warmth of my home did little to thaw the chill that had settled in my chest. I sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the floor. Last night, today, everything felt like a blur, a mess I couldn't untangle.

And despite Billie's words, I couldn't help but feel more alone than ever.

Chapter Text

I slammed the bathroom door behind me, my breaths shallow as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My nose was red and swollen, stuffed with a makeshift wad of toilet paper that barely managed to contain the blood from my fall. My hands were raw, scraped and stinging, and I could see dirt and tiny pebbles embedded in the wounds.

Grimacing, I ran the tap and stuck my hands under the stream of lukewarm water, watching as the dirt and blood swirled down the drain. The sting was sharp, but I welcomed it. Pain seemed fitting after the disaster that was last night and the humiliating fall this morning. Once my hands were cleaned, I patted them dry, applied some antiseptic, and awkwardly wrapped a few bandages around the worst scrapes.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again. My face looked hollow, dark circles prominent under my eyes. The emotional toll of last night was written all over me. I let out a shaky sigh and shook my head. "Get it together, Rhea," I muttered.

But I couldn't. I couldn't shake the image of Billie's name being called, the cheers and applause that followed, and the sharp pang of envy that settled deep in my chest. She had won. Again. Effortlessly. And here I was, sitting in my bathroom with a bloodied nose and bandaged hands, falling apart over it.

Maisie wasn't here to tell me to snap out of it. Billie—well, I couldn't talk to her right now. Not after everything. That left one person. One impractical, questionable choice for comfort. James.

I hesitated, my finger hovering over his name in my contacts. Billie's voice echoed in my head, her harsh words about him still fresh. But I shoved the thought aside and hit call. James answered after a few rings, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Rhea?"

"Hey," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Are you busy?"

"Not really. Why? Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lied, my voice too quick. "I just... I need to get out for a bit. You up for meeting at the usual place?"

There was a pause on the other end. "The bar?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Give me half an hour."

I hung up and tossed my phone on the counter. Relief mixed with apprehension. I didn't know what I was looking for in James, but I needed to be around someone who wouldn't make me feel worse. I didn't even bother analyzing why he came to mind.

I dressed carefully, opting for a fitted black dress and a leather jacket. My nose was finally clean, the redness subdued with a bit of concealer. No one needed to know what had happened this morning. Once satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my keys and drove to the bar, the quiet hum of the radio doing little to settle my nerves.

James was already there when I arrived, sitting in our usual booth with a drink in hand. He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable. "Hey," he greeted, sliding a menu toward me. "You look... well, you look better than I expected, considering last night."

I forced a smile and sat down. "Thanks, I guess."

We made small talk at first, chatting about work and trivial things. James was surprisingly easy to talk to tonight, his usual smugness replaced by a rare softness. It almost made me forget why I'd called him in the first place. Almost.

"So," he said, leaning back in his seat. "How are you, really? Last night had to sting."

I laughed, the sound hollow. "I'm fine. It's just a stupid award, right?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Rhea. Don't give me that. You and I both know it's not just a stupid award. Talk to me."

Something in his tone broke through my defenses. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was the way he looked at me like he actually cared. Either way, the words spilled out before I could stop them. "I'm... I'm frustrated, James. I've worked so hard for this, and it feels like no matter what I do, it's never enough. Billie... she just walks in and wins. Effortless. And I hate that I'm even thinking this way because she's supposed to be my friend now, but I can't help it."

James nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I get it. Trust me, I've been there more times than I can count. But you can't let it eat you up. You're too talented for that."

I laughed bitterly. "You sound like a motivational poster."

"Maybe. But I mean it."

The conversation shifted after that, the heavy topic replaced by playful banter and teasing. The drinks kept coming, and I stopped counting after my fourth. James tried to keep up with me, but even he was impressed by my tolerance.

Somewhere between the laughter and the clinking of glasses, the atmosphere changed. James's gaze lingered a little longer, his tone dipped lower, and his hand brushed mine more often than necessary.

"You know," I said, leaning closer, "I used to think you were the biggest mistake I'd ever made."

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Used to?"

I shrugged, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "I'm reconsidering."

The flirting escalated, each comment and touch bolder than the last. By the time the sun was setting, we were both drunk, and the line between playful and serious had blurred completely.

"Come back to my place," I said impulsively, my words slurring slightly. "I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

James didn't hesitate. "Alright."

We called a cab, the ride back to my house filled with quiet laughter and whispered exchanges. His hand never left my thigh, his hand squeezing as he held his lips close to my ear. Once inside, the tension between us snapped like a rubber band. The drinks continued to flow, and the playful flirting turned into something more intense.

We stood next to each other in the kitchen, our bodies using the island as balance. I could smell his cologne as he raised his hand to my face. It brushed against my cheek, his touch lingering. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice low. We weren't together anymore, but in a way, I missed the way his callused finger tips caressed my skin. 

I nodded, my heart pounding. "Yeah."

And then there was no going back. The night unfolded in a blur of heat and desperation, a temporary escape from the weight of everything I'd been carrying. For a few fleeting hours, I forgot about the Grammys, Billie, and the crushing disappointment. All that existed was this moment, however fleeting it might be.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

I literally keep forgetting to put these here lol

Question of the day! :
Would you rather have a rewind button or a pause button for life?

Chapter Text

I woke up with the sun piercing through the curtains, stabbing at my skull like a relentless dagger. Another headache. My temples throbbed as I shifted under the covers, my body heavy and sluggish. That's when I felt the weight beside me—warm, familiar. I turned my head to see James sprawled out, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep, the sheets barely covering his waist. His messy hair framed his face in a way that almost softened his sharp features.

My gaze drifted downward. I was also naked. There was no mistaking what had happened.

But I didn't feel the usual pang of regret that stories like mine would suggest. I remembered every moment of the night before. The way his hands had explored every inch of me, the way his body fit perfectly against mine, the way he whispered my name with a rawness that sent shivers down my spine. There wasn't a single part of me that regretted it.

At least not yet.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and that's when the first wave of reality hit me. Notifications were endless. Dozens of tags, mentions, and reposts had flooded my social media feeds. My fingers scrolled through the chaos until I stumbled upon the glaring headlines:

"Ex-Lovers Rhea Calder and James Rhodes Seen Together: Sparks Reignited?"

"Grammy Loser Rhea Calder Turns to Her Ex James Rhodes for Comfort."

"Rhea Calder and James Rhodes: Rebound or Real?"

Attached to the articles were blurry but unmistakable photos of us from last night. We were at the bar, laughing and leaning into each other, and then climbing into a cab, his arm around my waist, my head resting against his shoulder. Anyone with eyes could see we were both intoxicated, but the cameras had captured every damning moment.

I sighed heavily and tossed my phone onto the nightstand. "Of course," I muttered to myself. Being a public figure meant that nothing was ever private, but I couldn't help feeling irritated at how relentless the world was about dissecting my life.

James stirred beside me, mumbling something incoherent before rolling onto his back. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded into the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror was a mess. Smudged mascara, wild hair, and the faint redness in my eyes from both the alcohol and the emotions of the last few days. I grabbed a handful of tissues, dabbing at the remnants of last night's makeup, before running a brush through my hair.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, I was determined to shake off the negativity clouding my thoughts. I fried some eggs and brewed coffee, the aroma filling the small space and grounding me. Just as I set the plates on the counter, I heard James's footsteps behind me. He appeared in nothing but a pair of boxers, his hair even messier than before, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Morning," he said, his voice raspy. He leaned against the doorway, studying me with a lopsided grin.

"Morning," I replied, forcing a small smile as I gestured toward the food. "You hungry? I made breakfast."

He shook his head, stretching. "Thanks, but I should get going. I've got a meeting later." He stepped closer, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. It was such a tender gesture that my heart ached a little.

"Alright," I said, keeping my tone casual even though I wanted to ask him to stay longer.

He disappeared back into the bedroom to gather his clothes, and minutes later, he was gone. I sat at the counter alone, staring at the plate of untouched eggs. For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. Being with James last night had momentarily filled the void inside me, and for that, I was grateful.

✧༺♥༻∞

A month later, everything had changed.

James and I were officially back together. The tabloids had a field day with it, churning out stories that painted me as a desperate woman clinging to her past. Headlines like "Rhea Calder Reunites with Allegedly Abusive Ex-Boyfriend" and "Post-Grammy Despair: Is James Rhodes Rhea Calder's Coping Mechanism?" were everywhere. It felt like the media was on a mission to dismantle what little reputation I had left.

Despite the negativity, James and I had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. We went out together often, attending events and dinners that only fueled the public's fascination with our rekindled romance. Yet, as much as I tried to ignore it, the constant scrutiny began to weigh on me. For every sweet moment we shared, there were a dozen whispers questioning my judgment.

Even Billie's attitude toward me seemed to shift. She wasn't openly hostile, but her texts became fewer and further between. Our usual banter had dulled, replaced by polite exchanges that felt hollow. It didn't take a genius to figure out that my relationship with James had something to do with it. Billie had always been vocal about her dislike for him, and now that we were back together, it was as if she'd put up a wall between us.

I missed her. More than I cared to admit.

One afternoon, as I scrolled through my phone, I stumbled upon a meme Billie had sent weeks ago. It was stupid, something about a dog in sunglasses, but it made me laugh. Without thinking, I typed out a reply:

Why does this still make me laugh?

She responded a few minutes later.

Because you have terrible taste in humor.

It was a small interaction, but it felt like a lifeline. For a brief moment, I felt like we were back to our usual selves. But as I stared at the screen, I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that things would never fully return to the way they were.

As the days passed, the cracks in my relationship with James began to show. The excitement of being together again was overshadowed by the constant judgment from the outside world. Fans were divided—some supported us, while others begged me to leave him. And deep down, a small part of me wondered if they were right.

Was I clinging to James out of love, or was he just a distraction from the pain of losing at the Grammys?

One night, as we sat on the couch watching a movie, I found myself stealing glances at him. He looked content, his arm draped over my shoulders, but my mind was racing. I thought about the headlines, the whispers, and Billie's distant behavior. The weight of it all felt suffocating.

"James?" I said softly.

"Hmm?" He didn't look away from the screen.

"Do you ever think about... what people say about us?"

He finally turned to me, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The headlines, the comments. Do they bother you?"

He shrugged. "Not really. People are always going to talk. You can't let it get to you."

I nodded, but his answer didn't satisfy me. I wanted to press further, to tell him how much it was eating away at me, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I leaned against him, forcing myself to focus on the movie.

But deep down, I knew the cracks were only getting wider.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

why is he even a character yk? wheres billie??????

Question of the day! :
What's your guilty pleasure TV show or movie?

Chapter Text

☆  BILLIE  ☆

I stared at my phone screen, my stomach twisting into a knot I couldn't untangle. There she was... Rhea, smiling, her arm linked with James as they stumbled toward a cab. The paparazzi photos were everywhere, plastered on every entertainment page I followed. They were both grinning like they didn't have a care in the world, and my chest tightened with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite name—or didn't want to.

Jealousy. That's what this was. A dark, gnawing feeling that made my jaw clench and my fingers twitch against my phone case.

She shouldn't be with him. Not James. Not after everything he's done. Not when she had me—well, not had me, exactly. But I was here. I would've dropped everything if she'd asked. I would've been the one to comfort her after the Grammys, the one to tell her it didn't matter that she didn't win because she's still one of the most talented artists in the world. I could've been that for her. I wanted to be that for her.

But instead, she'd gone back to him.

"You good?" Finneas's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, plucking absentmindedly at his guitar. He wasn't really paying attention, but he could probably feel the tension radiating off me. I guess I wasn't as good at hiding it as I thought.

"I'm fine," I muttered, locking my phone and tossing it onto the cushion beside me. My voice sounded clipped even to my own ears.

Finneas raised an eyebrow, his fingers stilling on the strings. "That didn't sound convincing."

I sighed, leaning back and running a hand through my hair. "It's Rhea."

"What about her?" he asked, genuinely curious.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to share. But this was Finneas. He knew me better than anyone. If anyone could help me make sense of what I was feeling, it was him. "She's back with James."

He frowned. "James? The ex? The one you said was—"

"Yeah, him," I cut in quickly, not wanting to rehash the laundry list of reasons James was bad news. Finneas already knew. I'd ranted about it enough times. "There are pictures of them together all over the internet. They're like... all over each other."

Finneas set his guitar aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "And you're upset about it because...?"

I hesitated again, biting my lip. I didn't know how to put it into words. How was I supposed to explain the tightness in my chest, the heat that rose to my cheeks whenever I thought about her? The way my heart felt like it was doing backflips whenever I got a text from her, or the way I couldn't stop replaying her laugh in my head?

"Because she deserves better," I said finally. It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

Finneas studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You like her."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"You like her," he repeated, leaning back and crossing his arms like he'd just solved a puzzle. "That's why you're so worked up about this. You don't just think she deserves better; you want to be the one she deserves."

"That's not—" I started to protest, but the words died in my throat.

Was he right? No. He couldn't be. Could he?

I felt my face heat up, and I looked away, focusing on a spot on the carpet. "I don't... I mean, we're just friends."

Finneas let out a laugh. "You're blushing. You totally like her."

"I'm not blushing," I said defensively, even though I could feel the heat in my cheeks.

"Sure you're not," he said, his tone teasing. "Billie, come on. It's okay to admit it. You like Rhea. Like, like-like her."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "This is so stupid."

"It's not stupid," he said, his tone softening. "It's just... unexpected. But it makes sense. I mean, the way you talk about her, the way you light up when she texts you... It's pretty obvious, honestly."

I lifted my head to glare at him. "If it's so obvious, how come I'm just now realizing it?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of you."

I leaned back against the couch again, letting his words sink in. Did I like Rhea? The more I thought about it, the more it started to make sense. The jealousy, the way I always wanted to be around her, the way my heart ached every time I thought about her with someone else... It wasn't just because she was my friend. It was because I wanted to be more than that.

But what was I supposed to do about it? She was with James now. And even if she wasn't, what were the chances that she'd feel the same way about me? She'd never given any indication that she saw me as anything other than a friend.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "What am I supposed to do, Finneas?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. But if you really care about her, you should tell her."

"And what if she doesn't feel the same way?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then at least you'll know," he said simply. "But if you don't say anything, you're just going to keep torturing yourself."

I hated that he was right. I hated that he always knew exactly what to say to make me face things I didn't want to face. But most of all, I hated that I couldn't just flip a switch and turn off my feelings for her.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, though I wasn't sure if I meant it.

Finneas nodded, picking up his guitar again. "Take your time. But don't wait too long, Billie. Life's too short to keep things bottled up."

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if I believed him. For now, all I could do was sit with these feelings and try to figure out what to do next. But one thing was clear: I liked Rhea. And no matter how much I tried to deny it, that wasn't going to change.

"But hey, we could always write a song about it?" He said, his voice slightly optimistic.

I groan, "Shut up."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

so when do they kiss

Question of the day! :
What's your dream superpower, and how would you use it?

Chapter Text

☆  RHEA  ☆

I sat on the couch, phone pressed to my ear as my managers rattled off details about the upcoming tour. My notebook lay open on my lap, but I barely glanced at it, only half-listening as they discussed venue capacities, travel schedules, and potential setlists. Across from me, James lounged on the opposite end of the couch, scrolling through his phone, one arm lazily draped over the backrest.

I hadn't spoken to Maisie since she was fired. And Billie? Sparse messages, a meme here and there, but nothing significant. That was until my phone buzzed with an incoming text. My heart did this weird little skip as I glanced down.

You wanna come over and make a cake with me?

I hesitated for only a second before quickly beginning to type out a message.

yeah sure

James looked up from his phone. "Who's that?"

"Just a friend," I said, a little too quickly.

His brows furrowed. "Who?"

"Why do you care?" I asked, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to seem casual. But he didn't drop it.

"Because you're acting weird about it."

I sighed, gripping my phone tighter. "It's Billie, alright?"

James cringed, his face contorting like I had just told him I was hanging out with the devil himself. "You guys are friends?"

"We talk sometimes," I replied, already dreading where this conversation was headed.

James scoffed. "Rhea, come on. You know she's not a good influence. She's probably just gonna fill your head with some bullshit about me, try to convince you to leave me or something."

I rolled my eyes. "Not everything is about you, James."

"I just don't get why you'd want to be around her. She's fake, and she's—"

"Enough, James!" My voice came out sharp, cutting through whatever else he had to say. "I don't need your opinion on who I should or shouldn't hang out with."

He shook his head in irritation, muttering something under his breath, but I was already turned away, typing out my response to Billie.

yeah sure I'd love to come over.

✧༺♥༻∞

Hours later, I was at Billie's house, sitting in her kitchen as she excitedly pulled out ingredients from the fridge.

"Okay, so I saw this recipe on TikTok for those Japanese strawberry shortcake things, and I need to try it. Ugh, looks so good," she said, setting down a carton of heavy cream.

I chuckled, staring at her as she confidently stood over the ingrediants. "You think you can actually bake?"

"Absolutely not," she admitted with a grin, "but that's why you're here. If it flops, we can blame you."

"Wow, thanks," I said, laughing.

We got to work, music playing in the background as we measured ingredients, cracking eggs into bowls and sifting flour. The kitchen quickly became a mess—flour dusted the countertops (and, somehow, our clothes), and sugar clung to our fingertips.

At one point, Billie was vigorously whisking the heavy cream, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her forearms tensing as she worked the whisk with sheer determination. Something about the way she looked, focused, strong, effortlessly in control, caught me off guard. There was a strange masculinity in the way she moved, something grounding, something that made my stomach feel light.

I was staring.

"What?" Billie asked, glancing up.

I blinked, snapping out of my daze. "Yeah, just... making sure you're not about to break your wrist."

She laughed. "It is kind of a workout. Want a turn?"

I shook my head. "Nope. This is all you."

After assembling the cake of fluffy layers of sponge, airy whipped cream, and fresh-cut strawberries, we sat at her kitchen table, forks in hand, taking our first bites.

"Holy shit, this is actually good," I said, my eyes widening in surprise.

"Duh," Billie said, grinning as she took another bite. "I told you I could bake."

"You literally said you couldn't."

"Yap yap."

We laughed, the kind of laughter that felt easy and genuine, the kind I hadn't experienced in a while. It felt right to be here, away from the noise, away from the judgment, just the two of us sharing something simple.

As the night stretched on, and the last crumbs of cake were gone, a familiar heaviness settled in my chest. I didn't want to leave. I couldn't leave. James would be waiting at home, ready with his opinions and his paranoia, and I wasn't ready to face that yet.

I hesitated before asking, "Hey, um... would it be okay if I stayed over?"

Billie's fork froze mid-air. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a second, I thought she was going to say no. Then, a soft pink crept across her cheeks, and she quickly looked away. "Yeah sure, why not."

"You sure?"

She nodded, still avoiding my gaze, but there was a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. I mean, it'll be a sleepover."

But the way she said it, the way her voice wavered just slightly, made it feel like it was a big deal.

✧༺♥༻∞

Standing in the doorway of Billie's bedroom, I felt like an intruder in a space I wasn't meant to see so intimately. She was digging through a pile of clothes, her back turned to me as she muttered to herself about finding something that would fit me. The room was dimly lit, bathed in warm tones that made everything feel softer, quieter.

Finally, she pulled out an oversized t-shirt and a long pair of basketball shorts, holding them up as if she were inspecting them. "I hope this is fine."

I took the clothes from her hands, holding them up against my body and smirking. "Wow, I'll look just like you."

Billie rolled her eyes but grinned nonetheless. "Shut up."

She led me to the guest room, flicking on the light as she stepped aside. "You've got your own bed and your own bathroom. So, you can wash all that flour off."

I glanced down at myself, realizing just how much of a mess we had made in the kitchen. My jeans were dusted white, and I could feel dried batter clinging to my forearms.

"Thanks," I said, stepping into the room.

Billie nodded before retreating, leaving me alone to shower. The bathroom was spotless, the scent of eucalyptus filling the air. I undressed and turned on the water, stepping under the warm stream and letting it wash away the remnants of our chaotic baking session.

As I reached for the soap, I caught sight of my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. My bare face. No makeup to hide behind, no perfectly curated image. For a moment, I hesitated. It had been so long since I let anyone see me like this. But then, Billie wasn't just anyone, was she?

With a sigh, I stepped out, dried off, and slipped into the oversized clothes she had given me. The fabric smelled like fresh laundry and something faintly sweet—something undeniably Billie. I tugged at the shirt, swallowing in its size, before heading back into the living room.

It was empty.

I figured Billie was still in the shower, so I took the opportunity to wander. The walls were decorated with framed photos—some of her and Finneas, others of her family and childhood. There was a meticulousness to everything, even in the subtle clutter of books stacked on the coffee table, half-burnt candles, and a blanket draped messily over the couch. It was so uniquely Billie.

Five minutes passed before I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me. Turning, I saw Billie, her damp hair curling slightly at the ends. She was dressed in a similar outfit to mine. It was loose-fitting, comfortable, and effortless.

"What are you snooping at?" she asked playfully.

"Just appreciating your impeccable interior design skills," I teased.

She scoffed. "Please, Finneas makes fun of me for how messy I am."

"It's charming," I admitted, and for a moment, there was something in her expression I couldn't quite place.

"So," she said, breaking whatever silent moment had just passed between us. "Wanna watch Survivor?"

I blinked. "Survivor?"

Her eyes lit up. "You've never seen it?"

"Nope."

Billie gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. "We have to fix that immediately."

I laughed as she grabbed the remote and flopped onto the couch, patting the seat next to her. Without hesitation, I settled beside her, curling my legs underneath me as she pulled up an episode.

As the show played, I found myself asking endless questions. Billie, clearly passionate about it, eagerly explained every rule, every strategic move, every alliance. I listened intently, but I also couldn't ignore the way her face lit up as she talked, the way her hands animated every word.

There was a tension between us. A familiar one, but one I was only now beginning to identify. It lingered in the way our shoulders brushed when we shifted, in the way her fingers drummed nervously against her knee whenever I caught her staring at me.

Was it in my head? Or was Billie feeling it too?

A couple of episodes in, we both started yawning, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in. Billie stretched her arms above her head and turned to me. "I think that's enough Survivor for one night. You hooked yet?"

I smirked. "Maybe."

She chuckled, standing up. "Alright, bedtime."

We walked toward our rooms in comfortable silence, the only sound being the occasional creak of the wooden floors. Just as I reached for the doorknob of the guest room, I felt a hand wrap gently around my wrist.

Billie spun me back toward her, her grip firm but careful. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at her. Her green eyes searched mine, uncertain but determined. Suddenly, it was as if all that tension suddenly exploded. 

For a moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched between us, charged and heavy.

Then, finally, she took a deep breath and whispered, "Rhea, I don't think James is good for you."

My stomach twisted. I should have expected it. But standing there, with Billie's fingers still wrapped around my wrist, I suddenly didn't know what to say.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

FUCK I NEED THEM TO KISS OR DO SOMETHINGGG LIKE (I literally wrote it like this)

Question of the day! :

If you could rename yourself, what name would you choose?

Chapter Text

We walked toward our rooms in comfortable silence, the only sound being the occasional creak of the wooden floors. Just as I reached for the doorknob of the guest room, I felt a hand wrap gently around my wrist.

Billie spun me back toward her, her grip firm but careful. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at her. Her green eyes searched mine, uncertain but determined. Suddenly, it was as if all that tension suddenly exploded.

Billie's fingers curled around my arm, firm but hesitant, her grip sending a wave of electricity through me. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the way her thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, the slightest tremble in her hold. She was close—so close that I could smell the soft scent of vanilla clinging to her damp hair, mingling with the faint traces of soap from her shower. My breath caught in my throat.

For a moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched between us, charged and heavy.

Then, finally, she took a deep breath and whispered, "Rhea, I don't think James is good for you."

My stomach twisted. I should have expected it. But standing there, with Billie's fingers still wrapped around my wrist, I suddenly didn't know what to say.

I turned fully toward her, and our bodies were only inches apart now. My heart pounded against my ribs, loud enough that I swore she could hear it. Billie's eyes flickered over my face, searching, hesitating. The air between us was thick with something unnamed, something inevitable.

Her fingers loosened on my arm, and I expected her to step away. Instead, she did the opposite. Billie moved in.

Soft. That was the only word I could find for the way her lips pressed against mine. Tentative, like she was testing the waters of something forbidden. My body tensed at first, not from reluctance, but from the sheer shock of her kissing me.

But just as quickly as she leaned in, she pulled away.

"Sorry," Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath uneven. The reality of what had just happened dawned on her. "I shouldn't have done that. You're—"

Before she could finish, before she could talk herself out of it, I closed the space between us again.

This time, it was me kissing her.

My hands found the sides of her face, fingers sliding into her damp hair, and I felt her sharp inhale as I pressed our lips together once more. It was slow, unhurried, yet full of something deeper than just curiosity. This wasn't some fleeting, heat-of-the-moment mistake. It was the unraveling of something that had been building for far too long.

Billie let out the softest sound against my lips, a mix between a sigh and a small gasp, and it sent a shiver down my spine. Her hands found my waist, hesitant at first, but then firmer, as if grounding herself in this moment. The kiss was brief, but it was everything.

When we parted, there was a beat of silence. Neither of us moved, both still caught in the aftershock of what we had just done. Then, as if on cue, Billie let out a breathy laugh.

"Well, shit," she muttered, running a hand through her damp hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen.

I mirrored her laugh, though mine was tinged with something nervous, something giddy. "Damn."

Neither of us knew what to say, but the tension between us had shifted. It wasn't just there—it was acknowledged now. There was no going back to whatever we were before this.

Billie bit her lip, her hands fidgeting at her sides. "You should probably get some sleep."

I nodded, but neither of us moved.

It was ridiculous, standing there, staring at each other like two people who had just rewritten the script of their entire relationship and didn't know what the next lines were supposed to be.

Finally, I found my voice. "Goodnight, Billie."

She swallowed hard, her lips curving into the slightest smile. "Goodnight, Rhea."

With that, I turned on my heel and slipped into the guest room, shutting the door behind me. But as I climbed into bed, staring up at the ceiling, I knew one thing for certain.

There was no sleeping this off. Something between us had changed. And there was no undoing it.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

Short chap but oml had me on the floor. "Well, shit", be my wife perhaps?

Question of the day! :

What's the most useless superpower you can think of?

Chapter Text

I wake up in the morning, curled up in the warm comforter of Billie's guest bed, the sheets still infused with the faintest trace of her scent. Vanilla. Soft, warm, and lingering. My body sinks deeper into the mattress and I close my eyes as my mind drifts back to last night. The warmth of her hands, the way they gripped my waist, firm yet hesitant. The gentle press of her lips against mine, tentative but electric.

Then, I open my eyes abruptly when James interrupts the scene. James. Fuck.

A sharp panic claws its way up my ribs as I sit up, the covers pooling at my waist. What the hell am I doing? I run a hand through my tangled hair, my fingers trembling slightly. I need to do something to fix this. The truth is undeniable, something between Billie and I shifted last night, and if James remains in the picture, I know deep down it will never happen again. The truth is, I want it to happen again.

As I walk into the kitchen, I spot Billie already awake. I feel a pang in my chest as I approach her. The kitchen smelt absolutely amazing, but there were more important things than vegan cooking.

"Hey, Billie..." I start, stepping next to her. My voice had a certain nervous tone to it that wasn't avoidable. Her eyebrows furrow, "Yeah?"

"I need to head out. There's some things I need to take care of... with James."

I expected her to look disappointed that I was leaving, but instead, a small smile appeared on her lips. It was like she too was remembering what happened last night.

"Okay. Call me later then, alright?"

I nod my head, then quickly drag my feet across the floor back to the guest room, I take off Billie's clothes, folding them neatly on the bed before putting my clothes back on. Then swiftly, I say goodbye and head out the door.

As I opened the door to my house, I saw James on the couch, his head immediately swiveling as he heard the door open. In a matter of seconds, he was on his feet, storming toward me. I felt myself freeze, and suddenly I was transported back 2 years in time.

✧

I opened the door to my apartment, James sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Shoes on.

"James, I've told you multiple times to get your damn shoes off the table, it's disgusting and unsanitary."

I had barely been home for a minute before he was groaning, angrily taking off his boot before chucking it at my body. It hit me in the stomach, and I let out a yelp as it quickly dropped to the floor in front of me.

"God I can't fucking do anything around here!" He yelled, his head turning back to the TV in front of him.

I stayed quiet, picking up his shoe before I dropped my bags on the floor beside me. I walked around the couch with his shoe, setting it on the ground before I knelt down, untying his other shoe and slipping it off his foot. Once I was done, I felt the moist touch of his socks as he pushed me to the side so I wasn't blocking the TV anymore.

Scattered across the coffee table were empty and crushed cans of beer, the same brand he spent almost $100 on weekly. His spending habit was the main reason we were still stuck in this hell hole of an apartment.

"What do you want for dinner?" I asked him as I headed into the kitchen. The cabinets were a warm caramel color, and the stove hadn't been cleaned in a few months.

"Whatever. I don't care."

My jaw tightened, but I didn't say another word. I decided to try a recipe I saw on Instagram recently. It was an eggplant parmesan. Like a lasagna, but without the lasagna noodle. So, with the groceries that I bought, I began on my eggplant lasagna. I watched James over the counter, his lips curled around the sixth and final can from the six-pack.

I decided to work quickly, knowing soon he would get irritated that he had no more beer left.

As the lasagna was in the oven, my foot steps were light as I walked over to the couch. I sat gently next to James, careful to not disturb the dynamic between him and the couch.

"Who's winning?"

"Lions. Fuckin' hate Detroit."

I give him a tight-lipped smile, gently leaning into his open arm. He curled his hand around me, bringing me into his side tightly, "How was your day, baby? Did you finally get that record sign?"

I shook my head, recalling the events of the day. I had been working day after day on trying to finally get signed to a label, but, nobody wanted to hear from me, "Nope."

"That's tough," he said, squeezing my arm just slightly too hard, "They just don't know your talent."

I chuckle softly, "Yeah. But, you know you could always help me. What about talking to your label?"

He purses his lips, shaking his head, "Yeah, I don't know, baby. My label doesn't really do... music like yours."

I felt a pang in my chest, and my teeth began making their way to my lip. A comfort place, a nice pain. I simply nodded, accepting his words, but in a matter of minutes, my bottom lip was raw of dead skin and my lips were bleeding. Thankfully, my timer went off for my lasagna, so I pushed myself out of James' grip and headed into the kitchen.

I put on some oven mitts, opening the oven and standing back as smoke comes flying out. I quickly take out the glass pan, setting it on the counter to cool as I grab plates for James and I. 

It came out wonderful and it smelled even better. For once, I was genuinely proud of something I had made and it was all thanks to a video I had seen on Instagram. 

Once it was cool enough, but still warm, I used a spatula to carve out small squares. I then scooped one onto each plate, then brought it over to the couch.

"Here's dinner," I said to James as I walked around the couch. I held the plate in front of me and he took it quickly. I sat next to him, holding a fork out to him, but he was hesitant, his eyes locked on the plate of food in front of him.

"What the fuck is this, Rhea?"

My name on his tongue felt like a bee's sting. Usually, I was referred to as Baby. I messed up. I knew he wouldn't like this.

I took a deep breath, "It's eggplant lasagna. It's good."

"I don't fucking like eggplant. Who the fuck likes eggplant, Rhea?" His voice got deeper and louder, his body completely facing me as he held the plate in front of him. My lips were parted slightly, my vocal cords stuck in honey.

"For once, maybe, think about other people. No normal person wants to eat this shit!"

And with one swift movement, he grabbed the fork from my hand, sweeping the lasagna off the plate and onto my skin-exposed calf. 

I yelped in pain, the heat of the marinara sauce coating my leg. I threw my plate gently down onto the coffee table before getting up. The couch, and my scorched leg, were now covered in marinara, cheese, and eggplant. 

"What the hell, James!"

James then threw the now empty plate on the coffee table next to mine, turning back to the game like nothing had happened, "Fucking disgusting."

I bit my lip once more, harder this time, purposely trying to get the sweet taste of iron. I took my plate into the kitchen, throwing it into the sink before I grabbed a towel to wipe my leg.

My cheeks were now hot with anger, my jaw locked tightly in place. All I could see was red, and all I could hear was James' continued frustration toward the Lions winning the football game.

I threw the rag on the floor before grabbing the glass tray of hot eggplant lasagna. I stormed over toward James, my body landing on the other side of the coffee table before I raised the pan above my head, then smashed it against the wooden floor. The glass pan shattered across the floor and I screamed at the top of my lungs, like it had been stuck inside of me. I started smashing the eggplant with my feet as James sat there, eyes wide in shock.

"Rhea! What the hell!"

Eggplant was smooshed between my toes, marinara coating the bottom of my foot as I yelled profanities and insults at him. 

"God you're fucking crazy! Stop, Rhea!"

It was then that my foot struck a shard of glass and I tumbled back, falling backward as a wave of pain shot up my foot and leg. My head hit the wood of the table holding up the TV. James stood up, rushing over to me before kneeling down.

"What the hell is wrong with you? All I said was I didn't like eggplant."

✧

I flinched as he planted himself in front of me. His expression was unreadable.

"Where were you?"

My chest felt tight, like whatever I said would be the wrong answer. I began to bite my lip, his eyes piercing through me.

"James, get out." The words came out before I could stop them, but they felt right. They felt powerful. Suddenly, the tightness in my chest loosened.

He furrows his brows, like I just told him something absurd, "What?"

"I said get out. If you ever approach me like that again I will file a report against you."

His brows furrow, disbelief flickering across his face. "What the— What are you even talking about? I didn't do anything."

"Pack your shit, and get out. I do not want you near me anymore."

It happens so fast. Pleas spill from his lips, arguments I don't bother to register. He shoves clothes into a bag, muttering curses under his breath.

And then as he exits the bedroom, pushing past me, he swings the door open. The door slammed shut just as fast as it opened and finally, I was alone.

This was the first time in a while that I felt completely in control of my life.

Chapter Text

The silence in my house was deafening.

I stood in the middle of my bedroom, staring at the spot where his duffel bag had been, half-expecting him to storm back in and demand I take him back. But he didn't. Not this time.

A shaky breath left my lips as I ran a hand through my hair, my scalp still tender from a restless sleep. I did it. The thought felt foreign, like I needed to repeat it over and over until I actually believed it. I think I finally let him go.

So why did my heart still feel like it was beating out of my chest? Why did my hands still tremble as I sat on the edge of my bed? The answer had been standing in front of me this entire time.

The memory of last night flickered through my mind like a film reel on repeat—her lips, soft and tentative against mine. The way she sighed when I kissed her back. The way her fingers tightened on my waist like she couldn't help herself.

I want it to happen again. Need it to happen again.

The realization hit me harder than I expected. Because this wasn't just about James. It wasn't about finally leaving behind something toxic. It was about Billie. And if I was being honest with myself, she had been in my head for a long time now, long before last night, long before I ever admitted it.

I needed to see her.

Without overthinking it, I grabbed my phone and called her. It rang twice before her sleepy voice answered, a soft, groggy, "Hey...". She must have fallen back asleep after I left.

My stomach flipped at the sound. God, I was so fucked.

"Hey," I exhaled, barely realizing how breathless I sounded. "Can I come over?"

There was a pause. A shift of sheets. Then a quiet, "Of course, always."

When Billie opened the door, she was still in her clothes from last night.

I should have said something casual. Hey, good morning. Hope I didn't wake you. But instead, I just stood there, staring at her.

Because Billie looked at me like she knew. Like she could see right through me, see the way my heart was still hammering in my chest.

"Come in," she murmured, stepping aside.

I walked in, my body moving on autopilot, and before I knew it, I was in her kitchen again—where she had stood this morning, smiling at me like she had no regrets about last night.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So... what happened?"

I swallowed. "James is gone."

A flicker of something crossed her face. Billie had never outright said what she thought of James, but she didn't have to. It was in the way she looked at me when I mentioned him. The way she hesitated whenever he called my phone.

"Good," she said simply.

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah."

Billie watched me for a long moment. Then, she uncrossed her arms, stepping closer. Too close. My pulse spiked.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

It was such a simple question. But for some reason, my throat went dry. Because I knew what she was really asking.

I should say I feel relieved. Like I can finally breathe again. And I do feel all of that. But I also feel this unbearable pull toward Billie, this overwhelming urge to just close the space between us and—

I took a shaky breath. "I feel..."

My voice trailed off as Billie reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It was such a small, gentle gesture, but it completely unraveled me.

I turned my head slightly, my lips just inches from the inside of her wrist. If I moved even a little, I could kiss it.

Billie's breath hitched.

It was just that one small contact, her fingers behind my ear, my lips hovering near her wrist. But it was everything.

I didn't know who leaned in first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was me. But suddenly, we weren't inches apart anymore. My hand lifted, fingers hesitantly brushing over the fabric of her hoodie. She sucked in a quiet breath, but didn't move away.

This was dangerous. This was so dangerous. Because I was standing in Billie's kitchen, feeling like if I kissed her again, I might not be able to stop.

She whispered my name.

And just like last night, it was all I needed.

I surged forward.

This kiss was different. Last night had been soft, hesitant, uncertain. This was none of those things.

She pressed my body against the counter, and my hands gripped the fabric of her hoodie as our lips met. Billie let out a quiet, shaky moan against my mouth.

Her hands found my waist, sliding under my jacket, fingertips grazing my skin. It sent a shiver through me, a dangerous kind of warmth pooling in my stomach.

Billie's fingers pressed in, just enough to make me gasp, and that was all the invitation she needed. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her lips moving against mine like she had been waiting for this. Like she had wanted this just as badly as I had.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard, our noses pressed together.

I swallowed, trying to find words. Any words. But Billie beat me to it.

"Rhea..." Her voice was quiet, careful. "Are you sure?"

She wasn't just asking about the kiss. She was asking about this. Us. Whatever the hell was happening between us.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't hesitate.

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm sure."

Billie exhaled, her grip tightening just slightly on my waist—like she was holding herself back.

"Good," she murmured, her lips brushing against mine again, softer this time. Slower. "Because I don't think I can stop."

Neither could I.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

I'm actually rocking back and forth in my strait jacket rn. yes...yess... billie and rhea... yes.....

Question of the day! :

What's the weirdest food combo you secretly love but are too scared to admit?

Chapter Text

☆  A WEEK LATER  ☆

It had been a week since that night in Billie's kitchen.

A week of texts. A week of lingering anticipation, of flirty messages that turned into something more.

I wasn't even sure how it started. Maybe it was when Billie sent me a picture of herself in bed, hair still damp from a shower, shirt slightly wet too. Maybe it was when I replied with a picture of my own, my tank top hanging by a thread.

Or maybe it was just the way we texted constantly now, like every second without her words felt wrong.

I was in deep. I knew it. And I had no idea what to do about it.

So when Billie finally sent the message that changed everything, I froze.

Let's go on a real date.

My heart clenched. My fingers hovered over my keyboard, waiting for my brain to catch up.

A real date.

I stared at those four words longer than I should have. Long enough for the read receipt to show up, long enough for Billie to send another text.

Is that a no or....

I let out a shaky breath. I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to. But the idea of stepping out in public together, where cameras could catch us, where people would talk...it made my stomach twist.

And it wasn't just that. It was the fact that this was new. She was new. Every relationship I'd ever been in was a performance, a game of power, of control. But Billie made me feel exposed.

So instead of answering, I called her.

She picked up after the first ring. "Hey."

Her voice was soft, like she already knew what I was going to say.

"Hey," I breathed.

A beat of silence. Then, "You don't want to go, do you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingertips against my temple. "It's not that, I just...Billie, you know what'll happen if we go out together."

"The media," she murmured.

"Yeah. And..." I hesitated, my chest tightening. "And this is new for me, Billie. I don't know how to... be this yet."

I hated how vulnerable I sounded. How uncertain. I had spent my entire life being sure of myself, trying to be the best at everything I did. But here, with her, I was fumbling in the dark.

Billie sighed. "I get it. More than you know."

I swallowed, my grip tightening around my phone.

"I spent years hiding," she continued, her voice quiet. "Pretending I didn't feel what I felt. Telling myself I was just confused, that it was easier to ignore it than to deal with it. And I don't regret waiting, because I needed to be ready. You need to be ready too."

Relief flooded through me. At least she understood. At least she wasn't...

"But," she added, and my stomach dropped. "I also need you to be honest with me. Because I like you, Rhea. And I can't—I won't be the girl you experiment with while you figure yourself out."

My breath hitched. "What... Billie—"

"No," she cut me off, firm but not unkind. "I mean it. If this is just a phase for you, if I'm just some safe way for you to test the waters, then tell me now. Because I don't have time for that."

Heat flushed through my chest, burning up my throat. "That's not fair," I snapped before I could stop myself.

"Isn't it?" she shot back. "You don't want to be seen with me, but you want to keep texting me like you do? You want to kiss me, but not deal with what it means?"

I clenched my jaw. "I never said that."

"But you won't say what you do want."

A sharp silence fell between us. My pulse was pounding, my face hot with frustration.

Then Billie exhaled, and her voice softened. "Look, I like you too much to pretend I don't care about this. But if you don't know what you want, then tell me that. Don't string me along."

String her along?

That stung.

My teeth sank into my bottom lip. My anger, my defensiveness, wanted to fight back—to tell her she was being unfair, that she was pressuring me. But deep down, I knew the truth.

I was scared.

And Billie? She was right. But I wasn't ready to admit that. So instead, I swallowed my words and pulled the phone away from my ear.

"Rhea," Billie said, as if she could sense what I was about to do.

I ignored the ache in my chest and hung up.

And I didn't text her back.

✧༺♥༻∞

I woke up to the soft buzz of my phone.

For a moment, I stayed still, eyes shut, tangled in the sheets, trying to will myself back to sleep. But the buzzing continued. Two, three, four times in a row, until I finally groaned and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

I'm sorry.
For last night. For pushing you.
But I meant what I said.
If you want to talk, meet me at my place at 3.

I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting.

Billie was still holding her ground. I shouldn't be surprised. Billie had always known what she wanted, always been the kind of person who spoke her mind, who wouldn't settle for anything less than the truth.

And now she wanted the truth from me.

I exhaled sharply, dropping my phone onto my chest. Billie was right. I knew she was right. But knowing and admitting were two very different things.

I spent the rest of the morning pacing my kitchen and living room, thoughts spiraling, never shutting off.

Did I want this? Was I ready for this?

It was easy to pretend when we were just texting, when I could flirt and tease and pretend like it didn't mean anything. But it did mean something, and that was the terrifying part.

If I was still friends with Maisie, this would be her jam. She would sit me down, force a drink in my hand, and tell me to get my shit together.

Maisie.

The thought hit me out of nowhere, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through my chest.

God, when was the last time I even talked to her? Weeks? Months? We used to tell each other everything. She was my person. And then one fight, one stupid, heated argument, and suddenly, we weren't even in each other's lives anymore.

Was it even worth it?

Was any of this worth losing her?

I sat on the couch, rubbing my temples, my mind running in circles. The more I thought about it, the more restless I became—until suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore.

I needed to talk to her.

Before I could overthink it, I grabbed my keys, threw on a hoodie, and slipped on my shoes.

The drive to Maisie's house was twenty minutes of self-doubt.

Was this a bad idea? Maybe she wouldn't even want to see me. Maybe she had already moved on, found new friends, people who weren't me.

But I couldn't turn back now.

I pulled up to her house, cut the engine, and just... sat there. The nerves in my chest twisted into something tight, something suffocating.

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles going white. You can leave. Right now. You don't have to do this.

But deep down, I knew I did. So I forced myself to move. I got out of the car, shut the door behind me, and walked up to her front porch.

For a second, I hesitated, my finger hovering over the doorbell. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed it.

The sound echoed through the house. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Seconds passed.

Then the door swung open.

Maisie stood there, barefoot, an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, her expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

And just like that, for the first time in months, we were face to face.

Chapter Text

Maisie's eyes flicked over me, her expression unreadable.

I expected anger, coldness, maybe even for her to slam the door in my face. Instead, she just sighed, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

"So," she said, voice flat. "You and Billie, huh?"

My stomach dropped.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My brain short-circuited. How the hell did she know?

Maisie just raised a brow. "You gonna keep standing there looking like a deer in headlights, or are you coming in?"

I blinked. "I...yeah."

I stepped inside, the familiarity of her apartment hitting me all at once. The same framed photos on the wall, the same overstuffed couch with a mountain of blankets on one end, the same scent of cinnamon and coffee lingering in the air.

It was like nothing had changed. Except everything had.

Maisie walked past me, plopping onto the couch and tucking her legs under herself. She motioned toward the armchair across from her, like this was just another casual conversation between friends. Like we hadn't gone months without speaking.

I sat down stiffly, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

"How did you—?"

Maisie smirked. "Please. I knew before you did."

I scowled. "That's ridiculous."

She shrugged, reaching for the coffee mug on the table and taking a sip. "Not really. You've been obsessed with her forever."

I scoffed. "I have not—"

She shot me a sharp look over the rim of her mug, "Are you kidding? You would never stop talking about her, even if it was 'I am the better singer!', 'I will win that Grammy', which you didn't, but that's okay."

I just swallowed, staying quiet.

Maisie sighed, setting the cup down. "Look, I get why you're here. You're freaking out, you don't know how to handle it, and now you're spiraling because you actually like her."

I let out a breath, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Yeah. Something like that."

Maisie's gaze softened. "You're overthinking this."

"That's easy for you to say," I muttered.

"Because I've been there," she said pointedly. "Trust me, I get it. You think the second you put a label on this, everything will change. People will look at you differently. You'll have to be different. But newsflash, Rhea, you already are different. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."

My stomach twisted.

I hated how easily she saw through me. How she always had.

"I just..." I exhaled slowly, struggling to put it into words. "I don't know how to be this."

Maisie gave me a knowing look. "You don't have to be anything. You just have to be with her."

That was the part that terrified me the most.

Because Maisie was right, this wasn't just some passing crush. I wanted Billie. Really wanted her.

But was I ready for everything that came with that?

As if reading my mind, Maisie leaned back, stretching her arms over the back of the couch. "You know, Billie's not gonna wait around forever."

I tensed. "I never said—"

"She's giving you space," Maisie cut in, tilting her head. "But eventually, she's gonna need an answer."

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening against my knees. How the fuck did she just magically know everything? And, how did she even know I came here to talk to her about Billie? Damn, she really was my best friend.

Maisie sighed, shaking her head. "Rhea, do you want to be with her?"

I hesitated.

Then, finally, quietly...

"...Yes."

Maisie smirked. "Then stop being a little bitch about it and go get your girl."

I let out a startled laugh, shaking my head. "Jesus, Maisie."

She grinned, but then her expression softened. "I missed you, you know."

Something in my chest cracked open. I looked at her, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.

"I missed you too," I admitted.

Maisie just smiled, taking another sip of her coffee. "Now go deal with your girl before she moves on and breaks your heart."

I rolled my eyes, standing up. "You're the worst."

"And yet, here you are."

I huffed, heading for the door. But just as I reached for the handle, I paused.

"Maisie?"

She looked up.

"...Thanks."

Her lips curled into a soft smile. "Anytime, and I'm sorry. About... everything. I mean it."

I exhaled, nodding at her quietly. It was my form of accepting her apology. Then, I stepped outside. I had a girl to go see.

Chapter Text

The drive to Billie's house was supposed to be simple. Fifteen minutes, tops. But of course, the universe had other plans.

It started with the buzzing of my phone. At first, I ignored it. I knew it wasn't Billie, we hadn't talked since her text this morning. But the buzz didn't stop. One after another.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

My heart sank. That many notifications never meant anything good.

At a red light, I hesitantly glanced down. 15 messages. Group chats, news alerts, Twitter notifications. My stomach twisted as I opened a couple of texts from a few friends.

Rhea. Wtf is going on??

Girl. Check TMZ.

I felt a cold wave rush through me as I quickly opened Twitter. And there it was.

#RheaJamesBreakup

My pulse pounded. The top headline read:

"Pop Star Rhea and Longtime Boyfriend James Call It Quits — And There's Already a New Woman in the Picture?"

"Oh, fuck." I whispered. 

I scrolled further, only to find a picture I didn't even know existed. It wasn't from the party. No. This was from the morning after. Me, leaving Billie's house. Billie standing at her door, looking at me with a sort of tinge in her eyes.

The caption beneath it was brutal:

"Caught in the Act? Rhea's Secret Fling with Billie Eilish Sparks Questions After Shocking Split."

I sighed, my nails finding the comfort of my teeth, "Jesus Christ."

The light turned green, but I didn't move. Cars honked, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. The comments were already flooding in.

So Rhea's been cheating?? Wow. Didn't see that one coming.

James deserved better. Billie needs to stay away.

Okay but... the way Billie's looking at her??

Is it bad that I'm kinda into it? The chemistry is insane.

Pop star drama is my Roman Empire.

I slammed my phone face-down on the passenger seat, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles went white. This wasn't just a breakup story. This was a full-blown scandal. And the worst part? Billie was now part of it.

I did this. I made this mess, and just as I thought I was going to fix things, everything went back to shit.

The thought made my stomach churn. She'd warned me. She'd been so clear. And now, instead of a heart-to-heart about what we wanted, I had to show up on her doorstep with this massive mess I had created.

But I couldn't turn back now.

I gritted my teeth, pressing my foot on the gas. I had no choice but to face it.

The nerves were unbearable as I pulled into Billie's driveway. My hands shook as I killed the engine, the buzzing from my phone still going off like a relentless reminder. I ignored it.

Instead, I climbed out, every step toward her door feeling heavier than the last. The moment I knocked, I heard movement inside. Then, the door swung open.

Billie stood there, her face a mix of surprise and something else. Something unreadable.

"Rhea."

"I know," I blurted out, my voice cracking. "I know. I saw it."

She didn't say anything at first. Just studied me, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Come in," she said finally, stepping aside. Her body stayed still, her eyes scanning the outside of her house before she closed the door.

I walked in, the weight of the scandal trailing right behind me.

Finally, Billie turned, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "So. You want to explain how the entire internet suddenly thinks we're having some illicit affair?"

I swallowed hard. "I-I didn't know they took pictures. I didn't even—"

Billie scoffed. "Of course you didn't."

"Billie, I'm sorry. I never wanted this."

She shook her head, biting her lip. "You should've known this would happen. Ypu, along with me, are two of the biggested artists in the U.S. You didn't think they'd eventually find us? Rhea, you're acting like an amateur."

"I wasn't thinking about the press!" I said, my voice rising. "I was thinking about you. About us. And how I...I don't know, I just wanted to see you."

Billie's eyes softened for a second. But she didn't let her guard down. Not yet.

"You wanted to see me?" she echoed. "Or did you just want to make yourself feel better after our phone call?"

I flinched. "That's not fair."

She stepped closer, her gaze locking with mine. "No, what's not fair is getting dragged into your mess. I didn't sign up to be someone's dirty little secret, Rhea."

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. She was right.

"I'll fix this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make a statement. Tell them it's nothing, that we're just friends."

Billie's jaw clenched. "Is that what we are?"

My breath caught.

"Because I need to know," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Am I just the rebound? The scandal to distract people from your breakup? Or am I actually something to you?"

I shook my head, tears threatening to spill. "Billie, you're not...God, you're not a rebound. You're..."

I trailed off, the words stuck. I knew what I wanted to say. But the fear was suffocating.

"I'm what, Rhea?" she pressed.

"I don't know," I choked out. "I'm still figuring it out."

Billie exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Her eyes lingered on me, searching for something. Then, finally, she nodded.

"I believe you."

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

"But believing you doesn't mean I can keep doing this," she added, her voice tight. "You need to figure out what you want, Rhea, because I'm not going to stand here while you decide if I'm worth the risk."

She stepped back, her words lingering in the air like smoke.

"I think you should go."

My heart shattered. But I didn't argue.

With one last glance, I turned and walked out the door, the sound of it closing behind me echoing in my chest.

If this day wasnt already horrible, I was met with a swarm of paparazzi that followed me to my car. Flashes of light in my face and yells of my name and Billie's echoed in my ears. Angrily, I hopped in my car, slammed the door, and quickly reversed out of her drive way, almost hitting one of the paparazzi.

Chapter Text

A week had passed. Seven whole days.

And Billie?

Not a single text. Not one word.

I hated how often I checked my phone, hoping, praying, for her name to light up my screen. But it never did. Each silent hour made my stomach twist tighter, a constant ache I couldn't shake.

Instead, the only notifications I got were from the outside world. News articles, gossip blogs, viral TikToks. Everyone had something to say about me. About Billie.

Rhea's Breakup Bombshell: Who Is the Mystery Woman?
From Friends to Flames? The Timeline of Rhea and Billie's Romance.
Where's James? Sources Say the Ex Is Keeping Quiet Amid the Cheating Rumors.

I'd lost count of how many times they called Billie the "other woman." The implication alone made me nauseous. She wasn't some villain in my story. She was the only person who had made me feel something real in months. Maybe even years.

But that didn't matter to them. They wanted their scandal, and I gave it to them on a silver platter. And now Billie's paying the price.

I saw the TikToks dissecting her every move. Clips from her latest interviews resurfaced, people twisting her words. Others dug into her past, making assumptions and labeling her everything from a homewrecker to a publicity stunt.

She'd stayed silent through it all. No interviews. No comments. Just... gone.

And I didn't blame her.

"Rhea, you have to eat something."

Maisie sat across from me at the small round table in my kitchen. She pushed a plate of scrambled eggs toward me, but I barely glanced at it. The smell alone turned my stomach.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, poking at the edge of the plate with my fork. It was a lie, and we both knew it.

"Babe, you look like you're about to pass out." Maisie's voice softened, her dark eyes full of concern. "And you've been glued to your phone all morning. Again."

I sighed, flipping it face-down like that would somehow stop the constant buzzing. But the headlines still ran through my mind like a cruel loop.

Rhea Spotted Alone — Where's Billie?
Friends or Fakers? Body Language Expert Weighs In.
James Breaks His Silence!

That one hit me the hardest.

James hadn't actually "broken his silence." He'd just posted a single, vague Instagram story. A black screen with the words:

Some people will show you exactly who they are. Believe them.

The internet ate it up. I rolled my eyes at it, but secretly so did I.

"Have you even tried to talk to her?" Maisie asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Billie?" My voice cracked on her name. "No. She told me to figure out what I wanted. And I don't even know what I'd say."

"Well, you can't just keep sitting here torturing yourself," she said, waving toward the phone like it was the enemy. "The media isn't going to stop. And Billie sure as hell isn't going to magically text you if you keep hiding."

"I'm not hiding."

Maisie gave me a glance, her brow raised, "You haven't left this house in days."

She wasn't wrong. Every time I even thought about stepping outside, the fear gripped me. The cameras. The questions. The relentless accusations.

And Billie, the way she looked at me that day. Hurt. Disappointed.

"I don't even know if she wants to hear from me," I whispered.

"Then find out," Maisie said firmly. "Because this? Sitting around, letting the whole world write your story for you? That's not the Rhea I know."

Her words hit something deep inside me. I felt myself choke up, but I suppressed it quickly. Why am I letting the media genuinely control my actions?

I needed to see Billie even if it meant facing the storm I created.

That afternoon, I did something I hadn't done in a week.

I pulled on a hoodie, tugged the sleeves over my hands, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Disguises never worked well; people always recognized me anyway, but at least it gave me a sliver of comfort.

The second I stepped outside, the buzz of cameras followed. Across the street, two photographers hovered like vultures, their lenses already raised. A black car I didn't recognize was parked down the block. Probably paparazzi, waiting to trail me.

I gritted my teeth, ignoring the shutter clicks as I slid into my car. My hands trembled against the steering wheel. I didn't even have to think about the drive. Billie's house was muscle memory at this point. Every turn, every traffic light. I knew them like the back of my hand.

But when I pulled up to her street, something was different.

Another car was parked outside. A sleek black SUV.

And standing by her front door, knocking with a little too much confidence, was none other than James.

My heart slammed against my ribs and my lips parted in shock. I felt my stomach drop. What the hell was he doing here?

He hadn't reached out to me once since his passive-aggressive Instagram post. No calls. No texts. And now, suddenly, he was at Billie's house?

I sat frozen, watching as the door slowly opened.

Billie stood there, her expression unreadable. She didn't slam the door in his face, didn't immediately tell him to leave. They exchanged a few words, but I couldn't hear a thing.

Then James stepped inside.

The door closed.

And I was left alone.

My chest tightened painfully. Every worst-case scenario played through my mind. Was he trying to manipulate her? Guilt her? Or worse, was he trying to turn her against me?

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached.

I was frozen in place, zero clue of what to do now.

My stomach churned, and I felt like throwing up. What could he possibly want from her?

I needed to talk to someone.

Without thinking, I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and scrolled until I found Maisie's name. My finger hovered over the call button for a split second before I pressed it. The phone barely rang twice before she answered. I reversed out of her drive way, circling around her neighborhood.

"Rhea? What's up?" Her voice was slightly raspy, like she'd just woken up or maybe smoked one too many cigarettes last night.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first. The words tangled inside me. "He's...He was there."

"Who was there?"

"James," I choked out. "He was at Billie's house. I just saw him, Maisie."

There was a pause. Then, like a match striking, her voice ignited.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Nope," I mumbled, my head falling back against the seat. "I don't even know why. He was just standing there, and Billie..." My words trailed off. I couldn't even describe the look on Billie's face. Was she surprised? Guilty? I didn't know.

"That asshole!" Maisie practically growled. "I swear to God, the audacity of that walking dumpster fire. What the hell is he even doing there? Trying to weasel his way back into your life? After everything he's done?" She then gasps, "What if he is trying to sabotage your relationship with her?"

"Exactly!" My voice cracked, and I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. "And Billie— I mean, why would she even let him in? After all the shit he pulled?"

Maisie didn't miss a beat. "Because guys like him don't know when to quit. He probably showed up uninvited, acting like he's still relevant. Trust me, Rhea, he's trying to manipulate her. Probably wants to stir shit up because he can't stand the fact that you're happy without him."

I bit my lip, my chest heaving. Maisie was right. James was like a virus, he thrived on chaos. And now, he was dragging Billie into it.

"You need to go back," Maisie snapped, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "March your ass up to that door and demand answers. Don't let him play his stupid games."

"I don't know," I muttered, though the frustration was bubbling up in me, "What if I'm overreacting?"

"You're not," Maisie cut me off. "You're reacting like someone who just found out her ex, who treated her like shit, is suddenly all buddy-buddy with the girl she actually cares about. You deserve to know what the hell is going on."

My heart pounded. I wanted to believe Maisie. Hell, I did believe her. But confronting Billie? After everything we'd been through? It terrified me.

"Come on, Rhea," Maisie urged. "That bitch James has had his way for too long. You think he's gonna get the last word? Fuck that! Ugh, honestly, you could write a song about this."

I giggled softly to myself, then repeated what she said. "Fuck that," I echoed under my breath, the heat in my veins building.

"And if Billie has anything to say for herself, she better be damn ready to say it. James too!"

I gritted my teeth, shoving the car into drive. "Okay. I'm doing it."

"Good," Maisie barked. "And call me the second you leave. I want all the deets. Kay, bye love you! Mwah!"

With a quick goodbye, I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. My pulse roared in my ears as I took a few turns around the neighborhood, driving aimlessly as I tried to calm myself down. But Maisie's words lingered. I deserved answers, and I wasn't going to sit back and let James ruin everything.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I pulled up in front of Billie's house once again. My hands trembled as I cut the engine. The house was still. No James in sight, but his car still sat there. Terrorizing me. Every second counted right now.

I swallowed hard, the weight of what I was about to do pressing down on me. Then, fueled by the spark Maisie had ignited, I shoved open the door and marched to the front step.

My finger jabbed at the doorbell. Once. Twice. Then, for good measure, I raised my fist and pounded on the door.

"Billie!" My voice cracked through the quiet street. "Open up!"

I didn't care if she was shocked. I didn't care if James was still inside. I was done sitting in the dark and letting life go past me.

Chapter Text

The door flew open so fast I barely had time to react before I was face-to-face with Billie.

And she looked pissed.

"Rhea?" Her eyes flickered with confusion, but it lasted maybe half a second before her expression hardened. "What are you doing here?"

My stomach twisted. "What am I? What is he doing here?!" My voice caught in my throat as my eyes darted over to James.

Standing just a few feet behind her, arms crossed, looking like he belonged here. He had a smug smirk on his lips, just barely visible, but I had seen it enough times to know he had something diabolical up his sleeves.

I took a sharp step forward. "Why is he here?" I repeated, my voice clearer this time.

Billie let out a bitter laugh, stepping aside so I could get a better view of him. "That's what I'd like to know too."

James tilted his head, lips curling into that smug, punchable smirk.

"Look who finally showed up. I knew you'd come crawling back. You always do."

My fingers clenched into fists. "James, what the hell are you doing?"

He shrugged, like this was just some casual hangout and not the absolute worst moment in existence. "Thought I'd have a little chat with Billie. Since, you know, you don't seem to know what you want."

My jaw tightened. "Are you serious right now?"

Billie folded her arms, her patience visibly disintegrating. "James, why are you here?"

He glanced between us like he was enjoying this a little too much. "Well, I wanted to check in. See how Rhea's holding up now that the whole internet is on her ass." He gave me a look. "Bet it's been a rough week, huh?"

My chest burned.

James kept going, voice slow, taunting. "I mean, damn. You go from sneaking around to getting caught hard, and now you don't even have the decency to own it?" He clicked his tongue. "That's crazy."

"Shut up, James." My voice came out sharp, but my hands were shaking.

"Oh, now you wanna shut me up?" He let out a breathy laugh. "Nah, let's talk about it. Since you sure as hell weren't talking about it when we were together."

Billie's jaw clenched, and I could see the anger and frustration in her eyes. My eyes narrowed too, my teeth grinding against each other.

James took a step forward, tone mocking. "I'm just saying, it's kinda funny how you only wanted Billie when no one was looking. But the second shit got real, you panicked." He turned to Billie, eyes gleaming. "Bet that stings, huh?"

Billie didn't move. Didn't blink.

I could see the shift happen in real time. The moment the words landed.

And my stomach dropped.

Billie lets out a low chuckle, "Well he's not fucking lying."

I swallowed. "Billie, can we talk about this later. In private. Without him here?"

She stepped closer, "No. No cause the things he's saying aren't straying too far from the truth, so we can just stay right here.

I should have said no. Should have pushed for a better time, but I just stood there, taking it.

I wasn't ashamed of Billie. I wasn't trying to hide her. I was just terrified. Of what? I couldn't even tell you.

But that didn't matter right now. Not with Billie looking at me like that and definitely not with James standing there, watching this fall apart like he'd been waiting for it.

Billie let out a dry, humorless laugh after I had failed to say something in response, "Wow."

I shook my head. "Please? I want to explain everything to you, I just need a moment."

"Do it here!" Her voice was rising now. "He's right, Rhea, because from where I'm standing, it looks like you didn't mind being with me in secret. But the second people found out, you freaked out."

"That's not—"

"It is," she cut me off.

The room felt small and I couldn't breathe.

James let out a low whistle. "Yikes."

I snapped, and so did Billie

"Shut the fuck up, James!" Our voices shouted in unison. She did acknowledge he was right, but she still hated him.

Silence, but followed was that same smirk that irked my nerves so badly.

Billie exhaled sharply, like she was trying to hold something back.

"You know what?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Fuck this."

"Billie..."

"Don't." She didn't even look at me.

James let out a mocking little sigh. "Damn. That's tough."

I spun to face him, heart pounding. "You are such a piece of shit."

"Maybe," he said, grinning, "but at least I don't lie to myself."

I didn't think, and suddenly I was shoving him. Hard.

He stumbled back, laughing, but something dark flashed in his expression before he covered it up.

"Ouch," he mocked. "Guess I hit a nerve."

I felt like I was going to explode.

Instead, I turned, storming through the house after Billie. James' laughter echoed through the house, ringing in my ears.

Yet, as I called after Billie, I had no idea that somewhere in his pocket, his phone was recording something that had the possibility of ruining my career.

And by tomorrow...?

The whole world was gonna hear every single word.

Chapter Text

"Billie, please just...just stop walking away!"

My voice came out sharper than I meant, echoing through the empty hallway. Billie stopped, but she didn't turn around. Her shoulders were rigid, tense. She was listening, but barely.

I took a breath, trying to steady myself. My chest was still tight from the argument in the living room, from James, from everything.

I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to storm back out there and shove him again. He was probably already halfway to his car, already planning his next move. But right now, he wasn't the problem in front of me. Billie was.

And if I let her walk out of this house still believing I didn't care about her, I'd probably lose her forever.

"Billie," I said again, softer this time.

Finally, she turned. Her expression was unreadable.

But her eyes? They weren't just angry. They were hurt.

"Rhea, I can't keep doing this." Her voice was quieter than before, but just as sharp. Like a knife dragging across my ribs. "I can't keep waiting for you to figure yourself out while I get dragged through hell for it."

I swallowed hard, stepping closer. "I know."

"Do you?" she snapped. "Because it sure as hell doesn't seem like it."

She let out a harsh breath, pressing her fingers against her temples. "You keep saying you're not ashamed of me, that you're not hiding me, but then...then this happens." She gestured wildly, like she didn't even have the words for it. "The whole world finds out about us, and instead of standing by me, you freeze."

I opened my mouth, but she wasn't finished.

"I have spent years, years, hiding who I was. And when I finally stopped, when I finally let myself be free, I promised myself I'd never let anyone make me feel small again." Her voice wavered, just a little. "I'm not going back to that, Rhea. I can't."

My throat felt tight. My heartbeat was erratic.

"Billie," I whispered, and I wasn't even sure what I was about to say until it came spilling out.

"I was never scared of people knowing about us. I was scared of what James would think."

The second the words left my mouth, Billie's entire body stiffened.

A heavy silence settled between us. I could feel the weight of my confession sinking in, pressing down on both of us.

Finally, Billie spoke, her voice eerily calm. "James?"

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Not just him. My family too. But mostly... yeah."

Billie blinked, like she was trying to process the absolute stupidity of what I had just said. And then she laughed. A short, humorless sound that made my stomach drop.

"You're telling me," she said slowly, like she was making sure she got it right, "that the only reason you've been freaking out, the only reason you've been hesitating, is because you were scared of what James would think?"

I hesitated. "I mean, yes, but—"

"Are you fucking serious, Rhea?! That loser?"

She threw her hands up, pacing across the room like she was physically restraining herself from losing her mind.

I flinched. "I know how it sounds—"

"Oh, do you?!" she cut in. "Because it sounds like you were more worried about what your shitty, toxic ex-boyfriend thought than the person you claim to have feelings for!"

I felt myself getting defensive. "Billie, I've known him for half of my life! It's not that simple!"

She turned to face me fully now, anger flashing in her eyes. "Yes, it is!"

"No, it's not!" My voice cracked. "Because I didn't grow up around this, Billie! You and I...this is new for me!"

Billie's jaw clenched. "And you think it wasn't new for me at one point?"

I sucked in a breath, my chest aching.

"I get it," she continued, voice softer now. "I get being scared. I get needing time to figure it out. But Rhea, you had time. And instead of letting yourself be honest, you let him get in your head."

I felt something inside me snap.

"Yeah, well, he's really fucking good at that, isn't he?" I shot back, my voice shaking. "He manipulated me for years. He made me feel like I was nothing without him. So, yeah, maybe I was scared of what he'd say. Maybe I was scared that he'd be right about me all along. That I was too weak to handle this."

Billie inhaled sharply, her eyes searching mine. "But he's not right."

I bit my lip, fighting back the lump in my throat. "No," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I let him make me think he was."

The anger in Billie's expression softened, just a fraction.

We stood there, breathing heavily, staring at each other like we didn't know where to go from here.

I was exhausted. Billie looked like she wanted to believe me, but I had already hurt her once.

"I'm sorry," I said finally, my voice raw. "I don't know what else to say. I don't know how to fix this overnight, but Billie... I don't want to lose you."

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. "You already did."

And fuck, if that didn't cut me in half.

"But," she added after a beat, "I don't know if I want to lose you either."

I blinked, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding, "So... what does that mean?"

"It means I need time." Her voice was steady, but I could see the conflict in her eyes. "And if you actually mean all of this? Then you need to prove it. Not just to me, but to yourself."

I nodded slowly. "Okay."

Silence.

Billie sighed, shaking her head like she was trying to clear her thoughts. Then, finally, she reached for the door handle.

"You should go, Rhea."

I hesitated.

"Please."

I swallowed hard, my chest feeling hollow, but I nodded.

And as I walked out of her house, my stomach twisted with something I couldn't quite place.

Because even though I had just poured my heart out, even though I had finally told Billie the truth, somehow, I still felt like I was about to lose everything.

✧༺♥༻∞

I woke up the next morning to my phone vibrating violently against my nightstand.

At first, I ignored it. My head was pounding from last night's fight with Billie, and my body felt like it had been through a fucking war.

After another 5 minutes of dings and pings, I couldn't take it anymore.

I snatched my phone, squinting at the hundreds of notifications flooding my screen. Group chats, missed calls, texts from people I hadn't spoken to in months.

And then the words came up on my screen. I blinked, like I had still been sleeping, but I wasn't. I read it over and over, but every time it felt fake. 

Trending #1: Rhea Calder Exposed in Leaked Recording!

Once it finally clicked in my head that this was reality and not some sick nightmare, I shot up so fast my vision blurred. My fingers fumbled to unlock my phone, my heart hammering in my chest as I tapped on the first link I could find.

A black screen, but with my voice behind it.

I pressed play.

"Billie, can we talk about this later? In private? Without him here?"

Then hers. "No. No, cause the things he's saying aren't straying too far from the truth, so we can just stay right here."

The audio was so clear, I felt like I was back in that room, reliving every painful second.

But something was off. A particular figure was missing from the recording. James' voice was gone, and it sounded like it was just Billie and I in the room.

My stomach twisted.

The person who leaked this...they edited him out. I had a good idea though who this person could have been.

Now, it was just Billie, pleading for honesty. And me? I sounded cold. Defensive. Indifferent.

"It looks like you didn't mind being with me in secret. But the second people found out, you freaked out."

"That's not—"

"It is."

I swallowed hard, my breathing shallow.

The comments were relentless.

wow rhea is actually the worst person alive

BILLIE DESERVED BETTER, WE RIDE AT DAWN

imagine hiding your gf then ghosting her when ppl find out. the weakest link frfr.

no bc she really said "can we talk in private" and thought that was gonna fix it 😭

this literally sounds like billie BEGGING for her to care. this is so humiliating I cant watch the rest.

this is why i don't trust straight girls experimenting

My throat tightened.

The whole world thought I was a villain.

And Billie?

She hadn't said a word.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling sharply. No. No, I wasn't gonna spiral. I just needed to think.

But before I could do anything, my phone lit up again.

Maisie (27 missed calls).

And then, as if she felt me looking at my phone, another one came through.

I didn't even get the chance to say hello before her voice exploded through the speaker.

"RHEA, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

I winced, holding the phone away from my ear. "Maisie—"

"No. No, I am actually going to commit arson," she snapped. "What did you DO?"

I opened my mouth to talk, but was swiftly cut off.

"No, because I woke up to my mom sending me a link to a gossip blog asking if my best friend was a raging piece of shit, so please, Rhea, tell me you didn't actually do the dumbest thing I've ever heard of?"

I ran a hand through my hair, gripping at my scalp. "Maisie, I didn't leak that."

"Wait, what?"

"I didn't leak it! Why would I leak something like that, dude? And that's not even the full conversation!"

Maisie exhaled. I could hear her brain piecing shit together in real time.

"Okay," she said slowly, voice still sharp. "Then who the fuck did?"

I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Who do you think would wanna ruin my reputation that badly?"

Maisie went dead silent.

And then..."That motherfucker."

I could practically hear her pacing, getting herself worked up like she was about to physically fight James through the phone.

"Maisie," I groaned, my head hitting the pillow, "I can't deal with this right now."

"You better fucking deal with it, because Billie hasn't said a word, and if the internet thinks you left her crying on her doorstep, it's over for you. And I mean seriously over. They might dox you or... I don't know, send a hitman."

I pressed my lips together, thinking of a solution. I needed to prove to Billie I was serious about her. Was this the right opportunity? Absolutely 100% not, but it was some sort of a start.

She was right. If Billie stayed silent, that meant she wasn't defending me. That meant she wasn't correcting the narrative. It meant she didn't care if people thought the worst.

Maisie sighed, her voice slightly softer now. "Are you gonna talk to her?"

I nodded, then realized she couldn't see me. "Yeah," I muttered. "But I think I have to set the record straight first. Probably make some sort of statement to get Billie's name out of the disaster James has created."

"Good." A beat. "Make them listen, Rhea. And don't fuck this up."

She hung up before I could respond.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers shaking around my phone. I've never had to do something this this before. I've always been drama-free, a character almost. Nobody, not even my fans, truly knew the inside scoop of my life. Well now, they were getting it and in full swing too. 

Chapter Text

The ring light glared into my eyes, but I didn't bother adjusting it again. I'd tried six takes. Every time, I either sounded too stiff or I ended up spiraling into tears.

This one needed to be it. I hit record and stared into the lens.

"Hi," I said. Simple. Quiet.

My voice was raspy. From crying, from not sleeping, from a week of pretending everything was fine when everything very much wasn't.

"I know there's a video going around, audio, technically, and a lot of people think they've heard everything. But what you're hearing isn't the full story. Not even close."

I took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees. I didn't bother doing my hair. My hoodie was wrinkled. Makeup? Nonexistent. But I needed people to see the version of me that wasn't red carpets and fake smiles.

"The context matters. The full conversation matters. And I know some of you won't care, because it's easier to believe the worst version of someone. Especially when they're quiet."

A pause. I let it sit.

"But I've been quiet because I didn't know how to explain something I hadn't even figured out myself yet. I wasn't hiding anyone because I was ashamed of them. I was hiding because I was scared of what it meant for me."

My throat tightened, but I pushed through.

"I didn't grow up with this kind of love being normal. I didn't know it could be. So when it hit me out of nowhere, I froze and... I didn't quite know what to do. I let the wrong voices and opinions in, voices that made me doubt myself, that made me feel small....that made me question whether I could handle being seen fully."

I looked away for a second, collecting myself.

"But here's what I know now: fear isn't an excuse. And hurting someone just because you're scared... that's on me."

My voice wavered.

"There are people out there who deserved more from me. Who showed up for me when I was barely showing up for myself. And instead of rising to the moment, I shrank. I disappeared."

I sat back, fingers knotting in my lap.

"This isn't a redemption arc. Or a PR stunt. It's just... me. Owning the ways I got it wrong. Because someone once told me that if you want to be known, really known, you have to stop hiding."

My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, but I finished it anyway.

"And I don't want to hide anymore."

I hovered over the post button for what felt like a full minute. Then, with one final inhale, I tapped it.

Sent.

Out into the abyss of the internet. Where it would be dissected, meme'd, judged, and maybe even understood.

Maybe.

But I didn't stick around to find out.

I tossed my phone across the bed, buried my face in my hands, and for the first time in days, I let myself breathe.

✧༺♥༻∞

FEBRUARY

It had been over a month since the chaos. Since the leak, the backlash, the damage control, and my public attempt at redemption. And somehow, we survived it.

Billie never publicly said my name. But she also never denied anything.

And that quiet in-between space? Weirdly, it worked for us.

The world eventually moved on. Some new celebrity feud, an award show snub, a messy album rollout, but behind all the noise, Billie and I had been rebuilding. Slowly. Cautiously. Texts turned into late-night calls. Calls turned into visits. And while she still kept me at arm's length emotionally, there were moments. Little cracks in the armor.

But that's besides the point. What the internet did remember, though, was James.

Once people dug into our past, and they dug deep, the narrative flipped fast. Screenshots, old tweets, even podcast clips from years ago surfaced, painting a clearer, uglier picture of the way James had manipulated me over time. The "poor ex-boyfriend" narrative shattered like glass. His name trended for all the wrong reasons. And then came the final blow: the band dropped him.

There was no dramatic press release, no farewell post. Just a quiet unfollowing from every member, his face scrubbed from their profile, and a half-hearted statement about "artistic differences" two days later.

No one bought it.

Maisie had called me the second she saw it happen. Her tone was smug as hell.

"You're officially vindicated," she said. "Took long enough."

I didn't feel vindicated, though. I just felt tired.

But with James out of the picture and the noise of it all finally dying down, I'd expected things to snap back into place between Billie and me.

They didn't.

At least, not completely.

We talked more now. Texts, calls, sometimes FaceTime when her schedule allowed. But it was never consistent. Never deep. We were in this weird limbo. No longer enemies, not exactly lovers, and definitely not "just friends."

Now she was on the other side of the world, starting her tour again in Brisbane.

And me? I was back in LA, laying on my bed, staring at her Instagram story.

The screen showed a ten-second video from soundcheck. The arena was mostly empty, the stage glowing under blue lights. Billie's hair was thrown up in a messy bun, her features hidden behind the darkness of the arena, her voice echoing through the mic as she adjusted the monitors.

She looked tired. But still... radiant. And untouchable.

My phone buzzed right after I finished watching it.

Brisbane is cool. Miss u tho.

I smiled, but that was it. That was the whole text. Still, I felt my pulse spike like an idiot.

I bit my lip, hovering over the keyboard. What was I supposed to say?

Same.
  Miss u too.
Wanna crawl into your suitcase and never leave.

Too clingy. Too flirty. Too... yeah no.

I locked my phone without replying.

There was only so much rejection a person could take in one day, and I had hit my limit somewhere between the timezone math and the sixth time I refreshed her Instagram story like a lunatic.

The house was too quiet. My head was too loud.

So I grabbed the one thing that still made sense.

Notebook. Pen. No distractions.

The page stared up at me, blank, judgmental, waiting. I hadn't written anything new in months, not since the leak. Not since Billie looked at me like a stranger. But now, something was stirring in my chest. It was painful in the way only heartbreak is.

I didn't even think before my pen hit the paper, my thoughts spilling out like an artist pressing their brush against the canvas.

"Think of me when you're out, when you're out there
I'll beg you nice from my knees..."

The words came fast. Familiar, but still fresh. Like they'd been buried somewhere deep, waiting for this exact heartbreak to set them free.

"And when the world treats you way too fairly
Well, it's a shame I'm a dream..."

I paused, letting the lyrics breathe on the page. I said the words over and over, humming a tune I thought would make sense with the vibe I was going for.

Every line was a flash of her face. The ache in her voice. The silence after I left.

"All I wanted was you..."

The pen slipped a little as I wrote the chorus. My hands were shaking, but I didn't stop. Couldn't. This wasn't just a song anymore. This was me, bleeding onto the page in sound. I bit my lips, my teeth tearing the dead skin away. I was focused, and even when my hand cramped up, I would just shake it away quickly and start again.

By the time I got to the second verse, I couldn't sit still. I got up, pacing the room, still scribbling between steps like I was chasing the pieces of myself I'd lost in that fight.

"I could follow you to the beginning
Just to relive the start..."

My voice cracked as I whispered the line out loud. I hated how it sounded, how honest it felt. Like I'd do anything to rewind time. To undo everything. To say the right thing when it actually mattered.

I stared down at the finished lyrics. My heart was racing, my throat tight.

This song was everything I hadn't been able to say in that hallway. Everything I still wanted to scream through every screen until she heard me, until she knew it was always her.

I didn't know what I'd do with it yet. Whether I'd keep it locked away or record a demo and throw it into the void of the internet like a flare.

But one thing was clear. This was the most honest thing I had created in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

The conference room smelled like burnt espresso and nerves.

I was sitting at the end of a long glass table, legs crossed, notebook open, pen tapping against the page. My manager sat across from me, typing something aggressively into her phone before setting it down with a sigh.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "You want to announce a full tour. Soon."

"Yes," I said, leaning forward. "Actually, I want to start a tour. Not just announce one."

She blinked. "And what exactly changed in the last two weeks?"

I stared at her, knowing she didn't mean it with attitude, she wasn't like that. She was the closest thing I had to family in this industry. And she was also the person who had walked me through hell these past few months.

"I've been writing again," I said simply. "I feel like I can breathe again. Like... I feel that spark"

"That's good. We love breathing."

I cracked a smile.

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "But you're aware that, uh, we're still in the tail-end of the biggest personal PR nightmare of your career?"

"I'm aware."

"You're also aware that your fanbase is only just starting to chill after weeks of fighting over whether or not you're the worst person alive?"

"Also... aware."

"And you still want to go on tour?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "I need to go on tour."

She sighed, tugging her hair into a messy bun. "Alright. Pitch it to me. Convince me this isn't a disaster waiting to happen."

I closed my notebook. Didn't even need to look at it.

"Look, I released my album a couple of months ago. It was my most personal one yet. People connected with it and really heard me. But I didn't follow it up with anything. No tour. No live shows. Just a couple of interviews where I looked like I wanted to crawl out of my skin. The audience never got the full experience."

She didn't interrupt. She just watched me, like she was trying to decide if I meant it this time.

"And I'm not the same person I was in December," I said, softer now. "I have new songs. A new sound. New... perspective. If I don't get on stage again soon, I'm gonna lose my mind."

"You're still rebuilding your image," she warned. "Even after the statement, there are brands that are nervous. People are still waiting to see if you're gonna crack again."

"Let them watch," I said. "I'm done hiding."

That shut her up for a second.

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. Finally, she looked back at me and sighed. "Alright. Let's book some venues and see how many cities you can sell out in a week."

My heart jumped. "So that's a yes?"

"It's a 'yes, but if this backfires, I will absolutely say I told you so.'"

I grinned. "That's fair."

✧༺♥༻∞

The next seven days blurred into chaos.

Three different photoshoots. Two interviews that wouldn't air until after the announcement. A warehouse visit to design tour merch. Endless phone calls with venue reps and lighting designers and choreographers. I'd forgotten what it was like to feel this wired. This alive. For once in the past few months, I actually felt like me again.

We planned a North American leg first, then Europe, with room to expand into Asia and Australia if things went well. It was ambitious, maybe even reckless, but I didn't care. This was my life, my passion. If I weren't ambitious, hell, I might as well go home.

This wasn't about playing it safe anymore, either.

I hadn't spoken to Billie again, not directly. But I saw her watching. Liking posts. Quietly orbiting.

I didn't expect her to reach out. Not after everything. Not until she was ready.

But a tiny, stupid part of me hoped that when she saw the announcement, maybe, just maybe, she'd feel it too.

The buildup to Sunday nearly killed me. I'd picked a time: 6PM PST. Prime scrolling hour. We had teaser images ready. Video clips. A soft rebrand of my name in all lowercase, moody dark tones, vintage poster vibes.

It felt like me. A new me. One that had survived some shit and still had more to say.

SUNDAY 6:00 pm

I hit post on Instagram, then immediately threw my phone across the bed.

Maisie, sitting on my couch with a bag of Cheetos, stared at me like I had just defused a bomb.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

I stood there, hands on my hips, watching my phone vibrate from across the room.

"Well," she said through a mouthful of orange dust. "You're trending again. Congrats."

I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Then finally, I crossed the room and picked up the phone.

My post had already racked up over 200,000 likes. It had been one minute.

@rheacalder
finally. see you soon.

Under the caption was the official tour information:
THE BRAND NEW EYES TOUR
Spring / Summer 2025
North America • Europe • More TBD

The design was clean. Grungy edges, torn-paper aesthetic, yellow accent over grainy black-and-white photos of me from the recent shoot. Eyes scribbled over in thick black marker, one lyric handwritten at the bottom.

"I could follow you to the beginning,
just to relive the start."

Chapter Text

The dressing room was freezing, despite the three space heaters jammed in the corner and the fact that I was already sweating through my hoodie.

The venue was massive, sold out, of course, and my team was buzzing with excitement. The crowd outside was singing along to the opener.

And me? I couldn't stop staring at my phone.

I hadn't meant to open Instagram. I was supposed to be hydrating, stretching my legs, warming up my voice, doing literally anything else, but the notification had popped up, and then it was over.

@rheacalder posted.

I should've ignored it. That was the mature thing to do. The healthy thing.

But I didn't.

I tapped, and there it was.

THE BRAND NEW EYES TOUR
Her face. Her words. Her comeback.

"I could follow you to the beginning,
just to relive the start."

I stared at the screen, rereading that line more times than I wanted to admit.

My stomach twisted. Not in a jealous way. Not even in a sad way. Just... something in between. Something I didn't have a name for.

I flipped my phone over, face down on the vanity.

I'd watched Rhea fall apart and try to put herself back together from afar. I'd watched her take accountability, and I'd seen her show up publicly in a way that a lot of people never would've.

And still I hadn't said a word.

Not because I didn't care. I cared way too much. That was the problem. I just didn't know what to do with it.

My guitarist poked his head into the room. "We're on in fifteen."

"Cool," I said, trying not to sound like I was somewhere else entirely.

He paused. "You good?"

I nodded automatically.

He didn't believe me, but he let it slide. "Crowd's really loud tonight." He said quickly before giving me a firm nod.

As soon as he disappeared, I picked up my phone again. I scrolled through the tour post and the comments. The support, the way people were already losing their minds and commenting about the lyric.

Rhea was always meant for this. The stage. The chaos. The comeback. And thank god she wasn't afraid of the spotlight anymore.

But I wasn't stupid, I knew that tour name wasn't just branding. It was a message, and I knew who it was meant for. The girl who had walked away in January. The girl who had needed space. The girl who had told Rhea she needed to prove herself. I pressed my forehead against the mirror, blinking away all the thoughts about Rhea before I switched that part of my brain off.

Right now, I just needed to focus on the show and getting through it.

✧༺♥༻∞

By the time I reached the hotel, the makeup on my face was half-smeared, my shirt was soaked through with sweat, and my throat felt like I had swallowed broken glass.

Another sold-out arena. Another hour and a half of screaming my soul out on stage, smiling through the ache, pretending I wasn't thinking about that damn post. That damn line.

The fans had been louder than usual. The kind of loud that shook your ribcage, that made you feel invincible even when everything else was falling apart. I should've been riding that high. I should've been celebrating. But instead, I was deep in my thoughts, my brain refusing to get those words out.

I was now alone in a room I couldn't even pretend felt like home, peeling my damp undershirt off and throwing it across the chair like it had personally offended me.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall for a full minute.

Then I pulled off the rest of my clothes, leaving a trail from the door to the bathroom, and stepped into the shower without even waiting for the water to heat up.

The first touch felt like ice against my hot skin, but I didn't flinch.

Eventually, it warmed, and I leaned forward, resting my palms flat against the tile. The water pounded down on the back of my neck, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere.

My hands were shaking, and I wished I could blame it on adrenaline or fatigue, but I knew the truth. I was unraveling, my mind shattering into little pieces.

The worst part wasn't the heartbreak itself. It was the fact that I still didn't hate her. That I had tried so hard to convince myself I was done with her, that I had every right to walk away, but none of that changed the way her voice still lived in my chest like it owned the place.

It was a funny feeling. A strange one. Every time I hummed Billie Bossa Nova to myself, her face would show up in my head, like the lyrics belonged to her, like she was the one moving through them. And every time I heard her voice in an old playlist, I'd catch myself pausing mid-song. Just to listen. Just to remember what it felt like for her voice to me in my ears.

I had wanted her to fight. To prove it. And she had.

She'd said sorry. She'd come clean. She'd written that song and released it like it was a lifeline she hoped I might grab onto.

But I hadn't reached back. Not yet. And I didn't know if I was proud of that, or just scared.

I stayed in the shower until the water turned lukewarm and the steam had soaked into the wall. By the time I stepped out, my skin was flushed pink and my hair was a tangled mess down my back. I wrapped myself in a towel and stood in front of the mirror, wiping away just enough fog to see my reflection.

I looked tired.

Not physically tired, but soul-tired. Like someone who had given every ounce of herself to a crowd of strangers and still had nothing left to take home.

I dried off and pulled on the first shirt I found. It was my brother's, one that I had stolen years ago when I needed something to wear to bed. It was stretched and faded, but it held too many memories, and I wasn't quite ready to get rid of it yet. I picked up the glass of water I had from last night, my throat burning when I swallowed. My body felt like it had truly been pushed past its limits.

But worse than all of it was the silence. I laid back in bed, legs still damp with water droplets, hair cold against the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

No sounds. No crowd. No camera. Just me and the echo of something I'd been trying to ignore all night.

"just to relive the start."

I heard it in her voice, not mine. I heard her singing it to me, her eyes dark with a sort of menace and regret, like she was angry it had happened this way. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to get her out of my head. She wasn't angry, I was just making her out to be. Though, after every tight close of my eyes, her voice became louder and louder in my head.

And no matter how far I ran, no matter how many cities I crossed off the tour map, it still found me. She still found me.

The tears came before I could stop them.

No dramatic sobbing. No ugly-cry breakdown.

Just that slow, quiet kind of cry that creeps up when you're too tired to fight it. The kind that lives in your chest and presses on your lungs until it leaks out.

I turned over on my side, curling into myself, and let it happen.

Maybe for the first time since I had left, I let myself feel it.

Not just the hurt. But the want.

I didn't want this distance, and I surely didn't plan for it. There was this heavy silence, this feeling of being almost okay while still missing her in ways I couldn't explain to anyone else.

I wanted her laugh. I wanted her stubbornness. I wanted the way she never backed down, even when it scared her.

I wanted her, I needed her. And it was something that was hard to admit. 

I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket up over my head like it could protect me from my own thoughts, and tried to breathe.

The last thing I saw before sleep pulled me under was the glow of my phone screen on the bedside table. Her name was at the top of my notifications. Left unread, but not forgotten, as it crept slowly into my dreams.

Chapter Text

☆  RHEA  ☆

I didn't know what time it was. Didn't care.

I was still in my jeans, curled up under a blanket on the edge of my hotel bed like a raccoon caught halfway between sleep and existential crisis. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of moonlight snuck in through the corner. My phone buzzed once, then went silent again.

I didn't check it.

I knew who it wasn't.

The walls in the hotel bedroom were bare, lacking personality. The carpet was scratchy, desperately needing to be cleaned. The air smelled like old linen and anxiety. There was a bottle of water on the nightstand, still sealed, but I knew it didn't taste fresh. I wasn't sure if I was dehydrated or just hollow inside. Probably both.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.

This wasn't even supposed to be a show night. The first leg of the tour had kicked off strong. Two sold-out arenas, merch flying off the racks, a tweet from Rolling Stone that called the energy "defiantly raw." That one had made me smile.

But now the lights were off. The adrenaline was gone. The crowd was somewhere else, probably replaying blurry concert clips and screaming into group chats.

And me?

I was in a city I didn't recognize, in a room that didn't feel like mine, trying not to check a phone that never lit up with her name.

Funny how I used to love being alone. Now it just felt like proof. Proof that whatever we had wasn't enough. Or maybe it was, and I just ruined it. Maybe it didn't even matter.

I stared up at the ceiling, begging myself to stop thinking. I was so tired of constantly having her in my head, but you know what they say, if you're thinking about them, surely they're thinking of you back.

The sound of her laugh. The way her hands always found the inside hem of her sleeves when she was anxious. The way she used to hum when she thought I was asleep. They were tiny, distracted melodies that never quite formed into full songs.

I reached for my phone.

Stared at the screen.

Still nothing.

I'd been trying not to take it personally. Telling myself we were just giving each other space. That we were both busy. That it was good, even. That the silence was healing. But sometimes silence doesn't mean peace.

Sometimes it just means absence. This kind, especially, didn't feel neutral. It felt like a door slowly closing.

I dropped the phone on the nightstand, harder than I meant to. It made a sound that sounded like disappointment.

God, I hated this version of myself.

This version that waited. That overthought. That sat around memorizing every detail of a person who hadn't texted back in weeks. The version that stopped mid-scroll when someone posted a blurry shot of Billie on tour, hand mid-air, her shirt coming slightly above her midrift.

I told myself not to read into it. I told myself I didn't need her to reach out. That I didn't need anything.

But the truth?

All I wanted was her.

That thought made my chest hurt.

I threw the blanket off and stood up. My limbs felt heavy, but I needed to move. The air felt too still.

I paced the hotel room in slow circles. Around the bed. Past the dresser. Into the little entryway near the door and back again. I wasn't thinking about where I was going, I just needed to keep my body from collapsing into itself.

One loop. Two loops. Three.

It felt ridiculous, but it was comforting.

At some point, I gave up and collapsed onto the couch. The cushions were stiff and smelled like industrial fabric softener. My legs curled up underneath me, arms crossed. The hotel TV flickered on its own, a setting I didn't bother to fix, and played some black-and-white rerun I didn't recognize.

The volume was low. I watched it anyway.

The laugh track was out of sync. The jokes were dry. But something about it was comforting, like static in the background of my brain.

I whispered the punchline a beat before the character said it, and it startled me. I'd seen this episode before. Or one just like it. On a night just like this one.

The kind of night where time folds in on itself and you're not really sure where you are, only that something's missing.

I closed my eyes.

My heart thudded slowly, like it was trying to lull me to sleep, but my thoughts were louder.

I hated that she was still the first person I thought about when I woke up and the last one on my mind before I fell asleep. It was like she'd taken up permanent residence in the corner of my thoughts, haunting the softest parts of me.

I shifted, pressing my cheek into the couch cushion.

What would I even say to her, if I could?

I imagined it sometimes. Her opening the door, standing there in shorts too big for her and a hoodie, that guarded look in her eyes. I wouldn't make a speech. I wouldn't beg. But I'd want her to know that it was never about shame. Or hiding. That it was fear. Raw and ancient and wrapped around my throat so tightly I couldn't even name it at the time.

That she changed me, and that I let her.

I didn't want to go back to who I was before her, because that girl was all noise and defense and armor, and Billie made me want to be soft. 

I would follow her back to the beginning if I could. Just to do it all over. Not to change anything, but to hold it tightly, just a little longer. I wanted to press pause on the moments that mattered. The mornings. The laughter. Her cold feet against mine in bed. The look on her face when she told me I was safe with her.

God. I had never felt so safe with anyone. And then I left, we both left.

But I didn't physically leave her. I froze. Froze in a place where even the hottest day couldn't melt me out of this cage. And that, that was worse than leaving her.

My chest ached.

I reached for my phone again, even though I told myself I wouldn't. Even though I'd already checked it a dozen times tonight, hoping for something that never came. I unlocked it anyway. Pulled up our thread.

Still nothing.

No typing bubbles. No read receipt. Just the last message I sent two weeks ago, sitting there like a bruise.

Hope you're good. Tour looks insane.

No response.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. My heart pounded, too loud in the stillness of the room.

Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I'd said enough. Maybe reaching out again made me look desperate, or worse, pathetic.

What if she was done? What if she had already moved on? What if she didn't want to hear from me, didn't care, didn't think about me at all?

I dropped the phone back on the bed and got up, pacing again, dragging my hands through my hair. I made it halfway across the room before I turned around, walked back, and picked the phone up again.

I opened the message thread. Typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

What do you even say to someone you still love but maybe don't deserve anymore?

I sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing like I'd just run a mile.

Then, finally, without overthinking it, without editing or polishing or protecting myself, I typed one line.

I can't stop thinking about you.

I stared at it for a beat.

Then I hit send.

The second it left my phone, my stomach dropped. I locked the screen like that would undo it somehow. Like I could shove the words back in my chest where they belonged.

But it was too late. It was out there into the abyss of our messages, and whatever happened next, I'd just simply have to live with.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

I hope you guys liked listening to Hayley's incredible voice while reading this. I aimed to show Rhea's desire and yearning for Billie through the song, so I hope you guys enjoyed!!

Chapter Text

☆  BILLIE  ☆

I wasn't expecting it, or maybe my dreams had prepared me for this moment. I woke up naturally to the Australian sun shining through the window, the rays warm on my cheek. When I had picked up my phone to check the time, I had jolted up like the words had manually sent electricity up my spine. 

I wasn't expecting to hear from her. But there it was, her name burned into my phone screen.

I can't stop thinking about you.

I stared at the message.

Didn't breathe. Didn't blink.

Just stared, my eyes wide. It wasn't a question. Not even an apology. It wasn't asking for anything. Just a statement, a statement that probably would have sent me to the ward if I was 15.

It cracked something open in me, and I threw my legs off the edge of the bed, my shorts bunching up at the top of my thighs in the process. The room felt warmer suddenly, or maybe it was just my pulse finally catching up to the rest of me.

I read the message again. Three times.

Then I finally responded.

I haven't stopped either.

I hit send. No hesitation this time.

The dots appeared almost instantly.

My stomach flipped.

i didn't want to keep bothering you.
but it's been driving me crazy.

I smiled. The kind of tired, half-sad smile that still meant something. My eyes had started to tear up, but I believe that was from the immediate exposure to blue light.

You're not bothering me. I was just scared if I
answered, it would all come back too fast.

A pause. Then the bubbles appear back on my screen faster than I can reread my message.

would that be so bad?

I let my head fall back against the headboard. Closed my eyes. Exhaled.

No.
Not bad at all.
Just dangerous, yk?.

It went quiet for a minute. Maybe two. Long enough to make me start second-guessing everything again.

Then, finally, those god forsaken bubbles pop up.

do you still want this?

That.

That was the question, wasn't it? I stared at it, the words sitting there like a door she was finally willing to open again.

More than I'm willing to admit, Rhea.

But that's only if you want it too.

The reply came quicker than I expected.

i do.
i want to see you.

I chewed my lip. My thumb hovered.

She had two days off between shows. Barely enough time to fly, land, breathe. But enough for this. Enough for us.

What are you doing tomorrow morning?

why?

I was already googling flights.

You're flying to Melbourne.

are you serious?

I'll send the ticket in five.

I haven't even packed. and I have shows
wait billie what

Only for a day.
You won't need much.
Just bring yourself.
And maybe that sweatshirt you
stole from me.

There was a pause. Then a notification.

Rhea reacted ❤️ to your message.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding.

Then I sent the confirmation email, finally letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. 

✧༺♥༻∞

☆  RHEA  ☆
MARCH 7, MELBOURNE

The wheels of the jet touched down at exactly 10:06 am, and my first thought was that Billie had really done it. She had actually flown me across the world.

The jet was smooth, quiet, and private. Like something out of a film. I hadn't slept much on the flight. Not from discomfort, but from nerves. My brain refused to shut up the entire time. Every thirty minutes, I'd find myself wondering if this was all too much, if I was pushing something too soon, if Billie would change her mind before I even landed.

But she didn't. She sent the ticket, I boarded, and now I was here.

A driver met me just outside customs, holding a discreet little sign with nothing but "RC" typed in simple black lettering. He barely spoke. Just opened the door to the black SUV, and we took off.

He didn't drive toward the main entrance of the hotel, but around the back, pulling up to a service door where a second man with a security badge was already waiting. It wasn't dramatic. There were no fans, no flashing lights. But I still felt like I was smuggling something sacred, like whatever this was between Billie and me deserved to stay protected for just a little longer.

I was checked in quietly and ushered up to the twelfth floor. Billie's team had arranged everything. My room was just down the hall from hers. I could feel her absence in the space, like her gravity was still here even though she wasn't.

Before I boarded, she texted me that she was at rehearsal, but that I could call her whenever.

I let the hotel door click shut behind me and dropped my bag on the armchair. It was bright outside, golden light spilling in through the windows, but my body still felt like it was stuck somewhere between time zones. I had never been to Australia before, but somehow it felt fake. I barely had time to be here, really experience it, so was really in Australia, or was I just here for her.

I laid down on the bed, still in my hoodie, and stared at the ceiling.

Before I could spiral too deep, my phone buzzed beside me.

Did you get to the hotel okay?

My lips twitched into a tired smile.

i did. it's nice. weirdly quiet tho.

Give it a few hours. I'll have someone come get
you before soundcheck. That cool?

perfect :)

I didn't ask if she was excited. I didn't say I missed her. Not yet.

She was already doing so much by letting me be here.

By 2:30, another SUV was waiting outside the hotel to bring me to the venue. This driver talked more, something about Melbourne traffic and the weather being "unseasonably humid", but I only caught pieces of it. My mind was back on Billie, wondering if she was as nervous as I was. Wondering if she'd actually want to see me before the show or if this was a mistake.

The backstage area was a maze of cables, crates, and controlled chaos. A crew member with bright pink hair greeted me, said Billie was in prep, and gave me a quick tour. Dressing rooms, vocal warm-up booths, lighting control stations. Everyone was moving fast, but it didn't feel stressed. It felt alive.

When Billie finally appeared, she had a smile on her face that I hadn't seen in ages. Her long hair was thrown up into an effortless ponytail, and her shirt was just as long as I was imagined it would be. 

She gave me this little look, half smile, half can-you-believe-you're-here?, and then she nodded toward the main entrance to the stage.

"Come on," she said. "I want to show you something."

I followed her out to the front rows, the arena still mostly empty except for a few techs running sound checks. She walked down the steps and slid into one of the seats.

"I always sit here before a show," she said, gesturing for me to join her. "Just to remind myself what it looks like from this angle."

I sat beside her.

"It's insane," I whispered. I had never really noticed the difference from the stands to the stage. It was all one big blur for me when it was show time.

She looked at me, and for a second, I forgot where we were.

"Yeah," she murmured. "It kind of is."

The next four hours passed in a haze. I stayed out of the way, but Billie pulled me in sometimes, asked my opinion on mic feedback, tested hand placements for a new lighting cue, made me hold her water while she stomped across the stage to test her in-ears. I kept thinking someone would tell me to leave, but no one did.

She wanted me here, surprisingly. What was most surprising was that she had successfully masked how she felt about me these past few months. She was as happy as ever, and I couldn't tell if it was genuine or just a facade.

When the sun started going down and the energy shifted, I was moved back to the front row of the stands. To the reserved and unobstructed seats. The lights dimmed, and Ashnikko took the stage with a roar of blue light and glittering synths. I knew half the songs by heart. I sang along and even danced a little in my chair.

I didn't hear from Billie during the set, but I hadn't expected to. I knew what kind of zone she went into before a show. Still, I kept checking my phone like a habit I couldn't break.

Ashnikko was done faster than I had expected, then the crowd went back into waiting mode. For the first time in forever, I too felt the true anticipation of an artist coming on stage. I had never seen her perform in person, only online, so this was a completely new experience for me

Finally, the lights shut off completely, and the crowd screamed. The air practically vibrated with anticipation.

The music thrummed through the arena like a heartbeat from another dimension. It was slow, droning, and atmospheric. It felt like the air itself had thickened, like time was stretching just to keep the audience suspended in that breathless in-between. There was something eerie about it, like the sound of a memory trying to crawl back into your chest.

It wasn't loud. It didn't demand attention.

It just hovered.

Low. Subtle. Intimate.

Like the moment right before something unexplainable happens. Like holding your breath in a dream and not knowing if you're about to wake up, or fall deeper.

And there she was.

Hovering above the crowd in all her beauty.

She stood there, her arms behind her back just admiring the crowd, then her eyes locked onto mine for just a brief second. Her smile was wide, proud, like she was happy I was finally watching all her hard work in person.

Then she began to sing and the crowd shifted from excited screams to yelling the lyrics of Chihiro.

The first note hit like a heartbeat in my chest. And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the silence. But the little moments like these in between the chaos.

Chapter Text

The arena was nearly empty now. Just a few crew members sweeping confetti off the floor and volunteers picking up stray water bottles from under the seats. The lights had dimmed to a soft golden glow, barely illuminating the rows of once-packed chairs.

I was still in the front row. Legs crossed. Blouse sleeves bunched around my hands. I hadn't moved since the final song ended.

Billie had been off the stage for at least thirty minutes, probably more, but I wasn't ready to leave yet. I needed this moment. The quiet. The echo. The way the stage still buzzed with what she'd just done.

I leaned back in my seat, staring up at the rigging above the stage. The place where she'd hovered. The box. The lights. The sheer force of her presence.

It was insane watching her like that, seeing her step into something larger than herself, into that command.

"Rhea?"

I turned. A man in a headset gave me a warm nod.

"Just wanted to say hi. Love your stuff. Glad to see you here."

"Thank you," I said, my voice still low from not speaking for a while. "She killed it, huh?"

He grinned. "Always does."

Another crew member came by a few minutes later, handed me a bottle of water, and said something kind about my last single. It was casual. Respectful. Like they knew why I was here and wanted to keep that space safe.

Eventually, I stood. My legs were stiff. My heart wasn't quite settled.

I made my way backstage, weaving through corridors I'd seen earlier in the day, passing racks of backup clothes, flight cases for guitars, Billie's security nodding at me as I passed. The dressing room door was open just enough for me to hear movement inside. Low voices. The rustle of clothes. A blow dryer.

I knocked once.

"Come in."

Billie was sitting on a small leather couch, her face still flushed from the show, her hair damp with sweat and pushed back messily. Her eyeliner had smudged a little under her eyes, faint shadows that made her look like a rockstar in an indie film. Or maybe just Billie.

My heart fluttered. Stupid and quick.

"Hey," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

She looked up, smiled, soft and tired and private. "Hey."

"I didn't want to interrupt, but... that was amazing." I stepped in, letting the door close gently behind me. "Seriously. You were— God, I don't even have the words."

Her eyes dropped to her lap for a second before flicking back to mine. "Thanks. It means a lot. Especially from you."

I sat beside her on the couch, close but not touching. She smelled like the stage. Sweat and perfume and something warm that made my chest ache.

"And," I added, teasing, "you look ridiculously good with sweat in your hair and eyeliner halfway melted off."

Billie snorted, covering her face with her hands. "Shut up."

"I'm serious. You looked sexy up there."

She peeked at me through her fingers. "Oh yeah?"

"Hot," I said, my voice raspy with a hint of playfulness.

She chuckled, her cheeks flushed a deeper red than they already were, a harsh contrast to the smudge under her eyes.

I didn't press further. Just leaned back against the couch and let the air between us fill in with unspoken things.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

"Car's ready," someone said through the door.

Billie stood slowly, grabbing her jacket off the hook. "Let's go."

The ride back to the hotel was quiet at first. We sat in the back of a black SUV, windows tinted, driver silent behind the wheel. The interior was dim, just the faint glow of the city lights washing over us now and then.

I turned to her.

"I've never seen anyone hold a crowd like that. I mean you totally just fucking... you're amazing up there. Every second."

Billie let out a soft breath. "You're really laying it on thick, huh?"

"Not even. You think I say this to everyone I date?"

She raised an eyebrow, and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, my eyes widening. Why did I say that? I froze, completely, my eyes just locked onto hers.

Shit.

"I mean," I stammered, "not, like, I didn't mean..."

Billie was smiling. Not laughing at me. Just... smiling.

It lit her face in a way that made my stomach twist, "That's bold."

The rest of the ride, we didn't say much. She kept sneaking glances at me out of the corner of her eye, but the car was dark, and I was too busy trying to replay that moment I slipped up. Date? What the actually fuck was I even thinking? Hell, was I thinking?

When we pulled up to the hotel, security led us through the back again, up the elevator in silence. Twelve floors passed in a blink. My heart was racing.

We stepped into the hallway, our footsteps soft on the carpet. We stopped outside her room first and I stood behind her as she keyed into her room.

"I'll let you rest," I said, turning slightly toward the direction of my door. Embarassment was still pooling in my stomach, and I couldn't bear to be in her presence anymore, "Goodni—"

But before I could finish my goodbyes, her hand was on my arm, and then everything happened at once. She pulled me into the room. Not shy. Nor gentle.

Her hands landed on my jaw, fingers curling behind my neck, and her lips were on mine before I could take another breath. I gasped softly against her, and she took it like oxygen, kissing me deeper, urgent and uneven, like everything we'd been holding back.

I dropped my hands to her waist, grounding myself. She pressed forward until my back hit the door.

Her hand fumbled against the door handle, her fingers brushing against the DND sign before hanging it on the outside of the handle. She didn't break the kiss, her breath warm and heavy as we back up into the room, the door swinging slowly shut. The door loudly clicked shut behind us, and I knew that we weren't going to talk tonight. We weren't going to unpack everything that had happened between us. And we certainly were not going to mourn in our lost time.

Finally, like I had been craving it, Billie's hands slid under the hem of my white blouse, and I let my forehead rest against hers, both of us breathless and yearning for more.

Chapter Text

The second the door clicked behind us, Billie's hands were on me.

There was no pause. No waiting. Just mouths crashing, hips colliding, hearts already sprinting ahead of us like they knew the way.

I couldn't breathe, didn't want to. Her lips found mine so fast it nearly knocked me back, and I clung to her shirt, dragging her closer like my body didn't believe she was real yet.

I felt her gasp into my mouth as I backed into the wall, and God, it was like something primal kicked in. My fingers threaded through her hair, tugging just enough to make her press in harder. She groaned softly, craving more, and that sound, that fucking sound, lit a fire low in my stomach.

"You feel like...fuck, I missed this," she breathed, voice ragged against my cheek.

"I missed you," I choked, and I didn't even mean to say it out loud. But I did. It came out rough, needy, honest.

Billie's hands were all over me, gripping my waist, sliding under my thin blouse to find bare skin. I arched into her touch before I could stop myself.

I couldn't stop anything, and I let her completely take control of me.

The way my knee curled around her hip. The way her thigh pressed right where I needed it. The way her mouth was on my jaw, then my neck, then back to my lips, like she was trying to map me all over again.

She shoved me gently toward the bed, but we didn't walk, we stumbled, clumsy and greedy, laughing breathlessly into each other's mouths. We hit the corner of the side table, and the lamp wobbled, but neither of us looked. My hand was already under the hem of her shirt, fingers dragging up her back, skin hot and slick from the show.

"You're gonna kill me," she whispered, forehead pressed to mine.

"You started it," I shot back, my voice barely a whisper, hands not stopping.

We crashed onto the bed, her half on top of me, one leg between mine, one hand braced beside my head while the other gripped my thigh. Our mouths were already moving again before we even caught our breath.

Kissing Billie felt like drowning and flying at the same time. I couldn't keep up with my own body. Every time she touched me, I forgot where I was, what we were supposed to be.

I didn't even realize I was whimpering until her lips ghosted over the corner of my mouth.

"Fuck," she murmured. "You're...God, you're so—"

She didn't finish. She didn't have to.

I was already chasing her mouth again.

Everything about her felt like home and adrenaline, and something I never wanted to let go of again.

Her hands moved like she was trying to memorize me. Over my arms, up my ribs, tracing the edge of my bra like a question she already knew the answer to.

The desperation had quieted now. The sharp edge of adrenaline dulled into something slower, heavier. Billie's body was stretched over mine, warm and solid, the weight of her anchoring me to the bed in a way that made my whole chest ache.

She was hovering slightly, her thigh still between mine, one elbow braced above my head, and her other hand was gliding just beneath the line of fabric, not rushing, just exploring. Her lips dragged along my collarbone, soft and deliberate, her breath catching every time I did.

Every inch of me was tuned to her, the scrape of her shirt's buttons against my skin, the way her hair kept brushing my jaw, the faint hitch in her breathing when my hands ghosted down her sides.

Billie was in control, but not in a loud way. She didn't demand. She didn't push. She just... guided. Slowly. Intentionally.

She kissed the space beneath my ear, then lower, letting her lips brush the curve of my neck. I arched into her without thinking, and she smiled against my skin, like she felt it too.

"You okay?" she whispered, barely audible.

I nodded, eyes fluttering open.

Her hand slid higher, dragging the fabric of my blouse with it. She sat up slightly, pulling the hem over my stomach, exposing more skin as she went. Her lips followed. Each kiss was a question I didn't need to answer, because my body already had.

Every touch made me shiver. Every glance made me ache. She looked up at me once, and her eyes, God, those eyes, were darker now, but still soft. Still careful.

She brought her hand to my ribs again, just below the band of my bra, and paused.

"Can I take this off?" she asked, voice low and steady. "All of it?"

My breath hitched. I nodded, "Yes."

The word barely left my mouth before she was moving, slow and focused, unbuttoning my blouse slowly, teasingly, then carefully unclasping my bra and slipping the straps down my arms.

I was bare in front of her now, chest rising and falling faster than I wanted it to. I felt her eyes, not just looking, but seeing. Like I was something sacred.

She sat up just enough to tug off her own shirt, leaving her in just a simple black bra, the strap of it slipping slightly off her shoulder.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Her mouth was already on me again, lips dragging across the bare skin between my breasts like it was something holy. Her hands moved deliberately, one bracing my waist, the other skating up over the swell of my chest, fingers brushing the most sensitive part of me like she was daring me to make a sound.

And I did. A soft gasp, barely audible, but it was breathy, almost immediate.

Her thumb circled slowly. Teasing. Calculated. She pulled back just enough to look at me, and her eyes burned like the depths of the Pacific Ocean, like she'd been waiting for this moment longer than either of us would admit.

"You're so fucking beautiful," she murmured, voice low, wrecked, reverent.

I reached for her, desperate for more, but she caught my wrist gently and pressed it into the mattress beside my head.

"Let me," she whispered.

And I did. No hesitation.

She dipped her head again, this time her mouth capturing one of my nipples, hot and soft. My back arched on instinct, a broken sound escaping my lips. Her tongue moved slowly, deliberately, tracing circles before she sucked, just hard enough to make my toes curl.

Every inch of me was lit with lust. Every touch from her sent heat rolling low in my stomach, aching and pulsing, begging for more.

Her hand slid lower, dragging over my ribs, my hips, until she was gripping the top of my thigh. She squeezed, slow and steady, grounding me to the moment like she could feel how close I was to unraveling.

"Billie," I whispered, barely able to form her name.

She didn't answer, and she kissed lower.

Her mouth moved down my sternum, tongue trailing heat across my skin, licking gently, almost lazily, down the center of my stomach. My muscles tightened beneath her. I wanted her everywhere, all at once. I wanted to pull her back up, to kiss her until we couldn't think. I wanted her hands between my legs, I wanted her mouth, her breath, her teeth—

But she was taking her time, and that was somehow even worse.

Billie's mouth reached the dip just above my waistband. She pressed a kiss there, slow and open-mouthed, her tongue teasing the edge. I lifted my hips on reflex, chasing her, needing contact, needing anything, but she pulled back, smirking, breath warm against my belly.

"You're shaking," she whispered, brushing her knuckles over the side of my hip.

"You're making me," I managed to breathe.

She smiled again, slowly, her lips red and kiss-bitten. She dragged her fingers up my thigh, slipping them under the waistband just enough to make me exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding.

But she didn't pull anything off.

Not yet.

Instead, her hand moved back to my waist, anchoring me while her lips returned to the center of my stomach. She kissed me there again, open and wet, then lower, right above where I was already burning for her.

I gasped, hips jerking.

Billie pressed her hand down gently, holding me still.

"Patience," she murmured against my skin. Her voice was teasing, but low and raspy, like she was holding herself back too.

I had no patience left. I was trembling, toes curling, pulse crashing through me like a wave I couldn't ride out.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding myself in the reality of her body between my legs, her mouth dragging over the skin just above where I needed her most, her breath hot and taunting.

She kissed there once, slow.

Then again. Slower.

And still, I waited and waited, yet... she didn't go lower.

She worked her way back up instead, mouth retracing her path up my stomach, her hands sliding up my sides like they belonged there. I let out a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering shut as her weight settled back on top of me.

She kissed the underside of my jaw, then my neck, her hips pressing gently into mine.

I was shaking with anticipation, and I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything.

I tilted my head, catching her mouth in a kiss that was messy and desperate. Our teeth knocked, and I didn't care. My hands were in her hair, her shoulders, her back, grabbing at whatever I could find.

"Please," I breathed against her lips. I didn't even know what I was asking for. Just more. More of her.

She groaned softly, hips rolling into mine.

And finally, finally, she asked.

"Can I take these off?"

My breath hitched.

"Yes," I whispered. "God, yes."

She kissed me once more, slow and deep, before sitting up to pull my jeans down until I was just in a pair of underwear. She worked slowly, gently, reverently. Then her hands returned to my thighs, her touch electric, and she exhaled as if she'd just been given the final piece of a puzzle she'd been trying to solve for years.

"Rhea," she said, almost like it hurt to say my name.

I pulled her down to me again, and in that moment, nothing else existed.

Not the noise. Not the silence. Not the time we'd lost.

Just her.

I wasn't thinking anymore. Billie was everywhere. Her body above mine, her hands grounding me, her lips tracing shapes I couldn't translate across my skin. I didn't need to understand any of it. I just needed to feel.

Her breath hitched as she pulled my clothes down. The way her fingers gripped my thighs like she was holding something precious. The way her gaze dragged over me as if she was memorizing every inch before she dared move forward.

She didn't rush. Even now, with nothing between us but a handful of promises we hadn't said out loud, Billie stayed slow. In control.

Her hands came first. Palms warm, fingers light. She traced the inside of my thighs with soft, sweeping passes, barely touching where I wanted her most. I writhed beneath her, a quiet whimper escaping me, but she just smiled.

"Look at me," she whispered.

My eyes flicked up to her. Her face was blurry, but I could see the blue in her eyes. The smudge of her eyeliner, the knots in her hair. She looked disheveled, but in a good way, and it undid me.

Her eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing blue. Her face flushed. Her lips pink and swollen from kissing me half to death. She looked like she was on fire, and somehow still the calmest thing in the room.

"I am going to ruin you," she murmured, barely audible.

I breathed heavily, like it had been punched out of me. My body sank deeper into the mattress, my eyes still locked on her face as it hovered above mine.

"But only if you let me."

I didn't speak. Just nodded. Once. Hard.

That was all she needed.

She kissed my hipbone, slow and open-mouthed, and I jerked at the sensation. She hummed low in her throat, dragging her tongue along my skin, dipping lower just to pull back again.

My hands fisted in the sheets.

I'd never been touched like this. Never been seen like this. Billie wasn't just kissing my body, she was learning it. Every gasp, every twitch, every place she made me moan. She stored it. Used it. Honed it like it was her specialty craft.

Her fingers found me first. One gentle pass. Then again, firmer.

I cried out. Instinctive. High and broken.

"Shhh," she soothed, eyes locked on mine.

She teased me there, slow, over and over, until I was practically sobbing for more. Then, when I was shaking, back arched, hips off the bed, she slipped lower. Her tongue followed the same path. My mind went dark, and I closed my eyes, imagining her face.

The first swipe of her mouth made my whole body seize. I gasped, fingers grabbing at her hair, pulling tight when she groaned against me. The vibrations made me moan again, louder this time.

"Fuck, Billie.."

She didn't stop.

She worked me open with her mouth, slow and greedy. Her tongue moved like she had all the time in the world, like she was starving and I was the only thing that had ever mattered. I could feel her smile when my hips stuttered.

She was good. Too good.

Every flick, every pause, every shift of pressure was perfect. Deliberate. She used her mouth like an instrument, and I was the note she wouldn't stop playing. Her hands gripped my hips, keeping me still while she devoured me.

I was already close. Too fast. Too soon. But she didn't let up. She knew.

"Billie, I'm.." I barely got the words out before the wave hit.

It crashed through me in one long, shattering pull, my body shaking softly beneath her, every nerve alight, skin clammy with sweat. I gasped so hard it hurt, thighs trembling, chest arching, and she stayed with me the whole way, never letting go, never stopping until I was shaking and breathless and half crying from how good it felt.

She finally pulled back, her mouth wet, chin slick, eyes dark with want.

I reached for her, and she climbed up over me. Her body blanketed mine as she kissed me, deep and slow, letting me taste myself on her lips.

"You okay?" she murmured.

I couldn't speak. Just nodded, dazed.

She kissed me again. Softer. Her arm wrapped around my waist, her mouth brushed my temple, and we just laid there breathing, still shaking a little, like we hadn't quite returned to ourselves yet.

The room felt warmer now. My skin flushed, and my heart finally began to slow down. Billie's fingers drew lazy shapes along my hip, not thinking, just... moving, like she needed to stay connected.

Neither of us said anything. Not because there was nothing to say, but because for once, there was no rush to say anything. The silence between us wasn't heavy anymore. It was full.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt weightless. Not afraid. Not hidden. Just here in the moment instead of living in my head.

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

sorry for getting a lil freaky on u guys, but this ain't my first rodeo

Chapter Text

The Morning After

The light through the window was pale gold, warm and lazy across the edge of the bed. I blinked into it slowly, my body still half-asleep and completely unwilling to move.

Billie was already awake, shuffling around the room as she picked up our articles of clothing from last night.

When she saw me flutter my eyes open, she walked over, taking a seat next to me. I could tell by the way she shifted next to me, quietly, her hand trailing down my arm like she was trying not to wake me, but also trying not to stop touching me.

"Morning," I said without opening my eyes too much.

Her fingers paused, "Hey."

I shifted my body toward her, and there she was. Hair still mess, cheeks still flushed from sleep. Pillow creases on the side of her face. She looked like every slow song I'd ever wanted to write.

I smiled, "You look like shit."

She laughed, low and rough. "Yeah, well. You sound like you gargled dust."

"I probably did," I chuckled, my voice deep from sleep.

I rolled onto my back, wincing a little at how sore I was. She noticed, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed her smirk.

"Don't," I said, covering my face with the blanket. "Don't look at me like that."

She finally laid down next to me, then leaned in and kissed my shoulder, "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

We laid there for a while, quiet and comfortable. The kind of silence that didn't need filling. Billie's fingers traced slow circles on my stomach, and I let them. I didn't want to move. Didn't want to ruin the stillness.

But eventually, my stomach growled. Loudly.

Billie looked over, "Well damn."

"Shut up."

She stretched, reaching for the phone beside the bed. "Room service?"

I nodded. "Can you order literally everything?"

She was already scrolling the menu. "Already looking at the pancakes. These people have the audacity to charge thirty bucks for three of them."

I paused, "ten... whatever currency... for each pancake?"

She nodded slowly, "Exactly. Absurd."

After ordering a breakfast that could've fed a team of teenage athletes, Billie slid back under the covers with a sigh. Her hand found my hip like it had been there a hundred times before. It felt stupidly natural.

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Just... can we stay here forever?"

She smiled, soft and a little sad. "I wish."

Reality hadn't hit yet. Not fully. I had my flight later today back to the States and she was staying in Melbourne for her next show. Our schedules were going to pull us in opposite directions again.

Room service arrived twenty minutes later, and we ate in bed like the world didn't exist. I watched Billie drizzle syrup on her pancakes with comical precision. She watched me devour eggs like I hadn't eaten in days.

"I don't want to leave," I said eventually, pushing my plate to the side.

Billie wiped her mouth with the corner of the blanket. "You don't have to leave-leave."

I gave her a look, my brow raised.

She shrugged. "I mean, you do. But not forever."

There was a pause and then she reached across the bed, took my hand, and squeezed.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

I didn't say anything. I just squeezed back, and that was all that needed to be said. 

✧༺♥༻∞

NASHVILLE, TN

The first thing I noticed when I landed in Tennessee was the air. That kind of humid, late-spring air that clings to your skin and makes your sweatshirt feel like a bad decision. Even in the middle of a tour, Nashville still felt familiar in a way that made my chest hurt.

I'd lived here for a quick two years when I started making music, and it wasn't until I was lying in the hotel room, curtain cracked just enough to let in the dusty blue light of sunset, that I saw her name on my phone.

So I stalked your Insta and saw you're in town this week.
Still like that gross cinnamon latte?

Her name was Mara. She was a soft-spoken woman, and from the short time that I knew her, we had made many fun memories. Except she looked completely different now than she did two years ago. 

I hadn't thought about Mara in a long time. Not on purpose. We just hadn't spoken since I moved. Our friendship had always lived in that hazy, close-but-never-closer space. We'd met during some writing workshop when we were both broke, both still pretending we didn't know who we were.

Back then, Mara was quiet. Wide-eyed in a way that matched mine. But she'd always had this edge I envied, like she knew she didn't belong in someone else's box, even if she didn't know what hers looked like yet.

I hovered over the reply button for a second. Thought about Billie for a split second, but after I pressed reply, the thought fizzled out. 

I then thought about cinnamon lattes and the fact that my call time wasn't until late afternoon tomorrow.

I replied before I could talk myself out of it.

only if it's still from that place on 12th.
want to meet there tomorrow?

The next day, I showed up five minutes late, sweating through the back of my hoodie and instantly regretting wearing all black in the Southern spring heat.

And there she was. I barely even recognized her. 

Mara was seated at a table near the back, black boots kicked up on an extra chair, sunglasses pushed into her dark curls. She looked so different I almost missed her, until she smiled.

Same smile. Same dimple in her right cheek. Same slightly crooked front tooth. But the rest? She'd shed every part of the girl I remembered.

Her signature baggy hoodie was gone, the shy posture gone, and the way she used to keep her voice low when we talked about music or girls or anything real. Now she moved like the space around her bent to make room.

I slid into the seat across from her.

"Still dramatic," she said, raising an eyebrow, "Showing up like some rockstar."

I laughed, "You invited me."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't hoping to be the cooler one."

I rolled my eyes. "You win. It's hot as hell and I'm dressed like I'm going to a funeral."

She shrugged, "At least your funeral has air conditioning."

The cinnamon latte was already there, waiting. My order. Just how I used to drink it.

The familiarity was weirdly comforting, and I found myself smiling as I saw the name on the drink was Trouble. A stupid nickname she would give me because I always challenged the teachers in our writing classes.

We talked for a while. About music, her latest gallery show, my tour. It was easy, too easy, like no time had passed at all, except every version of ourselves we'd been had already fallen away.

Mara spoke with her hands now, more animated, more sure, and she laughed with her whole body. It made me feel uneasy, like I was chasing a memory that didn't fit anymore.

She looked at me in a way that made something in my stomach twist, a glance that lingered just a little longer than it should have. Not in a wanting way. Not really. More like she saw something she remembered. Something she used to know. She didn't flirt and I didn't either.

I couldn't explain it, and I didn't want to.

I got back to the hotel sometime after eleven. My phone had a missed call from Billie and a text. I hadn't even realized my phone had rung. 

Everything good? Just wanted to hear your voice for a second.

I stared at it for a long time.

She'd probably just finished soundcheck. Or dinner. Or was sitting on her hotel bed, waiting for me to call her back.

I tapped out a reply.

sorry, just got in. long day. will call in the morning?

The second I hit send, guilt bloomed low and sharp in my chest. Not because I did anything wrong. But because I wasn't sure I could explain why I felt... off. And I didn't know if I wanted to try.

Chapter Text

My phone was on my face. I don't remember how it got there, but it was on my face, and it was buzzing. Violently. Like God herself had decided I deserved judgment and was delivering it via aggressive iPhone haptics.

I peeled one eye open, blinked blearily at the screen.

7:52 AM.

Too early and my body was already aching. My soul still belonged to the dream realm.

But the notification? That brought me out of that semi-consciousness real quick.

There was one missed call from Billie and a text.

call me when u wake up pls

I sat up so fast I gave myself a head rush. My chest felt heavy, like some sort of guilt was blooming inside.

I hit call before I could overthink it. One ring. Two.

"Hello?" Her voice came through like silk dragged over gravel. Her voice was rough, groggy, and hot in a way that made me want to climb through the phone.

I immediately forgot English.

"Hi," I croaked, then cleared my throat. "Sorry, morning voice. I sound like I gargled sand."

"You sound like the ghost of cigarettes past," Billie muttered, followed by a yawn I swear I felt in my spine.

I laughed, soft. "Already spitting fire."

She didn't deny it. Just made a sleepy little noise, something between a sigh and a hum. The kind of sound that made my brain short-circuit.

"Did I wake you?" I asked, already knowing I did.

"No," she lied, obviously. "Okay, yes. But it's fine. I like when you wake me up."

I flopped back on the pillows, grinning like an idiot. "You like when I call you sounding like a chain-smoking raccoon?"

She yawned again. "I'm into it."

"You're so weird."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, and I could hear her shift under her covers.

We were quiet for a second. That kind of quiet where neither of us wanted to hang up yet, even if we had nothing pressing to say. It felt soft. Safe.

"I missed you yesterday," Billie said finally.

Cue guilt, round two. I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I got caught up with—"

Before I could even say "My friend Mara," my phone lit up again.

u still like ugly overpriced cold brew or are u healed now?

I huffed a laugh through my nose.

Billie perked up, sleepiness temporarily forgotten. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, because I'm a coward and a dumbass. "Just someone asking about coffee."

She didn't push, probably too tired to read into anything yet. I added that to my emotional debt tab.

"You have a show today, right?" she asked.

"Yep. Call time in a couple hours. You?"

"Nope. Finally off," she mumbled. "Might stay horizontal all day."

I closed my eyes, smiling. "I support that."

More silence.

"Text me after soundcheck?" she asked.

"I will."

"You better."

"I pinky promise."

Billie yawned again, and this time I imagined her curled under blankets, eyeliner smudged, hair a mess. I missed her so stupidly much I wanted to scream into the hotel pillow.

"Sleep in, pretty," I whispered.

"Kill it tonight," she whispered back.

And then I hung up before I could say something clingy like "I miss you" or "Fly to me right now" or "I'd like to crawl inside your hoodie and live there forever."

Let me just text Mara back.

i'm picking the place. no complaints. wear sunglasses so we can look famous.
be outside your hotel at noon or i'm ordering you the most disgusting coffee i can think of.

I snorted.

define disgusting

venti coconut milk lavender latte w/ 8 pumps white mocha, extra whip

that sounds like a war crime

that's what i thought. 12. no late behavior.

I glanced at the clock. 11:07 AM.

Okay. Enough time to get dressed, look semi-respectable, and wrestle my brain into a functioning state. Easy.

Except my brain was not cooperating. It was doing this thing where it cycled through random Billie images like a cruel little slideshow. Her post-concert voice. Her sleepy whisper. Her text from last night that I technically answered but didn't follow up on.

The guilt was low-grade now. Not stabbing. More like a dull ache behind my ribs, like I forgot to plug in my heart last night and now it was running on 3%.

I threw on some black jeans, a white baby tee, and my oversized denim jacket that made me look like I was either a very cool musician or someone who stole from a Goodwill bin. I topped it off with the sunglasses Mara insisted on.

At exactly 11:59 AM, my phone buzzed again.

i'm outside. come down, elvis.

I grabbed my bag, stuffed in a journal just in case inspiration hit mid-latte, and jogged out the door.

Mara was standing outside texting on her phone, her hip popped. Her curls were piled on top of her head, sunglasses already in place, wearing a cropped graphic tee that said "STOP LOOKING AT MY TITS (jk keep looking)."

She held out a to-go cup.

"I got you a normal drink. You're welcome."

I took it with faux reverence, "Wow. You've grown."

"I'm healing," she deadpanned. "One latte at a time."

We both got in the car. The second she started driving, she opened the window, cranked the music and said, "So tell me everything. I want tour gossip, I want hookups, I want existential dread. Feed me, I feel like I barely even know you anymore."

I sipped my drink, leaning my head against the window as the city blurred past. "It's been... loud."

Mara glanced over. "Loud like 'screaming on stage' or loud like 'hey I actually hate being famous'?"

"Both," I said. "Mostly the latter. But it's also amazing."

She nodded solemnly. "We all have shit days."

I sipped my drink, nodding, "Tell me about it."

"Don't lie, though," she said, eyes still on the road. "You've always been that bitch. It can't be that bad. Plus, you're rich, so.."

I smiled despite myself. "I like to stay humble. Money isn't everything."

"Obviously," she said with mock offense. "But I'm just saying, making music, hanging with celebrities, having a stylist—dream, by the way—it can't all be bad."

I sighed, agreeing. We kept on chatting, having back and forths while the radio played faintly behind our conversation. The banter was stupid, easy. It made me forget for a second how weird things felt under my skin.

Then Mara side-eyed me behind her sunglasses and said, "Sooo. Billie."

I knew it was coming. I took a long, suspiciously timed sip of my latte.

She didn't let me off the hook. "You're allowed to talk about her, you know. You're obviously in love. It's gross."

I choked, coughing into my elbow as my eyes teared up from the lack of oxygen.

"It's the gayest thing I've ever witnessed, and I was once in a u-haul on the second date."

Finally, I take in a deep breath, "I am not in love with her, I barely know her."

Mara didn't blink. Just blinked slowly and tilted her head like I'd told her I believed the Earth was flat.

"Okay," she said. "But also, no?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No what?"

"No, you don't barely know her. When did that new article come out? I don't even know, but a while ago! And don't think I didn't clock the way your face went full heart-eyes when you said her name."

"I did not—" I started, but she raised a hand.

"You did," she said, calm as ever. "You looked like you were about to write her a poem and then cry into your... stupid gross latte."

I looked down at my cup. The foam had started to separate.

"It's not that deep," I muttered.

"Isn't it?"

Her voice had lost the teasing edge now. It was softer, careful. But still very Mara. Just enough bluntness to make me squirm.

"She makes you nervous," she said after a second. "That's why you're dancing around it."

I didn't answer.

"Which makes sense," she added, "'Cause its Billie fucking Eilish but..."

I leaned back in my seat, dragging my hand over my face.

Mara nudged my elbow. "You don't have to call it love yet. But maybe don't lie to yourself about what it's turning into."

I sighed, long and low. "I just... I don't know how to be good at this."

"Good at what?"

"Any of it," I said. "Being with someone who actually sees me. Who doesn't expect me to be a version of myself I outgrew."

Mara shook her drink gently, "You know, that's kind of the whole point. You're supposed to grow with someone. Not hide from them."

She said it like it was obvious. Like she wasn't quietly reading my entire emotional file and highlighting the parts I hadn't dared to look at yet.

I glanced down at my phone again. Billie hadn't texted since rehearsal, but just seeing her name on the screen made my stomach tighten.

I didn't say anything.

Mara smirked a little, catching the way my eyes lingered. She didn't push further, just sat back and said, "You don't have to prove anything to me. But you owe it to her to stop waiting until it's convenient to show up."

That hit harder than I expected, and it wasn't said with judgment. Just truth.

"I know," I said quietly.

"Then start there."

I was still looking down at my cup, the silence pressing in around the edges, when Mara said, "You know I blew it once too, right?"

That got my attention.

I glanced up. She wasn't looking at me, but intensely at the road, like she was embarrassed by the experience and couldn't look into my eyes.

"I was with someone," she said. "A couple of years ago. She was an incredible artist. Smart. Sweet. Very into astrology, which I pretended to care about for the entire first month we dated."

I let out a soft snort. "Committed."

"Oh, I was fully lying about my rising sign," she said with a shrug. "But it was good. Like, annoyingly good. I was terrified."

Her voice dropped a little. Not sad, just honest.

"She liked me exactly how I was. No performance, no pressure. Just me. And instead of leaning into it, I... ran the other way."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

She shrugged again, but this one was smaller. Tighter.

"Because when you've spent your whole life figuring out how to survive people, it's hard to believe someone could just love you without a checklist." She finally met my eyes. "Hard to let yourself be known."

I didn't say anything. I didn't have to.

Mara gave me a little half-smile. "So I pushed her away. Not dramatically. Just little things. Slipped away from her without even realizing I was doing it."

I nodded slowly. The way she said it made something in my chest ache. Familiar.

"She moved to Portland," Mara added, more casual now. "Got really into ceramics. Dating someone who builds tiny houses or something equally off-grid and wholesome."

I laughed, soft but genuine.

Mara leaned back, her eyes now forward. "Moral of the story: don't be me. Or if you are me, at least text her back."

"I do text her back."

She gave me a look.

"I do," I repeated, weaker this time. "Eventually."

"Eventually is fine for your accountant," she said. "Not for your girlfriend."

I blinked, "She's not—"

Mara held up a hand. "Don't. Don't even say it. You know what I mean."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no bite to it. Just a weight lifting a little. Like I wasn't the only one who'd ever screwed up something good out of fear.

"She makes you want to try," Mara said, finishing off her drink. "And that's rare. So try."

I nodded, slow and sure this time.

"Okay," I said. "I will."

She smiled, bumping her elbow into mine.

"Good," she said, turning into the parking lot of the arena for tonight, "Now go be famous or whatever."

✧༺♥༻∞

Hi guys, so sorry for the lack of chapters recently. I am a very busy woman this summer especially with summer classes. Chapters may be slower, but I DO plan to finish this book, SO PLS KEEP ME ACCOUNTABLE AND KEEP COMMENTING!!!!

Question of the day! :
What's your red flag in a partner? Green flag if you don't have one.

Chapter Text

Sorry for not updating in centuries. I feel like a time skip would be good for us, cuz right now the book is still in like late 2024. I am also gonna time skip PAST both their tours because I don't feel like writing them long distance anymore (BORINGGGGG). So just forget that the last few chapters happened, and let's just look forward to the future of them ACTUALLY being in the same air space!

Also if y'all have any criticism so far, any character ideas, any drama ideas ;), speak your peace, and I will 100% try to incorporate it into the book somehow!

Thank you for reading! <3

ALSO IM CHANGING THE PERSPECTIVE TO 3RD PERSON CUZ FUCK IT LOL

Chapter Text

The house was quiet except for the low murmur of the television, some late-night rerun playing that no one was watching. The volume was turned down enough that the canned laughter barely reached the living room.

Rhea had claimed her spot on the couch hours ago, curled under a heavy knit blanket that smelled faintly of vanilla and fabric softener. One leg was tucked underneath her, the other stretched toward the coffee table, toes peeking out from under the blanket. Billie had tossed her a pair of socks earlier, mismatched but warm and fluffy, and now they pooled around her ankles.

The lights were dim, soft and golden, casting everything in a kind of glow that felt like a warm hug. A half-finished cup of tea sat on the side table beside Rhea, steam long since faded. She didn't mind it cooling, and in fact, she liked the ritual of making it more than the drink itself.

Billie moved somewhere in the kitchen, footsteps slow and unhurried against the tile. A cupboard door opened, then closed again. The sound of a spoon clinking against a mug followed. Rhea shifted under the blanket but didn't bother to sit up. She didn't have to.

When Billie reappeared, she had another mug in hand. She placed it on the table, right next to Rhea's cooling tea.

"Sugar?" she asked, her voice low, casual, the way you might ask about the weather.

Rhea shook her head, eyes still on her phone, her finger scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. 

Billie hummed in acknowledgment and folded herself onto the couch beside her, legs drawn up, one arm draped lazily across the back cushions. Their bodies brushed, not out of any intention, just the inevitable closeness of two people who no longer thought about the space between them.

Neither of them spoke again right away. They didn't need to. Rhea leaned a little further into her side, head resting on Billie's shoulder, and Billie adjusted the blanket to cover them both. It wasn't romantic in the cinematic sense. It was a familiar feeling now. Comfortable in the way only time could make it.

The kind of comfortable where silence didn't feel empty, but full. Where you didn't have to search for the right thing to say. Where the air carried not tension, not anticipation, but ease.

On the screen, a laugh track rippled again. Billie's fingers tapped against Rhea's knee in absent rhythm, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead but unfocused. Rhea closed her eyes, allowing her grip on her phone to soften.

Billie shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Rhea too much, and reached for the remote. The screen dimmed further until the sitcom was reduced to background noise, all movement but no distraction.

"Too bright?" she asked.

Rhea's reply came soft, almost drowsy. "Mm. Just noisy."

Billie set the remote back on the table and leaned her head against the back of the couch, a sigh slipping out without her meaning to. Rhea felt it vibrate faintly through Billie's shoulder, and it made her smile.

"You always fall asleep on the couch," Rhea murmured, voice muffled by the blanket.

"You always steal the good blanket," Billie countered without much energy, like it was a script they'd run through before.

"It's survival," Rhea said, a small smirk tugging at her mouth, "If I didn't, you would."

Billie reached over, tugging the edge of the blanket just enough to cover her feet too, "Fine. Co-survival."

For a while, neither spoke. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant roll of a car passing outside, and the faint sound of the TV. Rhea's breathing slowed, evened out, but Billie could feel she wasn't fully asleep yet.

"You're gonna get a crick in your neck," Billie said eventually, her tone flat but not unkind.

Rhea hummed, "It's fine."

Billie let it go. She always did.

When she finally moved again, it was only to reach for her own mug of tea. She sipped, set it back down, and glanced sideways at Rhea. The blanket had slipped from her shoulder, and Billie wordlessly pulled it back into place.

"Thanks," Rhea mumbled, eyes still shut.

Billie's mouth quirked. "Didn't do it for you. I just don't wanna share a couch with your cold feet."

"Whatever," Rhea said, smiling into the fabric.

It was nothing big. Just the quiet, the couch, the kind of closeness that didn't need commentary. Billie's hand slid onto Rhea's knee, absent, thoughtless, and Rhea's fingers moved to cover it without even opening her eyes.

The TV flickered in the corner. Somewhere in the kitchen, the fridge kicked on. Neither of them moved until finally, both of their eyes closed shut.

✧༺♥༻∞

ONE WEEK LATER — PARIS

The car rolled to a stop in front of the venue, a sea of flashing lights already bouncing off the windows. Even with the tinted glass, Rhea could feel the hum of attention, the swell of cameras and voices pressed too close together.

The door opened, and Billie stepped out first, effortless in a sleek black suit tailored sharp to her frame, and her hair slicked back into a ponytail. A roar went up immediately from the crowd lining the barricades, the swarm of paparazzi cameras firing so fast it sounded like hail on metal.

Rhea followed. The Paris air was cool against her bare shoulders, the sky already heavy with the onset of night. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she straightened, smoothing out her champagne-colored silk dress. It was her first fashion show, but not her first time stepping out into something this loud and this bright.

Billie's hand found the small of her back, steady and sure, guiding her forward through the crowd.

The flashes intensified, the crowd calling their names now, overlapping and chaotic.
"Billie! Billie, over here!"
"Rhea, look this way!"
"Billie, who designed your suit?"
"Are you together tonight? Pose for us!"

They moved down the carpet, pausing at the step-and-repeat backdrop where the logos of the designer blared behind them. Rhea tilted her chin up slightly, her lips parting in what she hoped passed as casual confidence. Billie leaned in close enough that their shoulders brushed, her lips moving without sound, the corners of her mouth twitching with humor.

"You're surviving," Billie murmured.

"Barely," Rhea muttered back through a smile.

Click. Click. Click. The cameras didn't miss a thing.

Inside, the chaos dimmed into something cooler, more controlled. The venue was cavernous, all clean lines and towering ceilings, white light spilling across the runway. Already, celebrities dotted the front rows. Other famous models, musicians, actors, people Rhea had only ever seen from a distance at events like these.

A hostess led them to their seats, front row, of course. Rhea smoothed her dress again as she sat, her eyes darting around the room, soaking in the spectacle. She'd thought she'd like it—the glamour, the exclusivity of it all, the sense of being part of the thing everyone else was watching from afar. But now, under the fluorescent brightness, the air heavy with perfume and the buzz of whispered networking, she felt... out of place.

Billie, on the other hand, looked unbothered. She sat back, legs crossed, expression unreadable as she surveyed the runway. When she leaned closer, her vanilla-scented perfume cut through the mix in the room.

"You're staring like it's an alien invasion," Billie teased, voice low enough for only Rhea.

"Shit. It might as well be," Rhea whispered back. "Everyone 'bout looks like one."

Billie laughed softly, brushing her knuckle against Rhea's knee briefly. "Relax. All you have to do is just sit and watch."

The lights dimmed further, and a hush fell across the crowd. Music kicked in, pulsing and hypnotic, and the first model appeared at the top of the runway.

It was mesmerizing, in a way. The clothes, the movement, the strange ritual of it all. Rhea tried to focus, to understand what everyone else seemed to instinctively know about why this mattered so much. She glanced sideways at Billie, who seemed perfectly at ease, whispering something quick to the actress seated beside her, then leaning back again.

Rhea crossed her legs, her foot jiggling slightly with restless energy. It was her idea to come after all, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn't actually care about any of this. She leaned closer to Billie, "Do you actually care about this, or are we just here for the free champagne?"

Billie's lips curved, "Mostly the champagne."

Rhea huffed out a laugh, too loud, drawing a glance from the woman sitting on her other side. She ducked her head, cheeks warming, but Billie's grin widened.

As the show went on, Rhea found herself whispering commentary every few minutes.

"That dress looks like it's made of trash bags."

"That guy is definitely tripping on something."

"Why is she wearing two belts? Why does anyone need two belts?"

Billie's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter each time, and once, she had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from snorting.

By the halfway point, Rhea's restlessness was growing. She shifted in her seat again, leaning back until her shoulder brushed Billie's. "How long does this go for?" she whispered.

"An hour."

"An hour?"

"You wanted to come," Billie reminded her, eyes glittering with amusement.

Rhea groaned softly, dropping her head briefly into her hands before straightening again. Another round of camera flashes went off from the press section across the runway, and she sat up straighter, plastering her best neutral expression back on.

Minutes passed. More models. More applause. Rhea's eyes glazed. She turned her head, watching Billie instead of the runway, the way her lips pursed slightly, the way she tilted her head like she was pretending to take it seriously.

"Billie," Rhea muttered, leaning closer so her lips nearly brushed her ear.

"Mm?"

"You wanna dip?"

Billie didn't hesitate. "God, yes."

They rose at the next swell of applause, slipping out with the movement of a handful of other guests, though the flashes still caught them as they exited. By the time they reached the car, Rhea was already tugging off her heels, laughing under her breath.

"That was hell," she said, collapsing into the seat.

Billie climbed in beside her, chuckling. "You lasted longer than I thought you would."

"I thought it'd be glamorous," Rhea tucked her bare feet under her, pulling the blanket from the car seat across her lap. "Turns out it's just boring with better lighting."

Billie grinned, reaching over to squeeze her knee. "At least you looked hot being bored."

Rhea turned her head, their eyes catching briefly in the dimness before she snorted. "You're ridiculous."

Billie shrugged, settling back as the car pulled away, Paris glittering outside the windows. "So, what should we go eat?

"You read my mind," Rhea said immediately, her grin spreading.

Billie laughed, low and easy, and leaned her head back against the seat as the flashes faded behind them.

Chapter Text

Vogue.com — Paris Fashion Week Recap
There are front-row guests who come to be seen, and then there are front-row guests who don't have to try. Billie Eilish and Rhea Calder landed firmly in the second category last night at Dior's Paris Fashion Week show. Dressed in contrasting silhouettes. Eilish in a razor-sharp black suit, Calder in a long champagne silk dress. The striking pair drew eyes the second they arrived, laughing quietly between flashes of paparazzi cameras.

Seated together, they whispered, smirked, and looked far more entertained by each other than the runway. Just before the finale, the two slipped out, sparking whispers across the venue. Hours later, they reappeared across social feeds, caught at a creperie in the Marais still dressed in their attire from the evening.

Twitter/X
@rheastan44: billie and rhea leaving a show early just to eat crepes??? they're so unserious it's actually killing me
[attached: blurry iPhone shot of them sitting in a booth, Billie in her suit jacket, Rhea with her heels off under the table]

@eilishupdates: this is the most married behavior i've ever seen and they're not even official (yet)

@fashiongirlieee: i hate that they looked better leaving than 90% of ppl arriving 💔

Instagram — @parisstreetstyleofficial
Spotted: Billie Eilish and Rhea Calder leaving Dior's show hand in hand before heading to the Marais. Who needs a finale walk when you are the finale?

Comments
@cigarettesafterconcerts: the grip billie has on her hand... i'm gonna scream
@queerriotclub: rhea barefoot in the car. she's a real one
@maraislocal: worked at that crepe place tonight... they ordered a nutella crepe and a vegan one w/ fruit and a black coffee. just them.

TMZ
Billie and Rhea Did Paris Fashion Week Their Way, and Honestly, Respect

Last night's Dior show drew the usual crowd of models, influencers, and actors, but the internet is only talking about one thing: The disrespectful Billie Eilish and Rhea Calder bail halfway through.

For an event that thrives on spectacle and reverence for the designers and models, their mid-show exit didn't go unnoticed. Industry insiders were quick to point out that walking out before the final looks is considered a sign of disrespect, both to the creative team and the models who'd worked weeks for those few minutes on the runway. While some fans chalked it up to boredom or jet lag, others weren't so forgiving, calling the move "rude" and "out of touch."

Daily Mail Headline
Billie Eilish and Rhea Calder Cause Stir as They Leave Paris Fashion Show Early for Midnight Snack

The pair arrived hand in hand at Dior's highly anticipated runway event.

Sources say they skipped the finale walk to head to a local creperie.

Fans spotted them laughing together, with Calder barefoot in the back of their car.

Chapter Text

The creperie was small, tucked on a corner street in the Marais, the kind of place that smelled like butter and espresso even from the sidewalk. Inside, it was nearly empty except for a couple of students hunched over laptops in the back. Their backs straightened once they entered, but they remained quiet. 

Billie and Rhea slid into a booth near the window, still in their show clothes. The waitress barely blinked at their presence, just scribbled down their order: one vegan crepe with berries, one Nutella crepe, and a black coffee.

When the plates arrived, steaming and fragrant, they didn't say a word. Billie cut into hers immediately, head bent, her ponytail falling beside her neck. Rhea dug her fork into the Nutella, her stomach growling loud enough to make her laugh under her breath, but she didn't comment.

For a while, the only sounds were forks scraping lightly against plates, coffee being sipped, the faint hum of French radio playing overhead. Both of them leaned back against the booth cushions like they'd been holding their bodies too tight all night and finally let themselves drop.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't polished. But the silence was easy, heavy with exhaustion and hunger, not tension.

Rhea licked powdered sugar from her thumb, finally breaking the silence, "Okay... that was worth leaving for."

Billie glanced up, a berry still on her fork, and smiled, "Told you."

"Think I could eat two more of these," Rhea says, swiping her finger across what was left of her crepe.

"You probably could." Billie nudged her plate closer to Rhea. "Wanna try mine?"

Rhea shook her head, "You and your fruit."

Billie shrugged, and they fell quiet again. Outside, a bus hissed as it slowed at the corner, headlights sliding across the window for a brief moment before disappearing.

"Was it what you expected?" Billie asked after a while.

"The show?"

"Yeah."

Rhea leaned back in the booth, tapping her spoon against her empty cup. "I thought it'd feel... bigger. More exciting, I guess."

Billie chewed slowly, then nodded. "It's really just people in expensive clothes staring at other people in expensive clothes."

Rhea huffed out a laugh, low and tired. "Exactly."

The waitress came by to clear the plates. They both thanked her quietly and watched her disappear into the back again.

"Would you go to another?" Billie asked.

Rhea shrugged. "Maybe. Not like that, though. I didn't like any of the clothes."

Billie smirked faintly. "Yeah, same. But then again, I wouldn't wear any of it anyway."

"Yeah," Rhea said, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I think I liked this part better." She gestured at the table, at the crumbs and sugar dusted across it.

Billie nodded like she understood. She did.

They didn't talk much after that. Just sat there in the little booth, jackets draped across the seats, the weight of the day settling into their bones. When Billie finally asked, "You ready to go?" Rhea just nodded, sliding her shoes back on without bothering to buckle them.

Billie slid a few bills under the edge of the plate before they stood, tugging her jacket back into place. Rhea followed her out, the cool Paris air hitting her cheeks sharply after the warmth inside. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

The car was already waiting at the curb, engine humming, headlights cutting a soft glow into the empty street. A couple of people outside a nearby bar lifted their phones, but there wasn't the same swarm as earlier. Just a few curious glances and the quick flicker of cameras before the driver opened the back door.

Rhea climbed in first, Billie right behind her. The door shut, muting the outside world instantly.

The city slid by outside the windows, storefronts shuttered, neon signs buzzing in the distance. Neither of them spoke at first. Billie rested her head against the glass, arms folded loosely across her stomach. Rhea curled her legs up under herself, shoes kicked halfway off, staring at the blur of streetlamps flashing past.

"You think they're still talking about it?" Rhea asked after a while, her voice low.

"'Bout what?"

"Us leaving like that?"

"Definitely," Billie said without opening her eyes.

Rhea let out a short breath through her nose. "Great."

Billie turned her head lazily toward her, one eyebrow lifting. "You care?"

Rhea shrugged. "Not really. Just... weird to be the story when nothing really happened."

Billie hummed in agreement, eyes slipping closed again.

The hum of the tires on pavement filled the silence. Every so often, Billie shifted, her shoulder brushing against Rhea's. Rhea leaned into it eventually, the weight of the day pulling her down, her body angling closer until their sides pressed together.

Billie cracked one eye open. "Comfortable?"

"Mm." Rhea let her head drop against Billie's shoulder, voice muffled. "Don't let me drool on you."

Billie's laugh was quiet, rumbling against Rhea's temple, "No promises."

By the time the car slowed in front of the hotel, neither of them had said much else. Rhea blinked her eyes open, disoriented by the sudden brightness of the lobby lights spilling onto the street. Billie nudged her knee gently.

"Come on," she murmured.

They slipped out, moving quickly through the lobby where the night staff barely looked up. Billie pressed the elevator button, and they waited in silence, shoulders brushing again, both of them wrapped in the kind of exhaustion that didn't need words.

When the elevator doors opened, they stepped inside together. Rhea leaned back against the wall, Billie beside her, both staring straight ahead at the numbers lighting up one by one.

Neither spoke until the doors slid open on their floor. Billie let Rhea step out first, following her down the hallway lined with muted carpet and closed doors. Their footsteps echoed softly, steady and in sync.

The hotel room smelled faintly of lavender, the kind of overly neutral scent every high-end place seemed to pipe in. Rhea dropped her shoes by the door, stretching her toes against the carpet, while Billie shrugged out of her suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.

"Shower?" Billie asked, her voice scratchy with fatigue.

Rhea didn't hesitate. "God, yes."

The bathroom was already fogging by the time they stepped inside, the mirror hazed over and the air thick with warmth. Rhea leaned against the counter for a moment, watching Billie adjust the water, her suit trousers puddled on the floor beside her. There was something oddly grounding about seeing her like this—hair messy from the night, makeup smudged, bare feet pressing into cool tile.

Billie reached out a hand. "Come on."

Rhea took it, "Aren't you going to take off your—" but before she could finish, she and her dress were being pulled under the spray. The first hit of hot water was almost painful after the chill of the Paris streets, but then her muscles began to unknot, each drop melting away hours of stiffness. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and exhaled.

Billie was already wet through, her blouse plastered to her skin, makeup trailing in black rivulets down her cheeks. She didn't seem to care, though. She stood with her hands raking through her hair, water streaming over her face, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

Rhea reached out, tucking damp strands of hair behind Billie's ear, her thumb brushing the side of her cheek, "You look wrecked."

Billie opened one eye, smiling faintly, "So do you."

Rhea laughed softly, and the sound seemed to echo strangely against the tile. Her hand drifted lower, sliding across Billie's shoulder, down her arm, tracing the curve of muscle before resting at her wrist. She felt Billie's pulse there, steady beneath her skin.

Billie turned, closing the small space between them until the spray of water hit both of them full on. Their clothes clung, heavy and useless now, silk sticking to Rhea's chest, cotton to Billie's. Billie's hand found Rhea's waist, fingers curling just enough to pull her closer, and Rhea went willingly, her forehead resting briefly against Billie's temple.

The heat pressed around them, beads of water trailing down Rhea's collarbone, dripping from her chin. She could feel Billie's breath, warm even under the steam, as her lips brushed the curve of her jaw.

It wasn't hurried. Not like nights before, when desperation drove them. This was slower, deliberate, like the world outside had finally stopped demanding something of them. Billie's mouth found her cheekbone, then the corner of her mouth, lingering there before sliding away again. Rhea's fingers flexed against Billie's shoulder, nails dragging lightly against damp fabric.

"Mm," Rhea murmured, voice low. "You're gonna ruin this shirt."

Billie's laugh vibrated against her skin. "Baby, I ruined it the second I got wet."

Rhea smiled into the kiss that followed, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn't need proving, just existing. Her hand slid upward, threading into Billie's wet hair, holding her there, not out of desperation but out of wanting the moment to last.

The water beat down, relentless, soaking them both until the chill of the city felt like a memory. Rhea traced lazy patterns against Billie's back, her fingers slipping under the cling of her shirt, skin slick beneath. Billie shivered slightly, but not from the cold.

For a long time, they didn't speak. Just the sound of water, the slide of lips against skin, the soft hitch of breath when one of them shifted closer.

Eventually, Billie pulled back enough to look at her, droplets caught in her lashes. "You okay?" she murmured.

Rhea could only nod, dazed, her lips parting without words.

Billie kissed her again, softer this time, before leaning her forehead against hers. Rhea let her eyes close, the world shrinking to the heat, the closeness, the steady rhythm of water falling around them.

They stayed like that until their legs began to feel heavy, until Billie finally reached past her to shut the water off. The sudden quiet was startling, the hiss replaced by the drip of droplets from their hair, their clothes, hitting tile.

Billie grabbed a towel and pressed it against Rhea's shoulders, rubbing gently, more caretaker than lover now. Rhea reached for another, tossing it over Billie's head, tousling her already wild hair with a small laugh.

"Hey," Billie protested, her voice muffled under the towel.

"You deserved that," Rhea said, grinning as she stepped away to finally strip of her wet clothes and dry herself.

By the time they made it back to the bed, their hair was still damp, towels discarded, and exhaustion had pulled their bodies heavy. They slid under the blankets wordlessly, limbs tangling, warmth seeping between them as the city glowed faintly outside the window.

No cameras. No noise. Just the quiet weight of the day slipping away, their breaths syncing as sleep took over.

Chapter Text

TWO DAYS LATER — BACK IN CALIFORNIA

✧༺♥༻∞

The house had gone quiet in that heavy way only late nights could manage. The lamp in the living room cast a puddle of amber light over Rhea's legs where she sat curled on the couch, one hand lazily holding the edge of a throw blanket, the other cradling a mug that had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

The TV still played, images shifting across the dark screen, but the sound was muted, a silent loop of strangers' faces and half-lit rooms. She hadn't been paying attention for a while. Billie's house had this strange effect on her, and it constantly pulled her into a strange stillness. The walls were pale, the ceilings high, and every corner seemed to hold a softness, like time slowed down once you stepped through the front door.

Rhea tipped her head back against the couch cushion and let her eyes half-close, listening to the small domestic sounds that filled the silence: the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the tick of a clock somewhere down the hall, the occasional rush of a car on the street outside. She was just on the edge of sleep when she caught it.

At first, she thought she had imagined it. A sound so soft it might've been the wind brushing against the glass. But then it came again, low and steady. A hum.

Her eyes flicked open.

She sat up slightly, straining to hear, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. It was faint, but it was there, floating through the stillness. A voice.

Billie. 

She had retreated to her room hours ago, but for what, Rhea didn't question.

Rhea's pulse picked up without warning, and out of pure curiosity and nosiness, she set the mug down carefully, not wanting the clink to be too loud, and slid off the couch. Her socks muffled her steps as she padded down the hallway, following the sound like a thread pulling her forward.

The closer she got, the clearer it became. Billie wasn't just humming, she was singing. A smile spread across Rhea's face. 

"Love when it comes without a warning..."

The words carried in a half-whisper, curling out of the cracked doorway ahead. The melody was languid, smoky, curling around each syllable like silk. Rhea froze just outside the doorframe, heart thumping in her ears.

"...'Cause waiting for it gets so boring..."

Billie's voice dipped low, almost like a secret.

Rhea leaned her shoulder against the wall, careful not to let it creak, and just listened. She didn't think she'd ever get used to this—hearing Billie sing when it wasn't for anyone else, when it wasn't sharpened and polished for a crowd. There was no stage, no spotlight, no pressure. Just her voice in the quiet of her own house.

"A lot can change in twenty seconds... a lot can happen in the dark..."

Rhea closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words sink into her, warming her from the inside out. The lyrics felt almost dangerous, like they weren't meant to be overheard. Like Billie was spilling something raw and private into the air.

She edged closer, careful not to give herself away, until she could see into the room.

Billie was sitting at her desk, back curved slightly, an open notebook in front of her. A small lamp glowed in the corner, throwing shadows across the papers, across the faint steam rising from a forgotten cup of tea. Her hair was damp, loose, and clinging in strands against her cheeks. She wore an oversized t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, baring pale skin to the golden light.

"Some information's not for sharing..."

Her fingers tapped against the edge of the desk, keeping a lazy rhythm. Her eyes were half-lidded, lost somewhere in the haze of melody, not noticing Rhea hovering just outside the room. 

Rhea leaned against the frame, barely breathing. Every part of her wanted to stay there, to keep the moment untouched, to let Billie sing into the quiet forever without realizing she had an audience. She watched as she erased something on the paper, rewrote something, then continued.

But then the lyrics shifted, darker, heavier, and something tugged her forward.

"It's hard to stop it once it starts..."

Rhea finally stepped forward, slow and quiet, and spoke before she could stop herself. "What are you singing?"

Billie startled, her head snapping up. The line broke off sharp, her lips still parted around the words. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hiss of the lamp and the echo of what she'd just sung.

Her eyes found Rhea in the doorway. There was a flash of something—surprise, then embarrassment, then the quick shutter of her expression as she leaned back in her chair.

"Nothing," Billie said after a beat, reaching forward to close the notebook with a soft thud.

Rhea smiled faintly, moving closer, "Didn't sound like nothing."

Billie shook her head, brushing damp strands of hair out of her face. Her voice was calm, but there was a faint color rising at her throat, "Just messing around with some lyrics."

Rhea didn't push, not yet. She perched on the edge of the desk instead, close enough to catch the lingering warmth of Billie's voice still humming in the air. Her eyes flicked toward the notebook, then back to Billie, who was now avoiding her gaze.

"You sounded good," Rhea said softly.

Billie huffed out a laugh, quick and quiet, as if to brush it off, "You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

Rhea shifted a little closer on the desk, her knee brushing the edge of Billie's. Her eyes darted toward the closed notebook, still warm from Billie's hand.

"What were you writing?" she asked gently, tilting her head.

Billie's gaze flickered down to the desk, then back up, a little too quick. "Nothing important."

Rhea smiled, soft but insistent. "You don't sing about 'nothing.'"

"It's not finished," Billie muttered, leaning back in her chair, arms folding across her chest like armor.

"That's fine. Doesn't have to be." Rhea's voice was quiet, coaxing. She reached out, brushing her fingers along the edge of the notebook. "Can I see?"

The reaction was immediate. Billie's hand shot out, covering the notebook like it was something fragile, something that might break if Rhea touched it. Her eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unblinking.

"No."

The word wasn't loud, but it was final.

Rhea froze, blinking at the force behind it. Then she leaned back slightly, raising her hands in surrender. "Okay. Fine."

Billie's shoulders relaxed a fraction, though her hand still rested protectively on the cover. She looked away, biting at the inside of her cheek.

Rhea studied her, the way her ears had gone pink, the way she couldn't quite hold eye contact now. It wasn't just embarrassment. It was... something else.

"Is it about me?" Rhea asked before she could stop herself.

Billie's jaw tightened. That was answer enough.

Rhea's chest warmed, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite Billie's silence. She leaned forward a little, her voice low, teasing. "It is, isn't it?"

Billie groaned, dragging both hands down her face, "Rhea."

"What?" she said, laughing softly. "You think I don't notice when you get all cagey about stuff? You're literally glowing red right now."

"I'm not glowing."

"You're glowing," Rhea said, grinning now. She reached out, gently tugging at Billie's wrist until her hands slid down from her face. "Hey. It's okay. You don't have to show me if you don't want to."

Billie's eyes flicked up to hers again, wary, almost suspicious of the gentleness in her tone. "You're not gonna let it go."

"I will," Rhea promised. Then she smirked, tilting her head. "Eventually."

Billie rolled her eyes, but the edge of her mouth twitched, betraying her. She leaned back in her chair, arms falling to her sides, the tension slipping out of her.

Rhea reached out again, not for the notebook this time, but for Billie's hand. She laced their fingers together, warm and damp from the lingering steam of her shower.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," she said softly. "If it's about me... I don't think I'd hate that."

Billie looked at her for a long moment, blue eyes searching, weighing. Then she shook her head, a small, helpless laugh escaping, "You're impossible."

Rhea grinned, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against her temple, "Takes one to know one."

Billie glanced over at her as she pulled back, catching the way Rhea tried to smother her grin behind her fingers—a grin that couldn't be hidden no matter how hard she tried.

She let out another groan, dropping her head back against the chair like she'd already lost some invisible battle. "You're seriously not gonna shut up about this, are you?"

Rhea smirked. "Probably not."

Billie glanced at her, eyes narrowed but not angry, and then without warning she reached out, tugged Rhea by the wrist, and pulled her straight into her lap.

"Billie—!" Rhea started, startled, but Billie's arms had already looped around her waist, holding her steady.

"Distraction," Billie muttered, voice low against her ear.

Rhea's laugh broke out, surprised and breathless. "You can't just—"

"I can," Billie said, cutting her off. Her lips brushed the corner of Rhea's jaw, the warmth of her mouth a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room. "And I did."

Rhea let her head fall back a little, resting against Billie's shoulder, her grin refusing to fade. "This is cheating."

"Mm," Billie hummed, sliding her hand along Rhea's side, fingers tracing slow circles over the fabric of her shirt. "You like it."

Rhea tilted her head enough to meet Billie's eyes. The lamplight caught them just right — now, a dull grey, sharp, but softened in a way Rhea hadn't seen on stage, hadn't seen anywhere else.

She swallowed, her voice quieter now, "Maybe I do."

Billie smiled then, small but real, before leaning in to press her mouth fully against hers. The kiss wasn't hurried. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that said more than any lyric scribbled in a notebook could.

Rhea melted into it, her hands sliding up to cup the back of Billie's neck, damp strands of hair slipping between her fingers. The warmth of Billie's body beneath her was grounding, steady, as if the weight of the unwritten song could wait until another night.

When they finally pulled back, Rhea was still smiling. "Fine," she murmured. "You win. No more questions."

Billie smirked, brushing her thumb across Rhea's cheek. "Good."

Rhea rolled her eyes, but she didn't move. She stayed in Billie's lap, her cheek pressed up against her hair as she watched Billie softly play with her fingers.

The notebook stayed closed on the desk, but the air still thrummed with the promise of lyrics Billie clearly preferred to show rather than sing.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors sighed open with a tired wheeze, and the hum of fluorescent lights washed over them. It was almost midnight, the kind of hour when a grocery store looked more like a liminal space than a place for shopping. The parking lot had been mostly empty, and Billie had joked that it felt like they were breaking in rather than running errands.

Rhea pushed the cart, as Billie walked beside her, her hands stuffed lazily in her hoodie pockets. Their list was embarrassingly short: almond milk, cereal, maybe something for breakfast if either of them woke up early enough to eat it. Billie had insisted she wanted cut strawberries, not whole, because "I don't trust myself with knives at night," and Rhea had rolled her eyes but added it to the mental list anyway.

They weren't dressed for visibility. Rhea had thrown on one of Billie's hoodies, sleeves bunched up to her elbows, and a pair of sweats she didn't even remember packing in her overnight bag to go to Billie's. Billie had gone with loose jeans, sneakers, and a beanie pulled low. No makeup. No effort. They both looked exactly like what they were: two girls who thought no one would care enough to notice them in the cereal aisle at midnight.

The store was quiet, nearly empty. Somewhere near the front, a cashier half-dozed at their station. The occasional squeak of the cart wheels echoed off tile and metal shelving. Rhea found it comforting. It reminded her of being back home, the kind of late-night run you did when you had roommates and needed ice cream at 11:30. Except now, her roommate was Billie, who was currently crouched in front of the cereal aisle with a look of deep concentration like she was picking stocks.

"What do you want? Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Lucky Charms," Billie muttered, squinting at the boxes.

"Why the fuck would I want Lucky Charms?" Rhea said, leaning against the cart, her brow raised.

Billie straightened her back, blinking up at Rhea, "Frosted Flakes?"

Rhea just sighed, stepping forward to grab a box of Cheerios off the shelf. She threw it into the cart, then continued down the aisle. She could hear Billie mutter something under her breath behind her, but she didn't care to make it out.

They moved on, grabbing almond milk, cut strawberries, and debating for too long over which kind of bread was worth it when they'd probably let it go stale. It was ordinary, and Rhea liked it that way. For once, they weren't "Billie and Rhea." They were just two tired people making bad choices in a grocery store.

Which was why the sound of muffled giggles behind them felt so jarring.

Rhea glanced over her shoulder. Two girls, maybe middle school-aged, were hovering at the end of the aisle. One clutched her phone like it was burning her palm, the other whispering urgently while sneaking glances their way.

For a second, she wondered what they were doing up this late, and this so much energy at that, but then she realized she was staring too long at their camera and turned away.

She nudged Billie with her elbow. Billie, crouched again to grab something from the bottom shelf, looked up. Her face flickered in recognition before smoothing into neutral. She straightened, cereal box in hand, as she waited for Rhea to speak, but before she could form a sentence, they were all standing in front of them.

"Um—sorry," the braver one of the group said, cheeks already pink. "We don't want to, like, bother you guys or anything, but... can we get a picture?"

Billie's lips curved into a polite smile, but Rhea could see the exhaustion in her eyes. It wasn't the request itself. It was the hour. The fact that they hadn't brushed their hair or prepared to be "Billie Eilish and Rhea Calder" tonight.

Billie glanced at Rhea. A silent conversation.

Rhea offered a small, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, not tonight. We're just kinda dead."

The girls nodded quickly, too quickly, like they'd expected it. "Oh yeah, totally, of course! You guys are amazing, though."

Billie murmured a quiet thanks, and the girls stepped aside, whispering again as they walked away. Rhea felt a twinge of guilt, but mostly relief. It wasn't unkind to say no. Sometimes, no was necessary.

They kept walking, but Rhea couldn't shake the prickling sensation at the back of her neck. She noticed it again near the refrigerated section. A faint sound, like the artificial click of a phone camera shutter. Billie's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Rhea didn't turn around. She didn't need to. Someone was taking pictures from afar.

They finished quickly after that. The cart had three things in it. Neither of them bothered pretending to browse anymore. They just wanted to get out.

And then it happened.

As they turned down the last aisle, heading for self-checkout, another group of girls appeared. Older than the first pair, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, dressed like they'd come from a party. One held a phone loosely at her side, the screen still lit. Their eyes were half-lidded, and they clearly were not entirely here.

"Hi," the tallest one said, grinning. "We just wanted to say that we love you guys. Seriously. You're, like, the cutest couple ever."

Billie blinked, caught off guard by the comment, "Oh, um. Thanks."

Rhea managed a small laugh, "That's nice of you."

Another girl leaned in, whispering not-quietly, "I can't believe we actually ran into you here."

The third girl, clearly emboldened, chimed in, her eyes locked on Rhea, "Yeah, but, like, how did you pull her?"

For a second, Rhea thought she'd misheard. Her brain stalled, caught between the hum of the lights and the buzz of the freezers.

Billie froze beside her. Her lips parted, a flicker of disbelief on her face.

The girls laughed, like it was a harmless joke. Maybe it was. Maybe they thought they were being funny.

But the words landed heavier than they should have.

Rhea's stomach tightened. She forced a polite smile, the kind you practiced when you didn't want to make a scene. "Thank you, guys," she said quickly, steering the cart forward. "Have a good night."

Billie followed silently.

They paid at self-checkout without speaking, scanning each item with the robotic beep of the machine filling the silence. Outside, the night air felt cooler, sharper. The parking lot was still empty, but Rhea could feel the ghost of the question lingering, echoing with every step.

When they reached the car, Billie tossed the bag into the back seat and slid into the passenger side without a word. Rhea started the engine, the low rumble filling the space between them.

Neither of them brought it up. Not yet.

But both of them were thinking it.

Chapter Text

The car was too quiet.

And it was not the comfortable kind.

Not the kind they'd been sharing so easily lately. This silence sat heavy, pressing against the hum of the engine and the soft slap of tires against asphalt.

Rhea kept her hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like the dotted white lines were the only thing tethering her to the moment. Billie was curled up in the passenger seat, hood pulled half over her face, knee tucked against the door. She hadn't looked at Rhea once since they'd pulled out of the lot, but Rhea could feel her. A presence, sharp and distracting.

The streetlights passed in stuttering intervals, filling the car with quick pulses of gold, then dark again. Gold. Dark. Gold. Dark.

Finally, Billie shifted, her voice low, hoarse in the quiet.
"That was... weird."

Rhea's grip on the wheel tightened. "Yeah."

Billie glanced at her, quick, then away again. "You okay?"

Rhea let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her chest felt tight, but not from Billie's question. From the echo of that girl's voice, cutting sharp in her head: How did you pull her?

"I don't know," Rhea said finally. "Kinda feels like I just got called out in the middle of the grocery store at 12:00 am."

Billie made a soft sound, almost a laugh, but it didn't land. "People say dumb shit. Doesn't mean it means anything."

"Doesn't it?" Rhea asked, sharper than she meant. She risked a glance at Billie, who was watching her now, really watching her. "Like, what did she mean by that? Was she saying I'm... what? Not hot enough? Not famous enough? Not whatever-the-fuck enough?"

"Rhea..."

"No, seriously." Rhea shook her head, jaw tight. "Everyone's always like, 'how did Rhea Calder end up with Billie fucking Eilish,' and it's like... do they think I don't see that? That I don't hear it?"

Billie's brows knit together, lips parting like she was about to argue. Instead, she sat back, exhaling hard. "I hate that. I hate when people act like you're punching up, like I'm some prize. You don't get it, do you? Half the time I feel like I'm the one trying to keep up with you."

But all Rhea could manage was an eye roll. Like that was the worst possible answer she could have given, "Why would you think you are keeping up with me?"

"I mean, come on. You make incredible music, you take over more headlines than most celebrities by just existing, and might I add, fucking gorgeous. You act like you don't care what people think, but you make them care. That's terrifying, by the way."

Rhea snorted, a weak laugh. "Terrifying?"

"Yeah," Billie said, "In, like, the hottest possible way."

That pulled a reluctant smile out of Rhea, but it faded as quickly as it came. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "So what... what even are we, then? To them? To us?"

Billie froze. Rhea hadn't meant to throw it out like that, but once the words were there, hanging in the air, there was no pulling them back.

The car filled with silence again, heavier now. Streetlights flickered across Billie's face, catching the curve of her jaw, the shadow of her lashes. She didn't look away this time.

Finally, Billie asked, "Do we really need them to define it?"

Rhea gripped the wheel tighter. "No. But I think we need to define it."

Billie's throat bobbed. She shifted, turning fully in her seat, knee brushing against the car's center console,"Okay. Then answer me this: why does it already feel like you're mine?"

The words hit Rhea like a physical slap, knocking the air out of her chest. She swallowed hard, eyes flicking from the road to Billie, to the road again.

"Because I don't want it to be anyone else," she admitted, voice low, raw.

Billie's lips parted. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. Something bigger. But she stopped herself, shaking her head with a faint laugh. "God, this is so hilarious. We are just now talking about this and its midnight in your car. So fucking random.

Rhea finally laughed, a shaky sound. "So... are you saying we're—?"

Billie cut her off, voice steady now. "Well, yeah, I'm saying I want to be official. If you do."

Rhea's chest felt like it might crack open. Her grip loosened on the wheel, one hand lifting just enough to brush against Billie's. Their fingers tangled for a brief second before Rhea had to grab the wheel again.

"Yeah," Rhea said softly. "I do."

For the first time since leaving the store, Billie smiled. Really smiled.

They let the moment hang, comfortable and terrifying all at once.

But the question still gnawed at Rhea, and she couldn't stop herself. "Billie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think she asked that? Like, seriously. What did she see that made her think I couldn't measure up?"

Billie sighed, leaning back against the seat. Her hand found Rhea's again, squeezing tight, "Who cares what she saw? She doesn't see you when you're being an absolute menace at 2 a.m., or when you go on a rant about guitars I don't even understand..." She trails off, "She was fucking drunk anyway."

Rhea swallowed hard, throat burning.

"Let them wonder how you pulled me," Billie continued, voice low, sure. "I'm the one who's trying to figure out how I pulled you."

The car fell quiet again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was full.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Rhea's pulse hadn't slowed once. Her hands were steady on the wheel, but every other part of her felt shaky, wired. The quiet between them wasn't heavy anymore. It thrummed, alive.

Billie unbuckled her seatbelt without waiting, already leaning toward Rhea. She kissed her, quick and clumsy across the console. It wasn't neat. It wasn't planned. Just a press of lips, desperate enough that Billie's beanie slid half off her head.

"Jesus," Rhea breathed, laughing as Billie pulled back just far enough to look at her.

Billie smirked, her hand still resting on Rhea's thigh, "What?"

Rhea shook her head, her smile wild, "Nothing. Just...officially my girlfriend for, like, five minutes and you're already attacking me in the car."

"Get inside before I attack you in the driveway."

That did something to Rhea's stomach. She swallowed hard, killed the ignition, and they climbed out. The night was cold, sharper than before, and they moved fast.

Billie fumbled with her keys at the door, muttering a curse under her breath. Rhea hovered close behind, so close that her chest brushed against Billie's back every time she leaned forward. By the time the door clicked open, they were both half-laughing, half-breathless.

Inside, the house was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp left on in the living room. The same one that's always on. Rhea barely registered it before Billie tugged at her wrist, pulling her inside.

They didn't bother with shoes. Didn't bother with the grocery bag left forgotten on the counter.

Billie pressed Rhea against the wall just inside the door, her lips crashing into hers again. It was messy, open-mouthed, their teeth knocking once before Rhea tilted her head, finding the rhythm.

Her hands slid under Billie's hoodie, fingers brushing bare skin. Her skin was hot to the touch and soft like she had just freshly exfoliated. Billie gasped into her mouth, and the sound went straight to Rhea's chest, her stomach, everywhere at once.

Billie tugged at Rhea's hoodie in return, bunching the fabric up at her sides like she couldn't stand the barrier between them, "Upstairs," she muttered, already pulling away, already dragging Rhea toward the staircase.

Rhea laughed, breathless, "Bossy."

"Shut up," Billie shot back, but her grin betrayed her.

The climb up the stairs was a blur. Billie pulling, Rhea stumbling after her, both of them laughing too hard to be quiet. Billie nearly tripped on the second-to-last step, and Rhea caught her waist just in time, pressing their bodies flush for a moment that made them both go still. Billie looked back, her eyes dark, daring, and then she was pulling Rhea the rest of the way up.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them.

This time, it wasn't frantic, not completely. Billie kissed Rhea slowly, deliberately, her hands cupping her jaw. But the restraint didn't last. Within seconds, she was pushing Rhea backward toward the bed, lips trailing down her neck, teeth catching on skin just enough to make Rhea gasp.

Rhea's knees hit the edge of the mattress. She fell back onto it, propped on her elbows, watching as Billie crawled up over her, hair falling into her face.

Adrenaline roared in Rhea's veins. Her chest heaved, her lips swollen, and every nerve in her body screamed at her to pull Billie closer and closer and closer.

"Billie," she whispered, the name a plea and a prayer.

Billie's smirk returned, slow and dangerous. "Yeah?"

Rhea grabbed the front of her hoodie and yanked her down into another kiss.

Hands were sliding, lips searching, clothes tugged and twisted as if they couldn't decide whether to take them off or just burn through them. Rhea's hoodie hit the floor first. Then Billie's beanie. Then the rest followed, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but skin and breath.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the back of Rhea's mind, she pictured the strawberries sweating under the fluorescent kitchen light, almond milk warming in the bag. None of it mattered. Not when Billie was kissing her like this, fingers tangled in her hoodie, pulling until the fabric strained at the seams.

"Jesus," Rhea mumbled against Billie's lips, her voice half-laugh, half-gasp.

Billie didn't even answer, just pressed harder, her body flush against Rhea's, knee nudging between her thighs like she'd been waiting all night for this exact moment. Rhea's hands flew to Billie's waist, gripping tight, and she felt the sharp intake of breath Billie made when Rhea dug her nails in.

Billie climbed over her, straddling her hips, her palms pressed flat against the mattress on either side of Rhea's head. Her beanie had long since fallen off, her hair spilling around her face, strands sticking to her lips with sweat.

Rhea's hands lifted automatically, sliding up Billie's thighs, over the curve of her hips, under the hem of her hoodie. She wanted skin. Needed it.

Billie hissed softly at the touch of her cold hands against her warm skin, then leaned down, capturing her mouth again. This kiss was slower, deeper, but no less desperate. Their tongues slid together, hot and wet, and Rhea moaned into it, unable to hold back.

Her hoodie was tugged upward, Billie's hands insistent. Rhea lifted her arms without thinking, letting Billie peel it off and toss it to the floor. The cool air hit her skin, but Billie's mouth was there immediately to replace the warmth, lips dragging along her collarbone, her chest, her stomach.

Rhea arched into it, a shiver running through her. Her hands found Billie's hair, tugging gently, and Billie groaned against her skin, the vibration sending sparks straight through her.

"Billie..." Rhea whispered, though she wasn't even sure what she was asking for. Just more. Always more.

Billie smirked against her stomach, pressing a slow kiss just above her waistband. "Patience."

Rhea let out a shaky sigh, then gasped again as Billie's hand slid higher, tracing lightly along the side of her ribcage. Not touching where she wanted, not yet, just skimming, teasing, making every nerve stand on edge.

Pinned beneath her, with Billie's weight warm and solid against her hips, Rhea felt like she might combust before they even got to the part that mattered.

Billie's smirk lingered as her hand dragged higher along Rhea's side, hovering just under the swell of her chest before pulling away completely. Rhea made a small sound of protest, which only earned her a wicked glint in Billie's eyes.

"Relax," Billie murmured, sitting back slightly on Rhea's hips. She tugged her hoodie over her head in one fluid motion and tossed it onto the growing pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. The tank top beneath clung to her, damp with sweat, and Rhea's mouth went dry.

Her gaze traced the lines of Billie's shoulders, the sharp collarbone catching the amber glow of the lamp, the pale skin of her arms flexing as she moved. Every inch of her felt intentional—even the way her hair stuck to her temples, wild and messy.

Billie caught her staring and tilted her head, "You're drooling."

Rhea laughed breathlessly, shaking her head, "Not even denying it."

"Good."

With a slow, deliberate movement, Billie hooked her fingers under the edge of her tank top and peeled it upward, revealing pale skin inch by inch. She took her time, dragging it over her stomach, her ribs, her chest, until the fabric was discarded with the rest. She sat there in her bra, still straddling Rhea, breathing hard, eyes dark and locked on her.

Rhea's hands lifted almost on their own, tracing lightly along Billie's waist, fingers skimming up to her ribs. The skin was hot under her touch, soft but tense with muscle. Billie sucked in a sharp breath, and Rhea felt the shiver travel through her.

"God," Rhea whispered, voice breaking.

Billie leaned forward again, her hair falling into her face as her lips found Rhea's neck. She kissed slowly this time, open-mouthed, tongue tracing lazy patterns that made Rhea arch against her. The heat built low and steady, each kiss stoking it higher.

Then Billie's hands were on her again, tugging at the hem of Rhea's shirt, urging it upward. Rhea sat up just enough to help, her arms shooting above her head, and the fabric was gone, tossed aside without care. The cool air made her skin prickle, but Billie's gaze set her on fire.

"Pretty," Billie murmured, her thumb brushing along the edge of Rhea's bra. The single word made Rhea's stomach clench, made her heart stutter in her chest.

Billie leaned down, kissing across her chest, nipping lightly just above the lace. Her tongue flicked against the skin, teasing, and Rhea's fingers tightened in Billie's hair.

"Billie," she breathed, her eyes locked onto her, watching her every move.

Billie hummed against her, the vibration sparking heat everywhere it touched. Then she pulled back, sitting upright again, and Rhea groaned at the loss.

"Patience," Billie said again, voice low, eyes glinting in the dim light. She reached behind herself, unclipping her own bra with practiced ease. The straps slipped off her shoulders, the fabric falling away. She tossed it aside, leaving her completely bare from the waist up.

Rhea's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She'd thought she was prepared, but nothing had prepared her for this. 

"You're staring again," Billie teased, though her own cheeks flushed pink under the lamp light.

Rhea smirked weakly, "You're literally half-naked on top of me. What do you expect?"

Billie laughed softly, then leaned down, kissing her again. Slower now, deeper, her tongue brushing Rhea's, her bare chest pressed hot against Rhea's. The contact made Rhea moan softly into the kiss, her hands clutching Billie's waist tighter.

Billie trailed one hand down her side, over her hip, teasing the waistband of her sweats but not going further. Rhea whimpered, hips shifting upward instinctively, begging for more without words.

Billie pulled back just enough to smirk against her lips. "I said patience."

Rhea groaned, throwing her head back against the pillow, "You're killing me."

"Good," Billie murmured, dragging her mouth down Rhea's throat again, teeth scraping lightly. "That's the point."

Her hand lifted, brushing over Rhea's chest, teasing through the thin fabric of her bra. She squeezed gently, thumb grazing over her nipple until Rhea gasped. Billie's lips curved against her skin at the sound, clearly pleased with herself.

Rhea squirmed beneath her, every nerve ending alight, every inch of her body strung tight. Billie hadn't even really touched her yet, not where she wanted, and already she felt like she was unraveling.

And Billie knew it.

She moved slowly, deliberately, dragging it out, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until Rhea thought she might snap.

Billie's lips curved against Rhea's neck, her teeth scraping lightly as her hand slid lower. Finally. Past her ribs, over the flat of her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her pants. Rhea's breath caught, her body arching in anticipation.

Billie hovered there, thumb stroking idly against the fabric, her eyes flicking up to meet Rhea's. A silent question.

Rhea nodded without hesitation, breathless, "Please."

The smirk returned, but softer this time. With one tug, she undid the bow, the fabric slowly releasing the tightness it had around Rhea's hips. She was deliberate, like she was unwrapping something fragile. Her hand slid beneath the soft fabric, fingers tracing the edge of Rhea's underwear.

Rhea sighed, hips jerking upward softly, but Billie held her down with her other hand pressed firmly against her hip.

"Patience," she murmured again, though her own breathing had quickened.

Rhea whimpered, hands clutching at Billie's shoulders, nails digging in, "You've made your point."

Billie laughed quietly, low in her throat, before finally slipping her hand beneath the fabric. The first touch made Rhea's whole body jolt, a sharp sound spilling from her lips before she could stop it.

Billie's eyes darkened, her gaze locked on Rhea's face as her fingers moved slow, teasing, testing. She kissed her again, swallowing the sounds Rhea made, her body grinding down against her as though she couldn't help herself either.

Rhea's head tipped back, her lips parting, gasps breaking free between kisses. The pressure built quickly, her body straining toward Billie's touch, her hips rolling up in desperate rhythm.

Billie gave in then, moving with more intent, more focus, her fingers working steady, unrelenting. Her mouth dragged across Rhea's throat, her chest, her shoulder, leaving marks in her wake. Every nerve in Rhea's body lit up, every sound Billie pulled from her making her smirk against her skin.

"Billie—" Rhea gasped, her voice breaking, hands clutching tighter at her shoulders.

"I've got you," Billie whispered, breath hot against her ear. Her pace quickened, her hand firm and sure, and Rhea felt herself spiraling fast, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding on.

Her body arched hard against Billie's, her whine muffled against her mouth as every nerve lit up at once, her body surrendering completely to the feeling, wave after wave crashing through her. Billie held her steady, her movements slowing but not stopping, drawing it out until Rhea was trembling, gasping, spent beneath her.

When the feeling finally subsided, Rhea collapsed back against the pillow, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat. Billie kissed her softly then, gentler than before, her hand slipping free, moving up to cup Rhea's face instead.

"You okay?" she murmured, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her forehead.

Rhea could barely form words, her body still buzzing, but she managed a dazed nod. "More than okay."

Rhea was still catching her breath, spine arched off the sheets, when Billie kissed her through the fading tremor. The kiss was soft at first, a quiet seal on the moment, then deeper as Rhea's hands found purchase again. Billie pulled back just enough to study her face, one palm cupping Rhea's jaw, thumb stroking along the flushed line of her cheekbone. The question in Billie's eyes was the same as always, simple and steady. You good?

Rhea nodded, a little dazed, lips curving. "I'm good."

"Yeah," Billie murmured, nose brushing hers. "You are."

Rhea laughed under her breath, still breathless, and then something loosened in her shoulders, a switch flipping from blissed-out to hungry in one heartbeat. She slipped her fingers beneath Billie's jaw and kissed her back, slow at first, then with intent. When Billie tried to deepen it, Rhea caught her lower lip between her teeth and tugged lightly, just enough to make Billie gasp.

"Bossy," Rhea whispered.

"You like it," Billie said, but there was a new edge in her voice now, frayed at the edges by everything she had just given. Her pupils were blown wide, the blue gone darker, and for once she looked like someone who had been taken somewhere and was still finding her way back.

Rhea slid her palms down Billie's sides, fingers tracing the damp heat of skin, then flattened them at her waist. She breathed in the salt of sweat and the faint sweetness of Billie's shampoo and felt a wicked, delicious thought take root.

"Move," she said quietly.

Billie stilled. "What?"

Rhea kissed the corner of her mouth. "My turn. Up."

It was not a request so much as a promise, warm and even in the air between them. For a heartbeat, Billie only stared, a quick flicker of surprise crossing her face that was gone just as fast. Then she shifted back onto her heels, letting Rhea push, letting her roll them with an unhurried press of hips and thigh until Billie was on her back and Rhea was the one caging her in, palms braced on either side of Billie's shoulders.

Billie's breath hitched. She did not fight for control. Not yet. She laid there in the warm spill of the bedside lamp, hair fanned messily across the pillow, lips parted, eyes tracking every inch of Rhea like she had been waiting to see this.

"Comfortable?" Rhea asked, voice low.

Billie's mouth twitched. "I can be."

"Good."

Rhea kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the shift of weight, the new vantage. She dragged her mouth along Billie's cheek, then down, setting a lazy path along her jaw, the column of her throat. She felt Billie swallow under her lips and smiled against skin. Her hands slid up, framing Billie's ribs, thumbs brushing the sensitive edges that made Billie shiver. When Rhea lifted her head and sat back a little to really look, Billie flushed, just slightly, a small, helpless color blooming high on her chest.

"Stop staring," Billie muttered, not quite convincing.

"Not a chance," Rhea said.

She let her fingers map what her eyes already knew. The elegant notch of Billie's collarbone. The soft swell where shoulder became chest. The flutter at the base of her throat when she took a deeper breath. Rhea spread her hand flat and felt Billie's heart under her palm, fast and steady, answering her own.

"Rhea," Billie warned, except it sounded nothing like a warning.

"What," Rhea teased, bending to kiss the spot where pulse met jaw, "You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

Billie exhaled on a laugh that broke halfway into a sound that was not a laugh at all. "You are so annoying."

"Mm. Your girlfriend," Rhea said teasingly and simply, letting the word land, letting it spark again between them.

Billie's eyes flicked up, heat meeting heat, "Say that again."

"Your girlfriend," Rhea repeated, softer now, right against her mouth.

Billie's hands tightened at Rhea's waist. For a second Rhea felt the impulse there, the instinctive urge in Billie to flip them back over and take control again. She felt it and held anyway, steadying Billie gently with her weight. The hint of a challenge passed between them without a word.

"Be good," Rhea said firmly, her eyes flickering down to her grip.

Billie let out a breathless sound that was half a scoff, "Oh, you're serious."

"Deadly."

Rhea leaned in, kissing Billie's mouth until the smirk gave way to something softer, hungrier. Billie's head tipped back, her hands sliding up Rhea's shoulder blades, tugging her closer. Rhea let her lips wander lower, careful at first—tasting salt and warmth, leaving small marks that made Billie's breath catch. The sounds were quiet, almost hesitant, until Rhea stumbled on a spot that made her arch, and then the quiet turned sharp.

"Rhea," Billie said, voice thin with want now.

Rhea lifted her head, nerves sparking under her skin. "What do you want me to do?"

Billie's blue eyes caught hers, steady even through the haze. Her hands flexed against Rhea's back, anchoring her, "Just touch me."

Rhea hesitated, then nodded, her mouth dry, "Show me how."

Billie smiled faintly—a mix of heat and patience—before guiding one of Rhea's hands lower, pressing it against her own hip, sliding it slowly until Rhea's fingers brushed the waistband of her jeans. Billie inhaled, a soft sound escaping. "There," she murmured. "Start there."

Rhea did, her hand clumsy at first, skimming over Billie's hip and the edge of her stomach, letting her fingertips trace the line of skin just above her waistband. She wasn't sure if she was doing too much or too little, but when Billie's lashes fluttered and her lips parted on a shaky breath, Rhea's confidence grew.

"That's good," Billie said, voice rough. She shifted her own hips against Rhea's hand, showing her the rhythm, the pressure, until Rhea caught on.

Rhea bent to kiss her again, relief and want tangling, and Billie kissed her back with a sound that made Rhea's stomach flip. Encouraged, she let her hand slip under the waistband, fingers exploring, tentative but eager. Billie's body jolted at the first touch, a sharp gasp breaking from her throat.

"Yeah," Billie breathed, one hand tightening on Rhea's arm, "Like that."

Rhea's pulse raced as she followed Billie's lead, learning by sound, by the way Billie's body reacted under her. Billie's hips rolled up, setting the pace, her voice catching with every pass of Rhea's fingers.

When Rhea faltered, uncertain, Billie's hand slid down, covering hers, showing her the angle, the depth, "Here," she whispered against Rhea's ear, her breath shivering hot across skin.

Rhea adjusted, and the noise Billie made in response nearly undid her.

"Like that?" Rhea asked, still unsure, her voice breaking on the words.

Billie's laugh was breathless, wrecked. "Exactly like that. Don't stop."

Her own cheeks burned, but Rhea leaned down, kissing her through Billie's moans, the rhythm growing steadier as she matched what Billie needed. Every reaction—every shiver, every curse muffled against Rhea's mouth guided her, pulled her deeper.

Rhea kept her touch steady, but doubt crept in—was she too slow, too unsure? She bent down, pressing her mouth against Billie's throat, testing. Billie let out a small breath, soft and unguarded, nails digging softly into Rhea's back.

"That's it," Billie rasped, tilting her head, baring more skin like an offering.

Rhea kissed there, then bit gently, the taste of salt and perfume mixing on her tongue. She sucked at the spot until Billie's breath hitched, her body lifting into Rhea's hand as if she couldn't separate one pleasure from the other.

A mark bloomed under Rhea's mouth, and she couldn't help the small rush of pride as Billie whimpered her name.

The rhythm faltered for a second as nerves fluttered in Rhea's chest, but Billie's hips rocked against her hand, guiding her back into place, "Don't stop," Billie breathed, voice breaking, "keep going."

Rhea found the pace again. Slower and deeper, giving Billie no room to escape. She pressed her mouth harder to Billie's neck, her teeth grazing skin, and the sound Billie made in response was all heat and helplessness.

Billie's whole body trembled, her hands clutching at Rhea's shoulders, at the sheets, at anything she could anchor herself to. Her breaths turned frantic, each one catching high in her throat.

Rhea kissed her again, lower this time, across her collarbone, dragging it out, wanting to feel Billie unravel completely.

"Rhea—" Billie's voice fractured, raw with urgency. "Please."

The whine in her voice undid whatever restraint Rhea had left. She shifted her hand just slightly, changing the angle, and Billie cried out, the sound sharp and desperate. Her body arched hard against Rhea, all tension snapping at once.

Rhea held her there, through the quake and the shuddering aftershocks, until Billie finally collapsed back onto the pillows, wrecked and beautiful, skin damp, lips parted, a bruise blooming high on her throat where Rhea's mouth had been.

Only then did Rhea ease her hand away, careful, her own chest rising and falling like she'd just run a mile.

Billie laughed softly, breathless, brushing damp hair out of her face. "Jesus Christ."

Rhea pressed a shaky kiss to her shoulder, smiling despite herself. "Good?"

Billie gave her a look that was equal parts ruined and amused. "You have no idea."

"Not bad," she managed, voice rasping.

Rhea flushed, half-proud, half-shy. "I'll take it."

Billie lay sprawled across the sheets for a few more minutes, chest still rising unevenly, skin flushed and slick under the dim light. Rhea curled against her side, waiting for Billie's breathing to steady. She couldn't quite believe what she had just done—what Billie had let her do.

Eventually, Billie exhaled and pushed herself upright, reaching for the t-shirt tangled at the end of the bed. "We should probably..." Her voice trailed off, still hoarse.

Rhea caught herself staring at the way Billie's back curved, at the faint red marks her own nails had left on pale skin. She blinked and scrambled for her own shirt, tugging it over her head with shaky hands. Her sweats followed, though they stuck to her skin from the sweat, and she laughed under her breath at how ungraceful she felt.

Billie found her bra on the floor, sliding it back over her back before collapsing back onto the mattress for a moment, groaning. "God, I could sleep for a week."

Rhea, finally clothed again, sat beside her and smoothed her messy hair away from her face. "What time is it?"

Billie frowned, patting the nightstand until she found her phone. The screen's glow lit her face in pale blue. "Shit."

Rhea leaned in. "What?"

"It's two." Billie dropped the phone on her stomach and covered her face with her arm. "And I have an interview tomorrow morning at nine."

A guilty pang tightened in Rhea's chest. Her eyes flicked to the side of Billie's throat—to the darkening mark she had left there. She bit down on her lip. Billie hadn't seen it. And Rhea wasn't about to confess now. Not when Billie already looked so tired.

"You'll be fine," Rhea said gently, pulling Billie's arm away from her face, "You could show up half-dead and everyone would still love you!"

"Not the reassurance I needed," Billie muttered, though she smiled a little as she rolled onto her side, making room for Rhea.

Rhea slid down beside her, tucking herself under Billie's arm, resting her cheek against her chest. Billie smelled like their sweat, like faint perfume, like the detergent on her sheets. Familiar already, and grounding.

"You're warm," Billie murmured.

"You're welcome," Rhea burrowed closer, letting Billie's fingers trace idle shapes on her back.

They stayed like that, tangled under the thin blanket, listening to the hum of the city outside and the uneven rhythm of each other's breathing. Neither said much. The quiet felt full anyway.

Billie shifted once, pressing a kiss to the crown of Rhea's head, mumbling something too soft to catch. Rhea closed her eyes, letting it wash over her, and ignored the small, guilty thought still buzzing at the back of her mind.

The hickey would fade. Eventually. But for now, she tightened her arm around Billie's waist, letting herself drift toward sleep in the safety of her chest, the steady beat of her heart.

Chapter Text

The first thing Rhea registered was the weight shifting beside her, the mattress dipping, the sound of someone moving too fast for this hour. She peeled one eye open, the light filtering through the curtains already brighter than she expected. Her phone on the nightstand read 9:12.

Billie was a blur. Literally. Rhea's vision was still bleary with sleep as she tried to track her across the room. Billie was tugging on a pair of wide-legged pants with one hand, searching for her shirt with the other, hair sticking up in messy tufts from sleep. She muttered something under her breath, sharp and frantic, before finding the shirt bunched on the floor and pulling it over her head inside out.

Rhea blinked slowly, still tucked under the blanket, her body heavy with that syrupy post-sleep ache. She didn't bother speaking at first. Just watched.

Billie stumbled into the closet for a jacket, reappeared a second later with eyeliner smudged under her eyes, no time to fix it. She shoved her arms through the sleeves, patting down her pockets like she wasn't sure where her phone or keys had gone.

"Billie," Rhea croaked, voice thick with sleep, "what's happening?"

Billie glanced at her, guilty and rushed all at once. "Interview, remember? At 9:30. I'm late."

Rhea squinted. "You didn't even brush your hair."

"Don't care," Billie shot back, already pulling on sneakers, the laces knotted from last night.

Rhea pushed herself up on her elbows, blanket slipping down to her waist. Her head still spun with how late they'd gone to sleep, how warm Billie had been curled against her just hours ago. "Brush your teeth at least."

Billie shook her head, grabbing her bag from the chair. "Mints. Emergency plan." She shoved a handful of them into her pocket.

Rhea let out a groggy laugh, rubbing at her eyes. "Gross."

"See you later," Billie muttered distractedly, checking the floor again like something vital had disappeared between the sheets and the carpet. Finally, she snatched up her phone from under a hoodie and shoved it into her pocket.

She paused for a half second, finally looking at Rhea again. Hair tangled, face still soft with sleep, blanket draped low on her chest. Billie's shoulders dropped just a little, like she remembered she wanted to kiss her goodbye but didn't have the time.

Rhea, still half-asleep, opened her arms. "Come here, fast."

Billie groaned but crossed the room anyway, leaning down for the quickest kiss known to man. Rhea caught her chin, made it linger for two beats longer, then let her go.

"Good luck," Rhea mumbled against her lips.

"Thanks." Billie straightened, already moving toward the door, keys jingling in her hand. "Don't leave the bed. I'll text you."

The door shut a little harder than it needed to, footsteps quick down the hall. And then silence.

Rhea collapsed back into the pillows, blanket pulled to her chin. Her body was still buzzing faintly from last night, the ache in her thighs a reminder of just how late they'd stayed up. She smiled into the fabric, then her eyes shot open. Billie had an interview, Billie had cameras in her face in less than an hour, and Rhea had left her with a hickey she hadn't mentioned.

The thought made her bury her face deeper into the pillow. She didn't know if she should tell her, or let her find out for herself when she went to do her makeup.

✧༺♥༻∞

Billie jogged up the steps into the building, breath tight in her chest. Her hood was pulled up, sunglasses jammed on even though the sky was gray. She was late, and the world could feel it on her shoulders.

Backstage was chaos. Assistants darted around with clipboards, her team huddled in a corner, coffee cups stacked on every flat surface. The moment Billie walked in, the noise stuttered, just for a beat, before everyone went back to pretending they weren't looking at her.

Billie blinked, tugging her hood down. "What?"

Her drummer cleared his throat. Someone else muttered a quiet "nothing," but their eyes lingered, darting to her collarbone and back up again.

Billie frowned. "What? Am I drenched in sweat? I did just run up all those steps."

No one answered, but the corners of a couple mouths twitched. Not unkindly, but like they knew something she didn't.

She brushed past them, heading toward the mirror at the far end of the room. She hadn't even looked at herself before leaving the house—there hadn't been time. She figured she'd straighten her hair a little, throw on lip balm, maybe fix the mascara smudge from the night before. Nothing serious.

Except when she dropped her hood and sat in front of the mirror, her whole body went still.

There, blooming bold and unapologetic on the side of her neck, was a bruise. Not just a faint smudge she could wave off, but a full pink-purple mark, high enough that even the collar of her jacket couldn't hide it.

Her jaw slackened. "Oh my fucking god."

She leaned forward, fingers brushing the skin like it might vanish if she touched it. Nope. Still there. Still huge. And she knew exactly who had put it there.

"Shit," she muttered, pressing her hand over it, as if that could erase it.

Behind her, someone coughed. Billie caught their reflection in the mirror—a mix of smirks and carefully neutral expressions, like they were trying not to laugh.

Billie groaned, dragging her hands down her face. Rhea. She was going to kill her.

Billie groaned again, louder this time, dragging her hoodie collar as high as it would go. No use. The bruise peeked out like it was mocking her.

Her stylist finally stepped closer, holding a makeup bag like it was a lifeline, "Sit. Don't move."

Billie obeyed, muttering, "It's not what it looks like."

That earned her a full-blown laugh from the guitarist, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Yeah, okay. Totally just... fell on a vacuum cleaner, huh?"

"Shut up," Billie snapped, but the heat crawling up her neck betrayed her.

The stylist dabbed furiously at her skin, layering concealer, powder, whatever else she could grab. Every few seconds, Billie leaned toward the mirror, inspecting. It looked less like a hickey and more like a blotchy smear now. Which wasn't better.

"Please tell me it's gone," Billie muttered.

The stylist hesitated, which told her everything. "We've toned it down," she said carefully. "But it's... not invisible."

Billie dragged her palms down her face. "Fuck."

She tugged her hair forward, letting it fall around her face and neck. It covered most of it, but not all. With every tiny tilt of her head, the mark threatened to peek through.

"Maybe lean into it," one of the producers called from the couch. "Free PR. The mystery girlfriend angle."

Billie spun, glare sharp enough to slice. "Not funny."

But the second she turned back to the mirror, she could see the corner of her own mouth twitch. Damn Rhea. That smug little laugh she'd had when she kissed Billie's neck last night. Billie should've known.

She dropped her head into her hands, muffling her voice. "I cannot go out there like this."

"Yes, you can," her manager cut in, practical as always. "No one's going to cancel the interview because you look... happy."

That sent another ripple of laughter through the room. Billie sat up, exhaling sharply through her nose, and tossed her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

"Fine," she muttered. "But if one single headline calls this a... hickey, I'm suing."

"Babe," her stylist said, dabbing one last layer of powder, "it literally is."

✧༺♥༻∞

The stylist tapped the brush against Billie's skin one last time, squinting critically. "Okay. It's not invisible, but with your hair down, you'll live."

Billie checked the mirror again. The bruise had faded to a muted pinkish shadow, like she'd just scratched herself too hard. Still noticeable, but not glaring. She sighed, resigned. "Fine. Send me out."

Minutes later, she was led to the small set. Two cushioned chairs angled toward each other, lights lowered to a soft glow, cameras perched on either side. A modest audience lined the back wall—maybe twenty people tops, their buzz of anticipation quieting as Billie walked in.

She dropped into her seat, tugging her oversized jacket collar higher, and forced herself to smile at the interviewer across from her.

"Billie," the interviewer greeted warmly, "Thank you for being here."

"Thanks for having me," she said, her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest.

The first question came quickly, "Your tour just wrapped a couple of months ago, and it was your first time performing without Finneas at every single show. How did that feel for you?"

Billie inhaled, glancing toward the crowd before answering. "Honestly? At first, it was really hard. I've always had him with me—he's like my anchor—so the first few nights felt... empty in a way." She paused, brushing her hair forward without thinking. "But after a while, I got used to the space. It pushed me to trust myself more. I feel like I grew a lot, musically and personally."

The interviewer nodded. "Did you find the audience felt different, too? Without that brother-sister energy on stage?"

Billie considered it. "Yeah, a little. But not in a bad way. I think it let people see me in a different light, more vulnerable maybe. And I liked that."

The audience hummed with quiet approval.

The interviewer nodded, his eyes lingering on her a second too long, "What was the moment on this tour that stuck with you most?"

Billie's lips curved into a small smile. "Melbourne. The first night there, the crowd was insane. I walked out and it felt like the whole room was breathing with me. Like we were all in on the same secret."

"Sounds electric."

"It was." Billie's hand twitched toward her collar instinctively before she caught herself and rested it on her knee instead.

The interviewer shuffled cards. "A lot of your fans commented online that you seemed freer on this tour. That your stage presence felt looser, more confident. Did you feel that too?"

Billie hesitated. She thought about Rhea in the crowd that night in Melbourne, about how her eyes had followed her across the stage like no one else existed. "Yeah," she said softly. "I felt it."

The interviewer tilted their head. "What do you think changed?"

Billie's mouth twitched, just a hint of mischief. "Maybe I just... stopped overthinking. Let myself have fun."

The audience chuckled, charmed.

Another card flipped. "Ending a tour is always bittersweet. What was it like for you, closing the chapter on this one?"

Billie leaned back, exhaling slowly. "It's weird. When you're in it, the shows feel endless, like your whole world is just back-to-back arenas. And then suddenly it's over. I cried after the last show, honestly."

"From sadness or relief?"

"Both." She smiled, small but genuine. "I was proud. Tired. Grateful. All of it at once."

The interviewer nodded, then paused, giving her a chance to breathe before moving on. "So what's next? Are you diving straight into new music, or giving yourself a break?"

Billie laughed softly, brushing her hair forward again, subconsciously hiding her neck. "I want to rest. Maybe write, but on my own time. Not rushing into anything. Just... living for a bit."

The audience clapped lightly.

For a few minutes, Billie forgot about the bruise, about the stylist's warnings. But then she caught one girl in the crowd leaning toward her friend, whispering, eyes darting to her collar.

Her stomach sank.

The questions kept flowing about favorite setlists, about the decision to open with "Chihiro," about how she'd handled the jet lag of circling the globe. Billie answered them all, calm and collected, but her hand wouldn't leave her collar.

She tugged it higher, then adjusted her hair over her shoulder, then smoothed the fabric again. The lights were warm, brighter than she expected, and the concealer her stylist had layered on was already starting to slip.

Halfway through, she felt it. That telltale warmth, the faint tackiness of makeup shifting against skin. She knew without even looking that the bruise was starting to peek through.

The interviewer smiled kindly, none the wiser, asking, "If you could describe this tour in one word, what would it be?"

Billie gave a soft laugh, her fingers curling into her sleeve instead of her collar. "Transformative," she said after a beat. "It changed me."

The audience murmured approval again, their phones quietly raised to snap a few photos even though the staff had asked them not to. Billie ignored it. Tried to, at least.

By the final question—about advice for younger artists starting out—she'd almost convinced herself she was safe. The lights dimmed, the cameras cut, the audience clapped. She stood, shaking the interviewer's hand with a polite smile.

But when she glanced to the side of the stage, she caught sight of her reflection in one of the camera monitors. The collar of her jacket had slipped just enough, and there it was: the hickey, glowing defiantly against her pale skin, framed by strands of brown hair that had fallen out of place.

Her stomach dropped. She yanked the collar higher again, but it was too late. The audience had already seen. Phones had already clicked.

Her team was waiting backstage, some with lips pressed together to hide smiles, others avoiding her eyes entirely. No one said a word. They didn't have to.

Billie muttered a curse under her breath as she brushed past them toward her car keys and bag. She didn't dare check her phone yet. She knew what she'd find.

The media wouldn't need the interviewer to say anything. They'd do the talking for her.

Chapter Text

Rhea lay sprawled across her couch, a blanket tangled around her legs, phone pressed to her ear. The afternoon light poured in through the blinds, making stripes across her stomach. She'd been smiling so much her cheeks hurt.

Maisie's laugh crackled through the speaker. "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You're telling me you actually had the 'what are we' talk?"

Rhea groaned, covering her face with her free hand. "Yes, Maisie. Don't make it a thing."

"Oh, babe, it's a thing. You and Billie fucking Eilish. Like, officially? Do I need to get champagne?"

"Please don't. It's not like we got married. We just... I don't know. We said it out loud. Finally."

Maisie gasped theatrically. "And who started it? Spill."

Rhea laughed, rolling onto her side. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. For historical record."

Rhea hesitated, biting her lip. "Okay, technically it was me. But I feel like it was way overdue."

"Oh absolutely," Maisie howled. "This is killing me. You're killing me. Rhea Calder, girlfriend to Billie fucking Eilish."

Rhea pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, embarrassed but also glowing in a way she couldn't stop, "Shut up."

Maisie quieted just long enough to sigh, "I'm actually so happy for you. You deserve this."

Rhea opened her mouth to reply when her phone beeped—an incoming call. She pulled it back to look at the screen. Billie.

Her chest tightened, "Shit, I've gotta take this."

Maisie's voice sharpened with curiosity. "Oooh, it's her. Okay, fine, go. But call me later. I want every detail."

Rhea didn't even have the energy to tease her. "Yeah, yeah." She hung up and tapped Billie's name, switching calls.

"Hey," she said, voice softening automatically.

Billie's voice came through, lower than usual, tight around the edges. "Hi. Are you home?"

"Yeah, why?" Rhea frowned, sitting up, blanket slipping off her lap.

Billie sighed, a shaky exhale. "Interview just ended. I need to talk to you."

Rhea's stomach dipped, her earlier giddiness wobbling like it was standing on thin glass. "Okay," she said carefully. "What happened?"

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling in the background, Billie probably climbing into a car. "I'll explain in a second. Just... tell me you're alone."

"I am." Rhea pressed the phone harder against her ear, heart rate ticking up.

She had no idea that while she waited for Billie's explanation, her own phone was lighting up, buzzing with notifications. Mentions. Tags. Photos of Billie onstage at her interview, the collar slipped just low enough for the world to see the bruise Rhea had left behind.

She knew the damage she had done, but she didnt know the extend to which Billie's name would be dragged through the mud for it.

"Rhea?" Billie's voice was sharp now, cutting through the static of the car. "You knew."

Rhea froze. "What?"

"You knew you left that shit on my neck." Billie's words came fast, brittle, like she'd been holding them back since she left the house. "You had to. It's not small, Rhea. It's not one of those blink-and-miss-it things. You saw it."

Rhea's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She pressed her palm to her forehead, staring at the photo still glowing on her screen.

Billie kept going. "You could've said something. You could've warned me. Anything. Instead, I walked into a room full of cameras looking like—" She broke off, a frustrated sound lodged in her throat. "Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"

"I didn't mean—" Rhea started.

"No, you didn't think. At all." Billie's laugh was sharp, bitter. "I trusted you. And now every person in the audience has a photo of me looking like some fucking high schooler showing off her first hickey."

Rhea winced, guilt spiking hot under her ribs. "I was going to tell you—"

"When? After the interview? After the memes? After it's trending?"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the muffled sound of Billie's car turning, the low hum of the engine.

Rhea swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Billie exhaled, long and heavy, but it didn't sound like forgiveness. "Yeah. Me too."

The line clicked, and the call was gone.

Rhea sat frozen on the couch, phone slipping from her hand into the blanket. Notifications buzzed endlessly against the fabric. She couldn't bring herself to look.

Her chest ached with something sharp and hollow all at once.

She'd messed up. Bad.

✧༺♥༻∞

Billie tossed her phone onto the passenger seat like it burned. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles pale. She didn't want to hear Rhea's voice anymore, not right now. Not when her apology sounded so damn small compared to the mess she'd left behind.

The red light stretched forever, her reflection faint in the windshield. She glanced at her collar in the glass, and sure enough, the makeup had rubbed thin again. The bruise was back, taunting her. Bright against her pale skin.

She hated herself for not catching it before the interview. Hated that she'd fiddled with her shirt, made it worse. Hated most of all that Rhea had known and said nothing.

Her phone buzzed again. Not Rhea this time, her team. Messages poured in, fast.
"Billie, call me. Damage control."
"We're already fielding questions."
"Do not post anything."

She ignored them all.

Instead, she pulled into her driveway and killed the engine, sitting there in silence. The house looked dark from the outside. Empty, quiet, and for once, the thought of going inside didn't comfort her.

Billie leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, fists tight in her lap. Rhea's face kept flashing in her mind: flushed from the night before, laughing, warm, close. Billie had let herself believe in that closeness. Had let herself be seen, completely, without armor.

And what had it gotten her? A fucking headline waiting to happen.

Her throat ached. Not from singing, not from yelling, but from holding it all in. She opened her eyes and reached for her phone again, scrolling fast through Twitter. Photos everywhere. Fans circling the same shot, zoomed in, cropped, dissected.

Some were laughing. Some were protective. Some were cruel. And all she could think was that she'd been made a fool.

Billie locked her phone and shoved it deep into her bag. She couldn't look at it anymore. Not tonight.

She finally climbed out of the car, heading for the door with her head down, hoodie tugged tight around her neck. Inside, she flicked on the light. It was empty and silent besides the quiet pitter-patter of Shark who came to greet her. But Rhea's presence lingered, in the faint smell of her shampoo on the pillow, in the blanket half-folded on the couch. Billie's stomach turned.

She dropped her bag, went straight to the bathroom, and scrubbed at her skin with cold water until the concealer ran in streaks down the drain. When she finally looked up into the mirror, the bruise was still there. Stubborn and ugly, clear proof of trust misplaced.

Her reflection stared back at her, exhausted and furious.

Billie whispered, low enough that only the mirror heard, "How could she not tell me?"

She hated the way the bedroom looked without Rhea's shoes kicked off by the dresser. Hated the way the bathroom smelled faintly of her shampoo, sweet and floral, lingering in the steam-stained air. Hated the way her pillow still had an indent, her warmth sinking into it.

Billie sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed her hands into her eyes until stars burst behind her eyelids. The bruise on her neck throbbed, and she rubbed at it, uselessly, like she could erase the mark the same way she wished she could erase the humiliation.

She would never have done that to Rhea. Never.

If it had been the other way around, Billie would've noticed instantly. She would've covered it, pointed it out, joked about it until Rhea swatted at her, but she wouldn't have let her walk into cameras like that. Not when the world already loved to chew them apart.

But Rhea hadn't said a word. Just let her go. Let her walk into the lights, oblivious, vulnerable, a joke waiting to be made.

It wasn't the mark itself. Billie could handle bruises. She could handle gossip. What ate at her was the betrayal sitting under it, the sharp little wedge of doubt that whispered: she didn't protect you.

Billie tilted back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence pressed heavier here. No laughter muffling through the walls. No music bleeding from the bathroom while Rhea sang off-key on purpose to make her laugh. Just Billie's breath, shallow and uneven.

Her throat tightened.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. She'd let Rhea in, closer than anyone in years. Let her curl up on the couch, leave mugs on the table, dent the pillows, leave warmth in places Billie thought she'd closed off. And now, after one night, she was reminded how fast it could all vanish. How fragile it all was.

She turned her head, eyes finding the abandoned blanket on the floor again. It mocked her. The house mocked her.

Billie sat up suddenly, pacing the room like she could outrun the ache. Her hoodie slipped down enough to expose the bruise, and she caught her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin, and an angry pink mark blooming across her throat. A brand. A beacon. A mistake she hadn't chosen.

Her jaw clenched.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she grumbled, voice breaking in the empty room.

The silence answered back.

And Billie hated it. She hated the emptiness, hated the absence of Rhea's laugh, her warmth, her presence. But she hated more the bitter taste of betrayal that clung to her tongue, because it reminded her of every reason she'd built walls in the first place.

✧༺♥༻∞

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hi guys! I just recently published a new Billie book called Blue Flame! This one takes place in an AU where Billie has no fame, and she actually has a normal job. If you guys like The Bear + masc Billie you may like this! :)))

Question of the day! :
What's the most embarrassing fashion trend you ever fell victim to?

Chapter Text

The kitchen felt too big in the morning. Or maybe it was just too quiet.

Billie stood barefoot on the tile, hoodie hanging loose over her frame, the sleeves tugged down past her palms. The kettle hissed on the stove, steam curling up like smoke, and for a second she just stared at it, the low rumble filling the silence she couldn't stand.

Her phone buzzed against the counter. She didn't look right away, just poured water into the mug with the chamomile bag already sinking in it. The smell should've been calming, but it wasn't.

Finally, she glanced at the screen: Finneas.

Of course.

She let it ring twice more before pressing the green button, "Hey."

"Hey." His voice was steady, calm in that way only siblings could be when they already knew half the story. "Rough morning?"

She let out something between a sigh and a laugh. "That obvious?"

"Well..." he hesitated, then went for it. "Photos are everywhere, Bill."

Her jaw clenched. She leaned back against the counter, staring at the mug like it could save her. "No shit."

There was a pause, filled only by the kettle's fading clicks as it cooled.

"Want to tell me what happened?"

"I don't know." Her voice cracked more than she wanted. "We... I," She corrected herself, "I just didn't think. I went to bed late, woke up late, rushed out without—" She stopped, teeth sinking into her lip. "I didn't even look in the mirror."

Finneas didn't say anything right away. She could picture him, pacing around his living room, chewing on a guitar pick or whatever was in his hand. He always let her hang herself on the silence first.

When he spoke, it was careful. "Bill... I gotta ask. Was it really just not looking in the mirror? Or was it not wanting to admit what you saw?"

Her stomach twisted.

"I mean, come on," he continued, gentler now. "You didn't get jumped by some... fairy in your sleep. You let Rhea leave that mark. You knew what it was. You could've stopped her. Or covered it better. Or... anything."

Billie's throat burned, "So it's my fault?"

"No," he said firmly. "It's not about fault. It's about responsibility. There's a very clear difference."

She dragged her sleeve over her mouth, staring at the floor, "It feels humiliating, Finneas. Everyone's dissecting it, blowing it way out of proportion. And Rhea just... she didn't even warn me before I left. She knew. She had to know."

"And yeah, maybe she should've said something," he agreed. "But shit, Billie, you let someone suck on your damn neck, you don't expect a mark to show up? I mean, common sense, right?"

Her chest went tight. It was an answer she didn't want, but it caused her to crack a slight smile.

He didn't wait for her to speak just yet, "You've been in this industry long enough to know how fast shit spirals. You can't act like you don't. You're not new here, but neither is she."

Her hand curled around the mug handle. Too hot, but she didn't let go. "Right, but like... I would never do that to her. I wouldn't put her in that position."

"You're not her," he said simply. "You can't expect her to do things exactly the way you would. You've gotta meet in the middle."

She hated how reasonable he sounded. Fuckin' older siblings

The kitchen light buzzed faintly overhead. Outside, traffic was muffled, a world moving without her. Inside, she just felt stuck.

"So am I overreacting?"

"I'm saying you're focusing on the wrong thing." His tone softened again. "Is this really about the bruise? Or is it about the fact that you feel like she wasn't looking out for you? Because those are two different conversations."

Her throat closed up. She blinked hard, his words hitting deep, but the tears didn't come. Not yet.

"You love her, right?" he asked finally.

Her silence was answer enough. Love? It was a strong word. But hearing it didn't cause her to stir.

"Then figure out how you two handle this shit together. Not separately. Not with her guessing and you blaming." He paused, and she could hear the faint creak of his chair as he sat. "Also, maybe... stop letting her put hickeys where people can see them."

A laugh broke out of her, unsteady and small, but real.

"That's my only practical advice," he added, chuckling now. "Everything else you're gonna have to work out yourself."

She sniffed, rubbing at the tear she didn't know she let fall, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

When the call ended, Billie stood there in the kitchen, steam from her tea fogging faintly in the air. The house was still quiet, and she hated how fast it could feel empty, how quickly warmth could slip out the door with a single mistake.

But she couldn't shake the truth of what Finneas said. She hadn't been powerless. She'd made choices too, and now, she had to decide what she was going to do next.

✧༺♥༻∞

Billie had texted her that morning: Come over tonight. We need to talk.

It wasn't the kind of message that used to send Rhea spiraling, not anymore. She knew Billie meant it literally. No hidden threats, no passive-aggression. Just: we need to talk.

When she got there, Billie had already set two mugs of tea on the coffee table. The steam had stopped rising, like they'd been poured a while ago, but neither of them touched them right away. Billie sat curled into one corner of the couch, socked feet tucked under her, hoodie string wound around her finger. Rhea took the opposite end, blanket over her lap, trying to look relaxed when every nerve in her body was awake.

The TV was off. Their phones sat facedown between them like a silent pact.

Rhea cleared her throat first. "So..."

Billie didn't look at her yet. Just rubbed her thumb over the edge of her mug. "So."

The silence stretched, thick but not hostile. Rhea forced herself to fill it.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. "For the hickey. For not warning you before you left. That was... careless."

Billie glanced up at her then, blue eyes sharp, but not angry. "Yeah. It was." She let the words sit, then added, "But I'm not letting you take the whole hit. I knew I had press the next morning. I should've said, 'Hey, let's not.' You're not a mind reader."

Rhea blinked at her, surprised at the evenness of her tone. She'd braced for sharp edges, but Billie wasn't throwing daggers. She was just... plainspoken.

"You're right," Rhea said softly. She twisted the blanket in her lap. "But I still should've been the one to say something when I saw it. I mean, I saw it. I knew."

Billie finally leaned back, crossing her arms loosely. "And I knew when I let you do it. So yeah. Shared blame."

There was a tiny curve at the corner of her mouth, not quite a smile, but something.

Rhea huffed out a nervous laugh, running her hand down her face. "God, we sound like two idiots who can't handle a hickey."

"Because that's exactly what we are," Billie said, deadpan. Then, after a pause, "Except it's not just about a hickey. It's about what it represents. We've gotta be smarter than this."

Rhea nodded, chewing her lip. "Boundaries."

"Exactly." Billie tugged on the hoodie string again, winding it tight until the fabric strained. "Like, if I know I've got a shoot or an interview, nothing visible. Not just hickeys, but anything that makes me walk in looking... compromised."

Rhea winced at the word. "Fair."

"And," Billie continued, "you've gotta be upfront with me if you see something. Don't sit on it. Don't hope I figure it out. Just say it."

"Okay." Rhea shifted, pulling her knees up under the blanket. "So, clear rules. Clear communication. No assuming."

"Exactly." Billie exhaled, as if the words settled something in her chest, "And I'd absolutely do the same for you, you know that."

Rhea picked up her mug finally, turning it between her palms. The tea had gone lukewarm. She didn't drink it. "I just..." She faltered, then tried again. "I don't want you thinking I don't care. That I'd let you walk out looking stupid. That's not what this was."

Billie's head tilted, finally looking at her properly. "I don't think you don't care. I think you weren't thinking. There's a difference."

"Still," Rhea muttered.

They sat in that space for a moment, the kind where neither had to fill it.

Then Billie spoke, softer. "I know you care. That's never been the issue. The issue is making sure we're aligned. We're not idiot kids sneaking around trying not to get caught by their parents. People are watching, and if we don't set expectations, we're just gonna keep tripping over each other."

Rhea nodded slowly, her throat tight. "So tell me your expectations."

Billie blinked, like she hadn't expected the question. She let the hoodie string go, letting it snap back against her chest. "Okay... expectations." She tapped her nails against the mug. "I expect honesty. Even when it's awkward. I expect you to tell me if something's wrong, even if it makes me mad. I expect you to respect my career, because it's part of me, and I'll do the same for you."

Rhea absorbed that, every word settling heavy and true. Then she said, quietly but clearly, "And I expect you not to assume the worst of me. I expect you to give me space to mess up sometimes, because I will. And I expect us to fix it together, not apart."

Billie's expression softened, her jaw unclenching as she leaned back further into the couch. "That's fair."

"Good."

They let the weight of it linger, like the air itself was memorizing the terms they'd just set.

Finally, Billie reached across the couch, her hand brushing Rhea's knee. Not dramatic. Not even deliberate at first, just a hand finding its way to her.

"Okay?" she said. "Boundaries."

Rhea slid her hand over Billie's, covering it. "Got it."

Their tea had gone cold, but neither of them cared.

✧༺♥༻∞

AUTHOR'S NOTE

can we get some fucking applause in the chat for these two newly maturing idiots, good god. maybe if they would stop gnawing at each other's necks they wouldn't be so damn stressed SHIIITTTT

Question of the day! :
What is your favorite Paramore song?

Chapter Text

It had been a week since their talk.

The boundaries conversation wasn't glamorous. There were no tears, no dramatic ultimatums, just blatant honesty. It was the kind of slow, quiet honesty that left both of them a little lighter.

Rhea had gone home that night feeling different. Not euphoric, but a little more soothed. Billie had a way of grounding her, not by fixing things, but by meeting her halfway. And Rhea realized, for the first time in a long time, that she didn't need chaos to feel alive.

The week had been slow and easy. A rhythm was forming between them that neither had to force. They didn't walk on eggshells anymore, and if something bothered them, they said it. If something felt good, they said that too.

Billie had been spending more time in her studio again, piecing together fragments of songs that had been collecting dust for months. Rhea usually wrote nearby, sometimes on the couch, or curled up in the studio's armchair, her notebook always balanced on her knee. The silence between them wasn't heavy anymore. It was comfortable.

It was domestic, almost scarily so.

There were mornings when Billie would wake up to Rhea already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes while humming some melody that wasn't quite finished yet. There were nights when Rhea would find Billie asleep on the couch, half-buried under a blanket, headphones still on, and she'd just let her sleep.

The tension was still there, humming quietly beneath the routine. But now it had somewhere to rest.

Maisie had noticed it too. When she came by one afternoon, dropping off a hard drive and staying for coffee, she raised an eyebrow as she took in the sight of Rhea sitting cross-legged on the counter, Billie leaning against her hip as they argued over whose playlist was better.

"Oh wow," Maisie said, sipping her coffee. "So this is what stability looks like. Jesus, finally. I never thought I'd see it."

Rhea threw a napkin at her. "Shut up."

Billie just laughed, bumping her shoulder against Rhea's before turning back to the kettle.

Maisie grinned, setting her mug down. "Anyway, speaking of stability...Rhea's birthday is coming up."

Rhea froze mid-sip, looking between them. "Oh god. Don't start planning anything. I swear, I just want to do something chill."

Maisie smirked. "Uh-huh. That's what people say right before someone ends up with a champagne tower and a DJ booth... that's me by the way."

Billie smiled but said nothing, tucking that thought away for later.

Rhea narrowed her eyes. "You two are giving me that look."

"What look?" Maisie asked, all fake innocence.

"That 'we're definitely going to ignore your wishes' look."

Maisie grinned. "Maybe."

Billie just smiled quietly, hiding behind her tea cup.

Rhea groaned. "You guys are terrible."

Maisie shrugged. "You love us."

"Unfortunately," Rhea said, sliding off the counter.

Billie reached for her hand as she passed, a small touch that lingered. "Don't worry. We'll keep it lowkey."

Rhea eyed her suspiciously. "Promise?"

Billie's lips twitched. "Sure."

Maisie snorted behind her coffee cup. "That's a lie if I've ever heard one."

✧༺♥༻∞

The living room glowed with warm, golden light from the floor lamp by the window. Rhea sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, staring blankly at her phone. Music hummed low from the speaker on the counter—one of Billie's playlists, something slow and moody that didn't fit the energy of what they were about to walk into.

Maisie had promised her "something small," which, in Maisie language, could mean anything from a dinner with five people to a festival-level event with a guest list that required wristbands. Rhea tried not to think too hard about which version they were walking into.

Her outfit consisted of a black satin top and leather skirt combo, and it already felt like too much. But Billie had told her to "trust the process," and since that had never once led her astray, she forced herself to stay seated and not pace the length of the room.

She scrolled idly through her messages until she heard the faint click of heels against the hardwood floor.

"Okay, don't laugh," came Billie's voice from down the hall.

Rhea's head snapped up immediately, a smile already forming. "Why would I laugh..."

And then she stopped.

Billie stepped out from the hallway, and the words flatlined in her throat.

She looked nothing like the Billie Rhea had grown used to. No oversized clothes and no baggy hoodie swallowing her frame. Instead, she wore a black dress that clung like it had been sewn directly onto her body, short enough that Rhea had to remind herself not to stare. The neckline dipped just enough to be distracting, and her hair was curled loose, falling over her shoulders.

Even the makeup was different. Thick liner winged sharp at the edges, lashes long and dark, her lips a soft, flushed pink that made her look both ethereal and devastatingly sexy.

Billie shifted under the silence, her hand brushing her hair behind her ear. "It's too much, isn't it?"

Rhea blinked, swallowing the dryness in her throat. "What? No. No, it's... It's not enough, actually."

Billie laughed, nervous but pleased. "You're such a liar."

Rhea leaned back into the couch, biting down a grin. "I'm dead serious. You look..." She exhaled, eyes dragging down and back up slowly. "Unfair."

That earned her a smirk. "Unfair?"

"Yeah," Rhea said, running a hand through her own hair, trying not to show just how hard she was staring. "Like you're about to cause problems for me."

Billie's smile turned sly. "You better know how to fight."

Rhea groaned. "God, you're killing me."

Maisie's voice called from the front door, cutting through the tension. "Y'all ready or what? Party starts in fifteen, and if we're late to our own event, I'm never living it down."

Billie grabbed her clutch from the counter, still smirking as she walked past Rhea. The scent of her perfume was warm, something between musky and vanilla, lingered as she brushed by, and Rhea had to exhale just to remember how to breathe.

"You coming?" Billie asked, glancing back at her.

"Yeah," Rhea said, standing up quickly and patting down her skirt. "Just... adjusting to reality for a sec."

Billie tilted her head. "You sure you're ready for whatever Maisie planned?"

Rhea scoffed. "I've known that woman forever. Nothing she does shocks me anymore."

Billie's smirk widened, her eyes catching the faintest glint of mischief. "You might wanna hold onto that confidence."

They walked out of the house to see a long, dark limo waiting for them on the street, and Rhea's hands immediately flew over her face.

"You guys are so fucking embarrassing, I'm killing you both."

The limo smelled faintly of champagne and citrus cleaner, the kind of sterile luxury that felt too rich for the three of them. Rhea sat half-slouched against the seat, her head propped against the cool glass as streetlights bled into soft, dizzy streaks outside.

"This is insane," she said, voice dry. "Like, full-on insane."

Maisie grinned across from her, already half a glass of champagne in. "No, this is iconic. There's a difference."

"It's a birthday party, Maisie," Rhea pressed, "We could've Ubered."

Maisie popped the cork off another bottle with no warning. The sound echoed through the limo like a gunshot. "And deprive you of this totally hilarious, not embarrassing at all moment? Absolutely not."

Billie snorted beside Rhea, eyes half-lidded and teasing. "It is kinda funny."

Rhea turned her head toward her to argue, but simply nothing came out. That's when the breath left her lungs, again. Billie looked even better in the dim, reddish light of the limo. Her eyeliner was smudged just enough to look intentional, and a gold chain winked under the dim cabin lights she hadn't noticed before because she didn't want to be caught staring.

Billie raised an eyebrow, a slight smile forming at the corner of her lips, "Dude, chill."

Rhea was stunned by her beauty. "You just... yeah. Happy birthday to me."

Billie grinned, clearly flushed. "Stop..."

Maisie groaned dramatically. "Can you two stop flirting for one second? I'm trying to deliver a toast."

She filled their glasses to the rim, champagne bubbling over her hand, then raised hers high. "To 23! To chaos, to bad decisions, and to hopefully not throwing up in this limo later!"

They clinked their glasses, the crystal ringing lightly before they all drank.

Rhea leaned back, warmth spreading down her chest as the alcohol hit. Billie's hand brushed her thigh, casually at first, but the touch stayed, soft and possessive. Rhea's breath caught, her eyes flicking down to where Billie's fingers rested.

"You look good when you blush," Billie murmured, low enough that Maisie wouldn't hear.

Rhea laughed under her breath, trying to play it off. "I'm not blushing."

Billie smiled, that infuriatingly slow kind of smile. "Sure you're not."

Maisie rolled her eyes, pouring herself another glass. "God, if I wanted to third-wheel, I'd have brought my fucking vibrator."

That broke the tension instantly. Billie threw her head back laughing, and Rhea nearly spit out her drink.

By the time the limo rolled to a stop, the air inside was thick with warmth, perfume, and the low buzz of alcohol.

When the door opened, a rush of cool night air spilled in along with a wave of sound.

The house wasn't just any house. It was a mansion, sprawling with modern touches and warm amber lights spilling across the lawn. The bass of whatever song was playing pulsed through the pavement.

Maisie stepped out first, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Welcome to the party of the century, ladies. Curtesy of me, of course. And well, Billie, but mostly me."

Rhea followed, blinking as she took in the scene. There was a glowing pool out back, and clusters of people in designer everything. Laughter was echoing off the walls. It looked like something off the cover of a gossip magazine.

"Maisie," Rhea said, her voice faint. "You didn't say this was that kind of party."

"What kind?"

"The kind where I'm gonna get a phone call in the morning from my manager asking what I'm doing lying drunk in the bushes," Rhea deadpanned.

Billie stepped out behind her, clutch in hand, and immediately laced her fingers through Rhea's. "Relax," she said softly, "It's your birthday. Try to have fun."

Rhea looked over her shoulder and nearly forgot what she was saying again. This damn dress.

Under the porch lights, Billie looked even better. The sheen of her dress caught every flicker of light, and her skin glowed warm and golden. Rhea could practically feel the heat in her own cheeks.

She muttered, "This should be illegal."

"What should?"

"You. Existing like that."

Billie smirked, leaning close enough that Rhea could smell the faint vanilla of her perfume. "Careful. You're starting to sound like me."

Maisie, already halfway up the steps, looked back at them. "Okay, Romeo and Juliet, keep up before I leave you to make out in the bushes."

Inside, the place was packed.

The living room had been cleared out to make room for an absurd number of people. The walls vibrated with the sound of electronic remixes, and lights shifted from violet to red to blue in timed pulses. The kitchen had been converted into a full bar with two bartenders mixing drinks like they were in a race.

Rhea had been to her fair share of parties, but this felt like another world.

Billie leaned into her ear, shouting over the music. "It's not what you expected, huh?"

Rhea laughed, the sound lost to the beat. "Not even close!"

They wove through the crowd together, Billie's hand firm at Rhea's waist. Maisie broke away, yelling something about sound checks before disappearing into the sea of people.

Rhea found herself near the back doors, where warm light poured from the massive glass windows overlooking the backyard.

She blinked.

There it was, the massive pool.

It glowed bright turquoise against the night, the surface glittering with floating lights and a thin layer of smoke from a machine someone clearly rented. People were in it half-dressed, laughing, holding drinks in one hand and their phones in the other.

Billie followed her gaze. "Please tell me we're not supposed to swim."

Rhea turned slowly. "Maisie said nothing about this being a pool party."

"Of course she didn't." Billie grinned, teeth catching the light. "She wanted to be in their 'bras and panties'. That is... exactly what she said."

Rhea looked down at the pool, "Well, mission accomplished."

Billie slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Hey," she said, voice soft despite the noise around them. "We don't have to swim. We can just... stay up here. Get drunk. Make fun of everyone, if that's what you want?"

Rhea laughed, the tension fading a little. "Well, I'm not sure yet. Maybe Maisie was right about getting everyone in their bras and panties."

Billie blinked, but there was a sparkle in her eye, "Well, we'll see how many drinks we down and that pool may just call to us."

Rhea smiled, and they stood there for a moment, watching the scene below unfold. People dancing on the patio, the flicker of camera flashes from iPhones, the faint smell of chlorine rising into the air.

"Okay," Rhea said finally, turning to face her. "But if Maisie tries to throw me in, I'm dragging you down with me."

Billie grinned. "Deal."

She took Rhea's hand again and led her deeper into the chaos, toward the music and the lights and the kind of night that felt like it might never end.

The bar was set up on the patio, framed by string lights that draped from the roof like constellations. The air outside was thick with smoke and laughter, the smell of citrus and sugar spilling from half-finished cocktails abandoned on tables.

Billie steered Rhea through the crowd until they found a gap at the counter. "Two margaritas," Billie told the bartender, her voice confident but light. She leaned her elbows on the bar, looking out at the pool, hair falling into her face.

Rhea stood beside her, shoulder brushing Billie's arm. Her heart beat harder than the music. It wasn't nerves. It was just... the way Billie looked under the lights. Her dress shimmered a deep black, the velvet catching the golden glow like it had been made for this moment.

"You're staring. Again." Billie said without turning.

Rhea smirked. "I paid for the view. I'm getting my money's worth."

Billie tilted her head, laughing softly, the sound lost beneath the pulse of the speakers.

The bartender slid two glasses toward them. Rhea took hers, clinking the glass against Billie's before sipping. It burned a little, but sweet after the first second.

"Happy birthday, rockstar," Billie murmured near her ear, voice low enough to make Rhea shiver.

Before she could say anything back, Maisie appeared out of nowhere. There was glitter in her hair, a drink in one hand, and a plastic crown in the other.

"There you are, my little problem child!" she shouted, practically tackling Rhea into a hug.

Rhea laughed, almost spilling her drink. "Maisie, Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be DJ'ing."

"I have time," Maisie said, plopping the crown onto Rhea's head. It was pink and sparkly and absolutely ridiculous. "You can't have a birthday without the proper accessories."

Billie grinned, snapping a picture with her phone. "I'm gonna print that out when you piss me off and stick it on your ceiling above your bed."

Rhea rolled her eyes, adjusting the crown. "You two are plotting against me, aren't you?"

Maisie winked. "Always." Then she pointed toward the center of the patio where the crowd was thickest. "Now get your pretty little ass out there and dance. You only turn twenty-three once, baby."

Before Rhea could protest, Billie grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the music.

The song had switched to something heavier, bass vibrating through the ground. Neon light washed over everyone, painting their faces in flashes of pink and violet. The crowd moved together, a slow wave of rhythm and noise.

Billie turned, still holding Rhea's hand. "You good?"

Rhea nodded, though her pulse was erratic. "You trying to make me look bad out here?"

"Never." Billie's smile turned dangerous. "Maybe just make you sweat a little."

Then she started to move.

It wasn't forced. It wasn't for show. Billie's body rolled with the beat, unhurried and smooth, the hem of her dress catching the light as she swayed. Rhea followed, or maybe she didn't even choose to; she was simply drawn in by gravity and music and whatever was burning in her chest.

People faded away. The crowd blurred into color. All that existed was the rhythm, the flash of light against Billie's cheekbones, the feel of her fingers tracing a line up Rhea's wrist.

Rhea stepped closer, close enough that she could feel Billie's breath when she leaned in to whisper something that got lost in the music. It didn't matter what she said. The tone was enough—teasing and intimate, like a secret only they were in on.

Their bodies found the same tempo. Billie spun once, laughing, then backed into Rhea, hips pressing into her with an ease that sent a tremor through her stomach. Rhea's hands found Billie's waist, tentative at first, then firmer when Billie didn't move away.

The crowd whooped as the song built, and Rhea forgot about the people around them. Billie's hair brushed against her neck. Her perfume was warm and faintly floral, the kind of scent that lingered in your mind hours later.

Billie turned her head slightly, mouth near Rhea's ear, her words slurred, "Still think you can keep up?"

Rhea grinned, breathless, "You're not that hard to read."

Billie laughed, leaning back just enough to look at her. The space between them was barely there.

The lights flashed gold, then blue. Someone nearby shouted Rhea's name, but she didn't turn. Her hand slipped higher up Billie's side, fingers tracing the edge of her ribs, feeling her muscles tense beneath her skin. Billie's lips parted, and she reached behind her to link their hands together.

For a moment, they stopped dancing altogether. Just breathing. Music thundering around them, confetti floating from somewhere above, and the pool's reflection shimmering against their faces.

Maisie's voice echoed faintly through the speakers—she'd started her set—but it was miles away now.

Rhea leaned closer, her lips brushing Billie's jaw. "You're having fun, right?"

Billie smiled without opening her eyes, a small laugh escaping, "More than I should."

The song switched again, the beat slowing into something sultry and heavy. Billie turned around, hands slipping to Rhea's shoulders. Their faces hovered close, breath mixing in the heat between them.

Every inch of Rhea's skin hummed. The rest of the party dissolved—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the water rippling under the lights. It all faded until it was just them, swaying to music that didn't matter, drunk on champagne and each other.

When the song ended, applause broke out somewhere near the pool, but they didn't move right away. Billie's forehead rested against Rhea's, her voice a quiet laugh.

"Okay, maybe Maisie was right," Rhea admitted. "This was a good idea."

Billie smiled. "Told you."

And for the first time that night, Rhea felt the tension she'd carried for weeks—the fear, the spotlight, the noise—melt right out of her.

She leaned in, kissed Billie once, slow and soft, tasting lime and champagne. Then she laughed against her lips. "I might need another drink."

Billie's grin turned wicked. "I'll race you to the bar."

Chapter Text

The second round of drinks went down too easily. Billie had switched to tequila soda, Rhea to something bright and dangerously sweet that Maisie had sworn "tasted like juice." It didn't, but it worked. The edges of the night blurred pleasantly, the crowd looked prettier, and the bass vibrated right up through their shoes.

Rhea was halfway through her drink when a girl with glitter dusted over her collarbones and a lanyard tapped her shoulder.

"You're Rhea, right?" she asked, grinning.

Rhea blinked, "Last time I checked."

"Perfect." The girl nodded toward the pool. "We need you. There's, uh, a little surprise. Birthday stuff."

Rhea groaned playfully, glancing at Billie. "If this is a cake with my face on it, I'm killing myself."

Billie laughed, tugging Rhea's hand. "Come on, let's see what she's got planned."

The staffer led them through the crowd, and the noise swelled. Maisie's voice crackled over the speakers, bright and too cheerful.

"Alright, everyone, can I get your attention for just a second?"

The music dropped into silence except for the low hum of chatter. Rhea squinted against the string lights as hundreds of eyes turned toward her.

"Oh god," she muttered. "She's doing the thing."

Maisie's voice rose again, echoing across the lawn. "Let's hear it for our birthday girl, Miss Rhea Calder!"

The crowd erupted, screaming and whistling. Rhea tried to smile, tried to look like she wasn't immediately calculating the nearest exit.

"And her lovely plus-one tonight," Maisie added with a smirk so audible Rhea could hear it, "the one and only Billie Eilish!"

The cheers got louder. Billie laughed, leaning into Rhea's shoulder.

Someone appeared beside them with two chairs. The nice kind too, with cushions and everything. They set them up right in the middle of the grass near the pool for everyone to see.

"Sit," the girl from before said, too amused for Rhea's liking.

Billie raised an eyebrow but went along, settling into one chair with casual suspicion. "You better not have planned anything weird," she called toward the DJ booth.

Maisie's voice came back, sing-song. "Would I ever?"

"Yes!" Billie and Rhea yelled at the same time, which made everyone laugh.

"Okay, okay," Maisie said, pretending to defend herself. "But I promise, this will be good."

Two more people approached, staff again, grinning like they were in on something. One handed Billie a black silk blindfold, the other held out a red one for Rhea.

"Oh, absolutely not," Rhea said, half standing. "I am not doing whatever this is blind."

"Rhea," Maisie said through the mic, tone dripping with fake innocence, "do you not trust me?"

Rhea laughed despite herself. "No! Absolutely not!"

Billie leaned over from her chair, her own blindfold hanging loosely from one hand. "Come on," she said quietly. "Worst case, we're humiliated in front of our friends. Best case... free entertainment."

Rhea narrowed her eyes at her. "You're having way too much fun with this. I don't like it. At all."

Billie's grin was lazy and unbothered. "That's because I don't plan parties with people like Maisie."

The crowd was starting to chant now, light and teasing: Put them on! Put them on!

Rhea sighed dramatically and sat back down. "Fine. If I die, avenge me."

Billie tied her blindfold first, tucking stray pieces of hair behind her ears before reaching over and tying Rhea's for her. The fabric was soft, warm from Billie's hands. Rhea exhaled, the darkness oddly grounding.

"Can you see?" Billie asked.

"No."

"Good. Me neither."

Maisie's voice came back through the speakers, smug and bright. "Ladies and gentlemen, you know what time it is!"

The crowd cheered again. The music kicked in — a deep, electric-heavy track with the kind of beat that made your spine vibrate.

Billie laughed nervously. "Okay, I'm scared."

Rhea gripped the sides of her chair, already anticipating something chaotic. The ground seemed to pulse with the rhythm. There were footsteps—more than one set—coming closer. The crowd's laughter turned into hollers.

"Maisie, what the hell are you doing?" Rhea shouted over the music.

Maisie only giggled through the mic. "Just sit tight, birthday girl. You're in good hands."

Someone's hand—definitely not Billie's—brushed Rhea's shoulder. She jolted, earning a roar of laughter from the audience.

"Oh my god," she whispered, half mortified, half intrigued.

Another touch followed, light fingertips down her arm, and she heard Billie squeal beside her, a high-pitched oh my god drowned by laughter and music.

"Maisie, I swear to god!" Billie yelled, but her voice cracked in between fits of laughter.

The scent of cologne and perfume mingled in the air, sweet and sharp scents hitting their noses. The beat dropped, and the crowd whooped even louder.

"Okay, maybe this isn't so bad," Rhea said, smiling despite herself.

"You're deranged," Billie shot back, though she was laughing too, the sound dissolving into the music.

They couldn't see the performance, but they could feel it—the warmth of bodies moving near them, the energy rippling through the crowd. Someone's hand ruffled Rhea's hair gently before pulling away, another brushed Billie's leg, and every time one of them flinched, the audience lost it.

"Okay, okay!" Maisie said, dragging out the words like she'd been waiting her whole life for this exact chaos. "Now tell me something. Everyone, how do we feel about our favorite couple tonight?"

Rhea froze. The crowd didn't.

A wall of cheers hit her, so loud and instant it nearly made her laugh. Someone whistled. Another voice yelled, "We love them!"

Billie groaned beside her, but she was smiling, shaking her head behind the blindfold. Rhea felt heat bloom under her skin—a dizzy, strange kind of relief. She had been bracing for something else entirely. For whispers. Judgement from her closest peers. But all she heard was joy.

"See?" Maisie teased. "That's love, baby. That's what 23 looks like!"

The crowd roared again, the energy infectious.

Then the music dropped into a new rhythm that was slower and heavier. The kind of beat that made conversation impossible.

Hands guided the chairs, spinning them so Billie and Rhea now faced each other. Rhea's blindfold slipped slightly, and when someone tugged it off, she blinked into a wash of red and violet lights.

Her breath caught.

Three dancers stood in front of them. Two women and a man, all of them covered in glitter, confident, and impossibly good-looking. The women moved with feline grace, their heels cutting patterns in the light, and the man smiled like he already knew the script to this entire evening.

Billie was watching them with her eyebrows raised, that slow grin spreading across her face. "Maisie's insane," she mouthed.

Rhea didn't even have time to respond before the first dancer stepped between them and dropped into a smooth sway, hips rolling to the bassline.

The crowd went wild.

Billie laughed, low and delighted, and leaned back in her chair. The dancer in front of her mirrored the motion, tracing a line down her own thigh before turning and sinking onto Billie's lap with practiced ease. Billie's eyes went wide for a half-second, then she relaxed into it, grinning, hands hovering politely at her sides.

Rhea's own dancer followed suit. She was blonde with soft curls and the kind of confidence that filled every inch of the space around her. She hooked a finger under Rhea's chin, coaxing her to look up before rolling her body against her in perfect rhythm to the music.

Rhea's breath hitched. The sound around her blurred. She caught sight of Billie through the flashes of light and smoke, her head tipped back, laughter spilling out as her dancer twirled on her lap.

And then there was the third dancer—the man—moving behind Rhea, his touch barely there at first. Fingertips brushed her shoulder, then the curve of her neck. The soft tickle of feathers trailed along her jaw.

She jumped slightly, startled, but didn't move away.

The crowd howled. Billie caught her reaction and laughed, that throaty kind of laugh that Rhea could feel in her chest.

"Having fun over there?" Billie called over the noise.

Rhea turned her head just enough to meet her gaze. Those sharp blue eyes cutting through the light, steady and amused.

"Working on it," she shot back, voice shaking with a laugh.

The man behind her leaned closer, his breath ghosting against her ear. A second later, she felt the tip of his tongue trace a line just beneath it, followed by the whisper-light touch of the feather again. Goosebumps raced up her arms.

Her dancer didn't miss a beat, shifting to straddle her, hands sliding behind Rhea's neck, moving like the music had taken possession of her.

Across from her, Billie was no longer pretending to be composed. She was grinning, eyes half-lidded, one hand resting on the dancer's waist while the other traced idle patterns against the side of her thigh. Every so often, she'd give a playful smack, and the crowd would scream louder.

Rhea couldn't look away.

When Billie's dancer leaned in close, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh again, Rhea felt her stomach twist in a way that wasn't jealousy, exactly, more like awe. And then Billie looked back at her. Really looked.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the party vanished. Just that blue-eyed gaze cutting through the noise, the silent dare behind it, the unspoken you seeing what I'm seeing?

Rhea nodded once, her lips curling into a smirk.

The crowd cheered louder, phones gripped tightly in their hands as they recorded.

The dancers kept moving, slower now, syncing with the rhythm that pulsed like heat between all of them. Billie tipped her head, never breaking eye contact, her grin softening into something hungrier, quieter.

Rhea swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle low in her stomach. The music, the lights, the way Billie's gaze pinned her. It was all too much, yet not enough at once.

Whatever line there had been between performance and desire blurred until it didn't exist anymore.

The dancers eased back, guiding Billie and Rhea's chairs together until their knees brushed.

One of the girls, the blonde who'd been draped over Rhea moments ago, caught Billie's eye, then looked back at Rhea with a small, knowing smile. She shifted her weight, moving between them with ease.

The lights cut from violet to deep red.

Billie leaned back in her chair, laughing under her breath, while Rhea sat frozen, breath caught somewhere between nerves and intrigue. The dancer placed one hand on Billie's shoulder, one on Rhea's, her perfume sweet and dizzying.

The crowd screamed.

"Don't look so scared," the dancer teased, her voice nearly lost in the noise.

Billie tilted her head, smirking. "Who's scared? Not me, that's for sure."

And just like that, the dancer leaned forward, brushing her lips against Billie's first—soft and fleeting—then turned, closing the space between Rhea and her in the same breath.

The kiss was brief, nothing heavy, just the rush of heat and noise and the roar of the crowd reacting.

When the dancer pulled back, she smiled between them, blowing a teasing kiss to the air before slipping away to rejoin the others.

Rhea blinked, dazed, laughter bubbling out of her chest before she could stop it. Billie covered her face with one hand, shaking her head, that rare, open smile breaking through.

Maisie cut the track with a loud, triumphant drop, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

Billie leaned closer, voice low enough for only Rhea to hear.
"Happy Birthday, baby."

Rhea grinned, still breathless. "What the fuck just happened?"

✧༺♥༻∞

Maisie's voice boomed through the mic, barely audible over the mix of laughter and music. "Alright, everyone, I paid way too much for this Airbnb, and the pool was like sixty percent of the cost, so if you don't get in, I'm kicking you out!"

Within seconds, the lawn of people erupted into chaos—shoes flying, sequined tops being unzipped, heels abandoned on the grass. A few people didn't even bother looking for swimsuits; they just stripped down to their underwear and bolted for the glowing blue water. The first splash was followed by a chorus of them, cold water flying over the deck and into the night air.

Rhea blinked, staring at the mayhem with wide eyes and half a laugh bubbling out of her. "They're actually doing it."

Billie looked over, eyeliner smudged and grin sharp. "Are we actually doing it?"

Rhea hesitated for half a second. "Yeah. Fuck it."

Billie laughed, already tugging off her heels. "That's my girl."

They stripped down just like everyone else, giggling and half-tripping over their own clothes as they made their way to the edge of the pool. The air was warm but the water looked cold, glinting under the string lights like glass.

"On three?" Billie asked.

Rhea nodded, heart racing from the champagne running through her veins. "One... two..."

Billie didn't wait for three. She grabbed Rhea's hand and jumped, dragging them both into the water with a deafening splash.

The cold hit like a shockwave, then turned into laughter—loud, messy, unstoppable laughter as they came up for air, hair plastered to their faces. All around them, their friends were shouting, splashing, dancing in the water while Maisie mixed from the deck, phone flashlight waving like a makeshift strobe.

Rhea shoved her hair back and turned toward Billie, who was floating on her back, face lit up by the pool lights. The water shimmered across her skin, and her grin looked almost unreal.

Rhea swam closer until their shoulders brushed, the noise of the party fading just a little around them. "You're insane for this, by the way," she said, voice low but playful.

Billie turned her head, eyes glinting. "I told you, it was all Maisie. All I really did was make sure nothing went too far."

Rhea smiled, a small laugh escaping her lips. The party around them was loud and chaotic, but in that moment, Billie's hand found hers under the water, and suddenly, Rhea wouldn't have traded it for anything.

The music continued to pulse through the night air, every beat vibrating in the water's surface, but for once, Rhea didn't feel the need to move with it. She just floated there, the cool surface brushing her chin, her hand still tangled with Billie's under the water.

Around them, people were laughing and shouting, jumping off the edges of the pool with full champagne flutes, splashing anyone who got close. Maisie was hyping up the crowd from the DJ booth, still somehow managing to keep the beat steady even while yelling into the mic. The smell around them consisted of chlorine mixed with the faint sweetness of spilled liquor.

Rhea looked at Billie, who was watching her instead of the chaos. The lights from the pool twisted over her face, painting streaks of blue and gold across her skin. Her eyeliner had mostly melted away, leaving her bare and beautiful in the same way she had known to love.

"What?" Billie asked softly, that little grin still tugging at her mouth.

Rhea shook her head, voice quiet. "Nothing. Just... you look happy."

Billie's smile widened just a little, tired but real. "I am." She drifted closer until their knees brushed under the water. "You should be too. You deserve to have fun."

"I am having fun," Rhea said, even though her chest ached in a way that didn't feel like just fun. It felt bigger, warmer even.

Billie tilted her head, pushing wet hair off Rhea's forehead with one gentle flick of her fingers. "Good. Because I don't know the next time we'll have a night like this."

Rhea laughed lightly. "What, you don't plan on jumping into more pools in your underwear?"

Billie smirked, "I mean I'm not ruling it out, but...." She trailed off, a familiar and warm smile on her face.

The crowd noise seemed to fade around them, replaced by the hum of the pool lights and the slow rhythm of their breathing. Billie's thumb traced lazy circles against Rhea's wrist under the water, an absent motion that still managed to set her skin on fire.

Rhea exhaled, the alcohol buzzing low in her bloodstream. "You know," she said, voice barely audible over the distant beat, "I think this might actually be the best birthday I've had."

Billie's expression softened, all the teasing gone for once. "Good. Then it's doing its job."

For a second, Rhea thought she might kiss her right there, not because anyone was watching, but because in a night full of noise, this was the only quiet that felt real.

Instead, she just leaned in until her forehead touched Billie's, both of them smiling into the closeness, both too dizzy and too content to say anything else.

The party raged on. But inside their tiny pocket of calm, water clinging to skin, it felt like the whole world had finally slowed down enough for them to breathe.

✧༺♥༻∞

By the time Rhea and Billie finally dragged themselves out of the pool, most of the guests had either gone home or were slumped on lounge chairs, wrapped in damp towels and drunk on leftover cocktails. The backyard lights had dimmed to a soft golden hue, and the music from Maisie's booth was more chill now, but still loud enough to keep things alive, and slow enough that people were starting to yawn instead of dance.

Rhea ran both hands through her wet hair and wrung it out, watching the water drip off her fingers. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and her skin smelled like chlorine and pineapple daiquiris.

Billie emerged next to her, shaking her hair out like a dog before throwing her towel over her shoulders. Her eyeliner was long gone, but her grin was wide and lazy, that post-party sort of grin that made Rhea's stomach flutter.

"Feel like we just survived a small war," Billie said, pulling her towel tighter.

Rhea laughed, "Pretty sure I lost a contact lens in there."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Billie laughed before holding up a peace sign. Rhea rolled her eyes, nearly losing balance on the slick concrete.

Maisie's voice bellowed through a mic that sounded like it had been dropped in water. "Alright, Everyone!"

Everyone looked up. Maisie stood by the outdoor table with a cake the size of a steering wheel, the candles flickering weakly in the breeze. "Gather 'round before this wax melts into the frosting! Birthday girl, get your fine ass over here!"

Rhea groaned but smiled, tugging Billie along by the hand as people whistled and clapped.

They joined the small crowd, everyone half-dressed and wrapped in towels. Maisie placed the cake in front of Rhea with mock ceremony, wobbling slightly in her heels.

"Make a wish, baby girl," Maisie slurred affectionately, shoving a lighter toward the candles.

Rhea clasped her hands together dramatically, glancing at Billie before blowing them out in one breath. "Wish granted," she said.

Maisie whooped. "Hell yeah it is!"

Someone popped open another bottle of champagne, and the cork flew somewhere into the grass. The cheers came too loud for the small crowd left.

Slices of cake were passed out on plastic plates. Frosting smeared across fingers, napkins disintegrated in damp hands. Rhea took a huge bite and moaned exaggeratedly.

"Holy hell," she said, "this is...this is ridiculous. What is this?"

"Triple fudge caramel," Maisie said proudly. "Imported and exotic. Like me."

"Maisie, you're from Portland."

"Imported," Maisie repeated.

Billie laughed into her plate, then leaned close to Rhea, smirking. "You've got some right here." She pointed to the corner of Rhea's mouth, then promptly swiped a finger across her cheek and dabbed frosting there too.

Rhea gasped. "You didn't."

"I did." Billie grinned, satisfied.

Rhea retaliated without thinking, smearing a line of chocolate across Billie's chin.

Maisie clapped like it was a boxing match. "Yes! Get her, girl!"

Billie blinked down at the mess on her skin, then at Rhea, and smirked. "You're so lucky I like you right now."

"'Right now?'" Rhea teased. "What? Is that on a timer or something?"

Billie shrugged, "Depends on how much of that cake ends up on my face."

The others laughed, the sound blending with the music, but Rhea's focus stayed locked on Billie. Her smile, her half-lidded eyes, that relaxed ease that had replaced all the tension from months ago. Billie reached out, thumb brushing Rhea's jaw where a speck of frosting remained, and for a second the air between them quieted.

Then Maisie ruined it in the best possible way. "Okay, okay, enough eye-fucking. Please keep it PG... only until I can watch in private." She winked.

Rhea snorted, almost choking on her bite. Billie threw a napkin at Maisie, who dodged expertly.

"I am very serious! Please let me know a date and time, and I will be there!" Maisie shouted, returning to her booth like she hadn't just announced to everyone that she'd be happy to voyeur Billie and Rhea.

By now, only a handful of people remained, lounging on patio furniture or sitting along the pool's edge with their feet in the water. Someone had started singing badly to whatever Maisie was playing, and it was clear the night was finally coming down.

Billie leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to look at the sky. "Do you feel 23?"

Rhea groaned. "No. But at least I'm not as old as you."

"Old? Please," Billie scoffed. "We are the same age."

"Yeah, now. You were 23 for like what? 5 years?"

"Like 9 months..."

Rhea laughed, shaking her head. "Girl, whatever."

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Billie soon grinned, resting her chin on her hand, watching Rhea with lazy affection. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"More than I thought I would," Rhea admitted, glancing around the yard. "Didn't expect it to actually be this... nice."

Billie nodded, her voice soft. "You deserve nice."

Rhea smiled softly, but before she could respond, she was interrupted. 

From across the yard, Maisie yelled again, "Hey! If anyone's leaving, make sure to grab your shoes because I'm locking the gate in twenty!"

Rhea raised an eyebrow. "You kicking us out already?"

Maisie jogged over, cheeks flushed from dancing and maybe one too many drinks. "Nah, just everyone else. I'm staying the night."

Billie looked amused. "Alone?"

Maisie grinned like a cat. "Oh, I won't be alone. Got a date with a very pretty man who thinks I'm a DJ goddess."

Rhea groaned, "Maisie..."

"What? I'm supporting the arts... and maybe the Trojan company. It's looonnnnggggg."

Billie laughed so hard she nearly fell off her chair.

Maisie adjusted her crown that she'd stolen from Rhea's at some point, and pointed at the two of them, "You lovebirds head out whenever. I've got... plans."

"I bet you do," Rhea muttered, standing and brushing crumbs off her legs.

Maisie winked. "Don't wait up."

Rhea turned to Billie, shaking her head but smiling. "Wanna head back? It's getting pretty late anyway."

Billie stretched, stifling a yawn. "Yeah. I think I've got too much chlorine in my eyes im starting to see colors that I don't think exist."

They gathered their things slowly, wrapping towels around their waists, shoes in hand. Rhea took one last look around the pool—the flickering lights reflecting in the water, Maisie twirling by her DJ booth, the laughter fading into the night—and felt something warm twist in her chest.

As they walked toward the front gate, Billie slipped her hand into Rhea's without saying anything. Their fingers fit together easily, even with the faint stickiness of cake still between them.

It wasn't the wildest part of the night. But it was her favorite.

Question of the day! :
How do you think the book is gonna end? (Yes, it's gotta come to an end at some point)

Chapter Text

As time went on, what began as chaos slowly settled into rhythm.

They were not supposed to buy anything. That was the rule Rhea set as they walked into the tiny record shop with the hand-painted window and the bell that made too much noise. Twenty minutes later, Billie found her leaning over a bin in the "New Arrivals" section, holding a sealed vinyl with her own face on it.

"You cannot buy your own record," Billie said, amused.

"I am supporting small business," Rhea replied, dead serious, then broke into a grin. "Besides, I never got a copy with the misprint."

"The one where they spelled your last name wrong?"

"It was iconic, really. Rhea Caldear. It got me like a million more plays on Spotify just from that alone."

Billie took the sleeve, looked at it, then tucked it under her arm with the two records she had already picked out. "Fine. But I am paying for it."

The bell screeched when they left. Outside, it was cold enough that their breath fogged. Billie tucked the bag inside her hoodie and offered Rhea a mittened hand. Rhea took it, the kind of simple gesture that felt new and also like they had always done it.

They did not listen to the records that night. They put them on the shelf together and then ordered poke and ate on the floor.

✧༺♥༻∞

They tried to cook together and nearly burned the chicken and tofu. Billie set off the smoke alarm, and Rhea grabbed the towel, flapping it at the ceiling until her arms hurt. Billie laughed so hard she bent at the waist against the counter, mascara smudging at the corners of her eyes.

"This is your fault," Rhea said, choking on a laugh.

"You told me to 'sear aggressively.' I listened."

"You tried to sear the stove."

They cracked the kitchen window even though the night air was cold, then stood there shivering. Rhea ate her half-charred chicken with their fingers off the cutting board, dipping it in a bowl of lemony yogurt that somehow salvaged the whole thing, while Billie cringed at her nearly black tofu cubes.

"Please tell me your fans do not think you cook," Rhea said.

"They probably think I just eat lettuce."

"You don't?"

Billie rolled her eyes. "Shut the fuck up."

Finally, the smoke alarm stopped. They didn't end up closing the window and they stood in the draft and finished dinner, never once looking at their phones.

✧༺♥༻∞
Paris, sunrise.

Billie stood on the hotel balcony, wrapped in a robe, the city soft and quiet behind her. Her hair was damp from a shower, and her voice was still rough from sleep.

"Are you awake?" she asked as soon as Rhea answered.

"No," Rhea said from her bed at home, voice stuck in the pillow. "But yes."

"I wanted to show you the sky." Billie turned the camera, and the screen filled with pale gold. "It looks fake."

Rhea watched in silence, cheek pressed to the sheet, phone warm against her ear. Billie breathed in and out slowly. The city breathed with her. A siren blared far away, and the sound of a flock of birds lifting from a roof filled her ears above her.

"I wish you were here," Billie said, quiet, like it was a thought that slipped out by accident.

Rhea rolled to her back and stared at her ceiling. "Me too."

They said nothing for a while. It was the kind of nothing that felt like a blanket.

"Sing something," Rhea said finally.

"It is six in the morning."

"So hum, then."

Billie hummed without thinking, something unfinished, something that curved and did not resolve. Rhea listened with her eyes closed and forgot for a moment that there was an ocean between them.

✧༺♥༻∞

The studio smelled like citrus cleaner and fresh roasted coffee. Rhea sat with her notebook open to a page that had been rewritten so many times the paper felt soft. She had crossed out a verse twice and then stapled a second page to the first, as if proximity would make the words behave.

Maisie popped in and out like a wind-up toy, adjusting cables and snapping along to a click track that was not in time with anything. "You are writing a love song," she announced, not a question.

"No, I am not," Rhea said.

"You absolutely are."

Rhea looked at the page. The lines were smaller than usual, tight with restraint. The words didn't say Billie anywhere, but somehow her name was in every space between.

"Do not make it cheesy," Maisie added, like she could hear Rhea's brain. "Write it like you. Write it like the part where you mess up and then fix it."

Rhea laughed without humor. "So basically the whole relationship."

Maisie softened. "That is what people actually believe. The fixing part."

Rhea put her pen to the paper. She did not write "I love you,"  exactly, but she wrote something about quiet kitchens, and smoke alarms, and the way certain mornings feel like a window is cracked, even when it is not. But even then, it almost felt the same. 

✧༺♥༻∞

It was laundry night. A basket of clothes waited by the couch while a movie played in the background, mostly ignored. Billie folded with neat, deliberate precision while Rhea rolled socks into messy, uneven bundles.

"You fold like a granny," Rhea said.

"Yeah? Well, you roll those socks like a toddler."

"At least toddlers have fun."

Billie flicked a sock ball at her forehead. Rhea caught it and stuffed it down the front of Billie's hoodie like a grenade. Billie gasped, scandalized, then started throwing socks back.

They finished the basket in fits and starts, getting distracted every five minutes by a scene or by each other. At some point, Billie turned the volume down so they could hear the insects outside. At another point, Rhea put her feet in Billie's lap and Billie held her ankles in both hands without thinking, thumbs rubbing absent circles as the credits rolled.

The pile of folded clothes leaned like a bad tower, and the house smelled like fabric softener, but it was finally starting to feel like a life she was meant to have.

✧༺♥༻∞

Public, without panic. They went to a daytime thing they could not skip, the kind with cameras at the door and someone offering sparkling champagne on trays. Rhea wore a simple dress and heels because she was not dressing for them. Billie wore a suit with no effort at all.

On the carpet, someone asked for pictures. They said yes and stood close. It was not a performance, but something that came naturally. When one photographer shouted, "Look here," Rhea did not flinch. When another asked, "Official yet?" Billie smiled politely and did not answer.

Later, in the car with the windows up, Rhea blew out a breath and put her head back.

"You were so calm," Billie said.

"I was hungry. Fear and hunger feel the same sometimes."

Billie snorted. "We should feed you before you eat someone."

"I would enjoy that."

They got tacos from a place with a flickering sign and ate them in the car in their clothes that were too nice for salsa. The salsa did not care, and it dripped right onto Billie's cuff. Rhea reached over with a napkin, then left it there and took Billie's wrist and kissed the inside of it instead. They enjoyed the lack of an audience. Just a small, private claim in a car on a chilly night.

✧༺♥༻∞

They fought, then did not leave.

It was not big. It was old habits, a text answered late, a misunderstanding that felt like one they had already solved. The kind of thing that, months earlier, would have turned into silence.

"What do you need from me right now?" Rhea asked, voice tired but steady.

Billie stood at the sink with her palms braced on the counter, breathing slow, "To not guess. Tell me where you were. Tell me what you were doing. Not because I want to control you... Just because I don't want to keep my mind from going crazy."

Rhea nodded. "I was at the studio. I lost track of time. That is all."

Billie's shoulders loosened a fraction, exhaling deeply. "Okay."

"What do you need from me?" Billie asked then, turning.

"For you to ask that," Rhea said. "Instead of just assuming the worst."

They stood there for a beat with the water running. Billie turned the tap off. The quiet felt like relief. They did not kiss to erase it, or yell to release tension, but they simply did the dishes together, which did not fix anything by itself, but definitely made the kitchen look better.

✧༺♥༻∞

Rhea started going to shows again as a fan. Standing in a crowd with a cap low over her eyes, sweating with everyone else because the AC had stopped working once it became too crowded. Billie stood behind her sometimes with her chin on Rhea's shoulder, singing along to bands they used to cover when nobody knew their name.

Nobody bothered them that much. A few photos from a respectful distance. A couple of girls who asked softly for a picture and whispered, "Thank you for being nice," like they had expected the opposite.

On their walk back to the car, Rhea asked, "How do you stay so private when everyone's watching?"

Billie's breath fogged the air. "I wasn't. Not before."

"Before what?"

"Before you." Billie kicked a bottle cap, sent it clattering. "You taught me I can say what I want out loud. That I don't always have to hold everything together. That being loved doesn't mean losing control."

Rhea's thumb brushed Billie's knuckles. "Guess we both learned something."

✧༺♥༻∞

A chilly beach day. Not in any way glamorous either. Hoodies and tea, and sand that got into socks.

Rhea brought a cheap kite from a drugstore because she saw it by the register and could not resist. Billie held the string while Rhea ran until her lungs burned. The kite lifted in a stuttering, ridiculous way and then finally caught, tugging in the wind like a living thing.

They took turns. Billie cussed her way through a tangle and then refused to give up until the line was clean again.

"This is embarrassing," she said, laughing as the kite nosedived.

"It is character building."

"For who?"

"Me, watching you."

Billie stuck her tongue out and then immediately looked mortified at herself. Rhea howled in laughter. Finally, after many failed attempts, they laid back on the sand and let the line go slack. The kite drifted down like a slow animal and folded itself into a sad heap yards away.

They did not retrieve it for a long time. The sky was too big and the sound of the ocean was too loud. When they finally got up, Rhea brushed sand off Billie's shoulder with cupped hands like she could keep every grain from falling.

✧༺♥༻∞

It was a small miracle, a parallel if you could call it that. It was their first December together that did not involve crisis and resentment towards each other. They put up a tree that was too big for the corner they chose and made the room smell like a forest and artificial marshmallows. They did not have many ornaments, but they bought a box from a drugstore and made fun of the tiny glittered snowmen anyway. They put them up in a randomized way, and it looked like a child had decorated, but they liked it more because of that.

Rhea stood on the couch to reach the top and almost fell. Billie caught her by the waist and said, "I like you alive," with a tone that made Rhea not quite sure if she wanted to roll her eyes or kiss her.

They ordered takeout and watched a movie with the sound too low. Rhea fell asleep halfway through with her head on Billie's thigh. Billie did not move for a long time, even after her leg went numb. She looked at the dumb glittered snowmen and felt a kind of peace that made her want to write something quiet.

✧༺♥༻∞

They forgot the anniversary of their first kiss until after dinner, which felt correct. They remembered at the sink while washing plates. Rhea said, "Was it today?" and Billie said, "I think it was," and then they stood there with their hands wet, smiling like idiots.

"What did we learn this year?" Rhea asked.

"That you hum when you think," Billie said.

Rhea blinked. "I do?"

"Yeah. It's how I know you're working something out."

Rhea tilted her head. "And what did you figure out about us?"

Billie took a breath. "That we can do this. Even when it's not easy. Even when it's not... perfect."

Rhea smiled, small and certain. "Especially then."

They dried the plates. Put them away. Turned the lights off in the kitchen and walked back to the living room where the dumb glittered snowmen were still on the tree, because they had not taken it down yet. Finally, they made tea and sat with their feet under the same blanket and texted Maisie a picture of their mugs when she asked what they were doing.

Later, when the kettle clicked again because one of them forgot to turn it off, they laughed in the dark and got up together.

Chapter Text

The house hummed with a rare kind of stillness. Afternoon light slid through the curtains in soft sheets, dust motes dancing in the glow. The smell of rain clung to the open window Billie had left cracked before leaving that morning. The faint chill that came through it made Rhea pull Billie's hoodie tighter around her shoulders.

A notebook sat open across her knees, its pages covered in ink, crossed-out words, arrows connecting one thought to another. The kind of chaos that only made sense to the person who'd written it.

Billie's handwriting filled the margins—random notes from an old session they'd once shared—and Rhea smiled faintly at the sight of it. She always loved how Billie's lowercase g's looped like treble clefs.

Her pencil hovered above the page, tapping once.

She'd been sitting there for hours, trying to capture what it felt like to love someone without the fear of losing them. It wasn't a love song about beginning or ending—it was the in-between. The staying.

Rhea mouthed the words as she wrote, her voice a whisper.
"Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together..."

She paused, laughed under her breath.
"Okay, maybe not years yet," she murmured. "But has definitely felt like it."

Her pen moved again.
"I need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better."

The lyric made her chest ache. Not from sadness, just the kind of tenderness that felt too big to fit inside her body.

The front door opened, footsteps light against the hardwood.

"Baby?"

Rhea smiled without looking up, "Living room!"

Billie appeared a moment later, cheeks pink from the wind, waves of brown falling loose around her face. She wore an oversized black coat and a faint grin that meant she'd gotten into something mischievous with Finneas again.

"Hey," Rhea said, flipping her notebook closed instinctively.

Billie clocked the move instantly. "Writing about me?"

Rhea raised a brow. "Maybe."

Billie hummed, walking over and dropping onto the couch beside her. "Flattering. I hope I sound hot in it."

"You always sound hot," Rhea said, teasing but honest.

Billie leaned over and kissed her cheek, her lips cold from the outside. "We gotta start getting ready soon, by the way."

Rhea blinked. "For what?"

Billie grinned. "Dinner. My mom texted me last week, remember?"

Oh. Right. That dinner.

The one that had been mentioned casually in passing. "You should come by for dinner, my mom wants to meet you properly," but had somehow turned into tonight.

Rhea felt her pulse quicken.

"Oh my god, that's tonight?"

Billie laughed, soft and unbothered. "Relax. My parents don't bite."

"I just..." Rhea bit her lip. "Meeting parents is always intense. Like, what if she doesn't like me?"

"She already likes you," Billie said, standing to peel off her coat. "You're all she talks about. You'll be fine."

She tossed the coat onto a chair, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to Rhea's forehead. "Come on. Go shower and change. You're meeting the woman who birthed me."

Rhea grinned despite her nerves. "Ew, okay. I'm coming."

✧༺♥༻∞

The car smelled like Billie's perfume—vanilla and cedar and something that always made Rhea's heartbeat slow and steady. The city outside was golden, headlights stretching across the wet pavement.

Billie drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Rhea's thigh.

The radio played quietly, one of Billie's own songs from the tour playing through the speakers, and every time her voice came in, Rhea still felt that small, ridiculous thrill. Like falling for her all over again.

They barely talked on the way there. It wasn't the heavy silence of nerves, but more the comfortable kind that lived between people who didn't need to fill every second with words.

Rhea glanced at Billie, the faint smirk on her lips, the way her fingers drummed against her leg in rhythm to the music.

She was so in her head that she almost didn't realize they'd parked.

Billie nudged her gently. "Ready?"

Rhea nodded, but her stomach twisted anyway. "Do I look okay?"

Billie's eyes softened. "You look perfect."

Billie's parents' house was exactly what Rhea expected — warm, lived-in, the kind of home that smelled like sage and fresh coffee. Family photos lined the hallway: baby Billie with wild hair, Finneas grinning beside a microphone, Maggie and Patrick with their arms around them both.

The second Rhea stepped inside, Billie's mom appeared with the brightest smile Rhea had ever seen.

"Oh, finally!" Maggie said, pulling her into a hug before Rhea could even process it. "I've been waiting to meet you!"

Rhea froze, startled by the affection, then melted into the embrace. "It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. O'Connell."

"Oh, none of that," Maggie said, waving her off. "Maggie, please."

Billie stood back with a grin, watching like she'd known this exact reaction would happen. "Told you."

The rest of the night was... easy. Maggie asked about Rhea's music, Patrick told embarrassing stories about Billie's teenage years, and Finneas made terrible dad jokes until Billie threatened to throw bread at him.

At one point, Rhea looked across the table and caught Billie looking back. Not like she was amused or teasing, just looking. Like she couldn't believe Rhea was there, sitting with her family, fitting into the picture like she'd always belonged.

And Rhea realized she couldn't believe it either.

✧༺♥༻∞

On the drive home, the air in the car was quiet again, but it wasn't silence. It was full. The kind of quiet that hums with something unsaid.

Billie drove with the window cracked, hair blowing across her cheek. Her eyes flicked toward Rhea for a second, soft, unreadable.

Rhea stared out the window, heart pounding so loud she swore it filled the space between songs.

She'd been sitting on the words for weeks. Maybe months. They were too heavy to say in passing, too sacred to text, too honest to disguise as a joke.

But the way Billie's hand found hers, fingers slotting together automatically,  that was the thing that finally made her speak.

"Hey," Rhea said quietly.

Billie hummed in acknowledgment.

"I love you."

The words didn't sound rehearsed. They didn't need to.

Billie's hand tightened around hers. She didn't look away from the road, but her mouth curved into the smallest, most beautiful smile Rhea had ever seen.

"I love you too," Billie said, "You sure took your time."

Rhea laughed, breathless. "I had to make sure you were worth it."

Billie shot her a look, eyes glinting, "And am I?"

Rhea grinned, "You are. And I can confirm that I am definitely still into you."

✧༺♥༻∞

Back at home, hours later, Rhea picked up her notebook again. The words came easily now, pouring out like a confession already written in her bones.

Let 'em wonder how we got this far, she wrote,
'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all.

The ink smudged under her wrist, but she didn't care.

Billie's hair was still damp when she came out of the shower, a dark t-shirt hanging loose off one shoulder. Rhea was still on the couch, her notebook open, legs tucked underneath her. The TV glowed faintly on mute—some old sitcom looping through the motions without sound.

Billie noticed the notebook immediately.

"Still working?" she asked, voice soft as she rubbed the towel through her hair.

Rhea looked up, smiling sheepishly. "Kind of. It's... something."

"Can I see?"

Usually, Rhea would have laughed that off, snapped the book closed and said, not yet. Her lyrics were her journal. They were private, messy, and even vulnerable sometimes. But something about Billie's careful and curious tone made her pause.

She turned the notebook toward her, flipping to the most recent page, and slid it across the couch.

Billie's eyes scanned the lines slowly, lips moving slightly as she read. Rhea watched her face, trying to read it like a weather forecast.

Finally, Billie looked up. "This is..." She shook her head, a small, almost disbelieving smile curving her mouth. "This is really good, Rhea."

Rhea exhaled a laugh. "Yeah?"

Billie nodded, still staring at the words. "It sounds like us."

Rhea felt warmth crawl up her neck, "That's kind of the point."

Billie grinned, and before Rhea could blink, she was up off the couch, padding barefoot toward the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Rhea called after her.

Billie's voice floated back. "I have an idea!"

A minute later, she returned with her guitar slung over her shoulder, the one covered in fading stickers and chipped edges from years ago. She plopped down beside Rhea again, adjusting the strap and tuning a string with a soft pluck.

"Okay," Billie said, flipping a page in the notebook toward herself. "Let's see what this sounds like."

Rhea blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Come on," Billie said, grinning. "You wrote it. Let's find it."

There was something electric about the way she said find it, like the song already existed somewhere in the air between them, they just had to reach out and catch it.

Billie strummed once, softly. A warm, mellow chord filled the space.

Rhea leaned closer. "Slower," she said. "It's softer than that."

Billie adjusted the rhythm, fingers moving effortlessly along the frets. "Like this?"

Rhea nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

She hesitated only a second before singing—quiet at first, the melody fragile in the room.

"Can't count the years on one hand that we've been together..."

Billie's voice joined hers, lower and rougher, wrapping around Rhea's words like smoke.

"I need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better..."

They both smiled at the same time, a little startled by how natural it sounded.

"Holy shit," Billie murmured. "Yeah. Yeah, that's good."

Rhea laughed. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not surprised, I'm just..." Billie strummed another chord. "I love this line. It feels like..." She gestured vaguely. "Like waking up next to you."

Rhea tilted her head. "That good, huh?"

"That good." Billie smiled, laughing softly.

They tried the next verse, fumbling with the timing, stopping and starting again. Billie changed the key once, Rhea changed the rhythm twice, and somewhere in the chaos of it, the song started to become theirs.

By the time they reached the chorus, Rhea's voice had grown stronger, and Billie's harmony settled right behind it.

"I should be over all the butterflies..."

Billie's eyes flicked up to her, a little grin forming mid-line.

"But I'm into you..."

Their laughter broke the last note apart, but neither of them cared.

"Okay," Billie said between giggles, "that's disgustingly cute."

Rhea mock-gasped. "What, you don't want to write a disgustingly cute love song with me?"

Billie pretended to think about it. "Oh no, I definitely do. I just need to emotionally prepare for how much Finneas is going to roast me."

"He'll love it," Rhea said. "He's secretly a romantic."

Billie's eyes softened. "Yeah, but this..." She nodded toward the notebook, her lips pursed. "This might be too disgustingly romantic for him."

✧༺♥༻∞

They went on like that for hours. Billie strumming, Rhea scribbling, the room filling with half-sung phrases and the low hum of laughter. At one point, Billie leaned over Rhea's shoulder to adjust a lyric, their heads so close that Rhea could feel her breath move the strands of her hair.

When Billie sang the bridge, "Some things just make sense, and one of those is you and I...", her voice cracked slightly, raw in a way that made Rhea's chest ache.

She reached up without thinking, resting a hand against Billie's knee, grounding them both. "Hey," she said softly. "That was perfect."

Billie smiled at her softly, her hair falling over her face, "Only because it's your voice."

And in that moment, under the dim light and the soft echo of the final chord, Rhea realized this was what she'd been trying to write all day.

The simple act of loving someone and being loved back.

When the last note faded, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, tangled in the quiet, Billie's hand resting on the strings, Rhea's notebook open between them like a diary they'd both been writing in.

Finally, Billie broke the silence, whispering, "You know this is the one, right?"

Rhea nodded. "Yeah. It's ours."

Billie leaned forward, kissing her once softly.

"I wanna name it 'Still into you'," Rhea murmured against her lips.

Billie smiled, her eyes catching hers, "Then that is what we shall name it."

✧༺♥༻∞
AUTHOR'S NOTE

TITLE NAME DROP HOW IS EVERYONE FEELING??????????

Chapter Text

2 MONTHS LATER...

The air in the dressing room smelled like setting spray and champagne. Dozens of stylists swarmed through the mirrored room, curling irons hissing, garment bags hanging open, lipstick caps clattering against vanities. The noise was its own kind of symphony.

Rhea sat in front of one of the wide bulb mirrors, a white robe slipping off her shoulder, her hair already curled and pinned in soft waves that caught every light. Her makeup artist dabbed a final shimmer of gold into the corner of her eyes.

"Almost done," the woman murmured, leaning back to admire her work. "You look amazing."

Rhea smiled faintly at her reflection. She did look good, dangerously good. The deep red dress waiting on the hanger behind her was sleek and sculpted, a quiet statement that she was not to be underestimated tonight.

Beside her, Billie sat in another chair, head tilted slightly as someone fixed the line of her eyeliner. She wore the top half of her outfit already: a tailored maroon suit jacket, a white pinstriped shirt underneath, a sharp collar, and a tie draped loose around her neck for now.

Even half-finished, she looked like sin waiting to be made.

Rhea caught herself staring in the mirror. Staring at the way Billie's hair fell over the deep red fabric, the way her posture carried that mix of confidence and softness. She had to look away before anyone noticed.

But Billie glanced over anyway. Their eyes met in the reflection. "What?" she asked, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Nothing," Rhea said, too quickly.

Billie hummed, clearly not believing her. "You keep saying that word, but your face keeps saying something else."

Rhea rolled her eyes, though her mouth twitched. “You drive me insane.”

"Mm. You love it," Billie teased, then turned back toward the mirror as her stylist tightened her tie.

They sat in that easy silence again, the kind they'd grown to love over the months.
It was comfortable and familiar, but still charged beneath the surface.

Rhea's stylist clipped the final pin in her hair and stepped back. "You're done. Just lipstick touch-up before you guys are ready to head out."

Rhea nodded, glancing to the side. Billie was standing now, suit complete. Jacket was now buttoned, tie tightened, cuffs rolled once. The dark red fabric made her eyes look sharper, brighter.

Rhea's throat went dry.

Billie turned toward her. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to commit a felony."

"Maybe I am," Rhea muttered, half under her breath.

Billie grinned. "Not before the red carpet, you're not."

They both laughed, and for a moment, it was just them again. Two people in love, not two names on a nominee list.

But under that lightness, something quieter stirred.

The Grammys carried a different kind of weight for them.

Last year, they hadn't walked the carpet together. They'd barely spoken at all that night.
Billie had gone home with a gold statue in her hand, and Rhea had gone home with her pride in pieces.

Rhea could still remember the way her heart had thudded in her chest as Billie's name was called, the roar of the crowd, the way the camera panned to her forced smile. How the corners of her mouth ached from pretending.

She'd sat through Billie's acceptance speech—the soft "thank yous," the trembling sincerity—and it had burned. Not because Billie didn't deserve it. She did. God, she did. But because Rhea had wanted it too.

And wanting it didn't make her petty, but it did make her human.

Now, a year later, the wound had healed. Mostly.

But the scar was still there, pulsing faintly beneath the surface as Billie adjusted her tie beside her.

Rhea caught her reflection in the mirror again, the two of them side by side, red on red. They looked like the kind of couple people wrote songs about. The kind of couple who made jealousy look picturesque.

This time was different though, this time she wasn't going to let her heart and her ego fight to the death.

"Alright, ladies," A woman called from the doorway, a clipboard in hand, wearing a laminated badge of someone with authority, "Fifteen minutes till we move you to the carpet. And, Rhea, your performance rehearsal got pushed up. They want to do one quick mic check right before we head out, okay?"

"Got it," Rhea said, smoothing the robe around her.

Billie stood, brushing imaginary lint from her jacket. "You nervous?"

Rhea tilted her head. "For the rehearsal or for the Grammys?"

"Both?"

Rhea laughed, standing to face her. "Maybe a little."

Billie stepped closer, adjusting the hem of Rhea's robe like she couldn't help herself. Her fingers brushed Rhea's wrist lightly. "You're going to kill it," she said quietly. "You always do."

Rhea's breath caught, but she managed a grin, "You're just saying that because you have to."

"Both things can be true," Billie said, grinning back.

One of the managers groaned, "Okay, lovebirds, please don't start making out before the press gets their photos. We're already running behind."

Billie shot her a playful glare. "Okay, okay.."

Rhea couldn't help laughing. The tension eased again, dissolved into the noise of last-minute touch-ups and camera flashes from the hallway.

Billie turned back to the mirror one last time, straightened her tie, and murmured, "We actually kind of served."

Rhea met her eyes in the reflection. Two shades of red, matched perfectly.

"That's because I picked our outfits," Rhea said.

Billie's smile deepened. "I did not think I would look good in this shade of red."

A sharp knock on the door came in two quick beats. "Five minutes!"

Billie grabbed Rhea's hand as they walked out of the dressing suite, fingers threading together automatically.

✧༺♥༻∞

As they stepped out of their car, photographers were already waiting for them, the air electric with flashes and shouted names. But for a moment, before stepping into it, Billie leaned close and whispered, "Whatever happens tonight, just remember, you're my favorite rockstar."

Rhea smiled, steadying her breath. "I already knew that."

They walked out into the blinding lights together, red against red, a perfect, cinematic match.

The camera flashes had hardly stopped when they reached the end of the carpet. Billie had her hand at the small of Rhea's back, guiding her through the chaos of shouted names and camera flashes that painted the evening in strobe light. Every few feet, someone called out: "Billie, look this way!", "Rhea, just one more!", and they'd pause, tilt toward each other, and smile.

They posed as a pair, then separately, Rhea in her long red gown that caught the light like embers, Billie in her burgundy suit that made her look carved from a nice bottle of red wine. They weren't matching by accident.

When the final flash went off, Billie exhaled, stepping off the carpet first, "I think I went blind," she said under her breath.

Rhea laughed, looping her arm through hers as they were led inside the venue. "You're dramatic."

They reached their table in the main hall, their names engraved on small black-and-gold plaques. The centerpiece glittered faintly under the warm light. They took their seats side by side, Maisie across from them, tapping out texts and sipping champagne. Rhea didn't even know why she was here, respectfully. She hadn't made new music in 3 years. Maybe she was just here for the free booze, and that did not surprise Rhea in the slightest.

The ceremony moved in waves. Applause, performances, and commercial breaks that blurred into whispered jokes and stolen glances. Billie leaned toward Rhea once during a slow number, fingers brushing hers under the table. "You nervous?"

Rhea smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the stage. "I think I've earned the right to be."

Billie nodded. "You have."

And she meant it.

But when the lights shifted again and the host walked back out with that bright, too-polished grin, the air changed. Rhea could feel it. Best Pop Solo Performance.

The category everyone cared about. The category they'd both fought for.

A hush fell over the crowd as the nominees flashed across the screen, one after another.
"Chihiro" by Billie Eilish.
"All I Wanted" by Rhea Calder.
And others...

The camera panned briefly to their table. Both of them smiled, picture-perfect. But under the table, Rhea's hand was clenched around her napkin, and Billie's leg bounced once before stilling.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

A pause. Too long, drawn out on purpose.

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum

Ba-Dum

Her heart was racing...

"All I Wanted! Rhea Calder!"

The applause hit before Rhea could breathe. Maisie screamed. Billie was already standing, clapping, her face open and bright, though her jaw tightened for half a heartbeat before she smoothed it away.

Rhea stood. The room spun for a second, lights too bright, sound too full. She turned to Billie as if it was instinct, and Billie smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand before letting go.

"Go get it," Billie said, her voice soft and encouraging.

Rhea walked toward the stage, her heels sinking softly into the carpet, the world blurring around her. The gold of the trophy gleamed under the spotlights as she took it, breathless.

She faced the microphone, the crowd rising and clapping in rhythm.

"Wow," she began, voice trembling before she steadied it with a soft laugh. "Um. Okay. This is..." She glanced down at the Grammy in her hands, then back up. "This is surreal. I wrote All I Wanted in a moment where I didn't think anyone would ever hear it. Um... it was just me, a notebook, and, you know..."

A few people chuckled softly as her voice trailed off. 

"This song means—"

Her gaze drifted over the crowd. Over the tables, the glittering faces, and the thousand points of light that felt a little like stars.

And then she spotted him.

The words on her tongue stopped dead.

He cut through the space between tables near the back. His suit dark, his stride too sure, his focus fixed not on her, but on Billie.

Rhea's pulse jumped. The noise around her dimmed. Her smile faltered, just slightly, barely enough for the cameras to catch.

He moved with the kind of purpose that made her stomach knot.

At Billie's table, she saw Maisie glance up, confused. Billie's head turned a moment later, the corners of her mouth flattening as she registered him.

Rhea blinked hard, forcing her voice back into motion. "—uh, sorry," she laughed weakly into the mic, "I'm still kind of processing."

The crowd laughed politely, unaware of anything amiss.

Her fingers tightened on the base of the trophy. The heat of the lights pressed against her skin.

She finished her speech, barely, clinging to the autopilot part of her brain that knew what to say and how to smile. "Thank you to everyone who believed in me, even when I didn't. This means more than I can say."

The music swelled. She stepped off the stage, every sound muffled in her ears except one: the low, familiar hum of danger that came whenever the past refused to stay buried.

Chapter Text

He shouldn't have come.

That's what James told himself when he slipped past the second round of security, his badge flashing gold under the lights.
He shouldn't have come, but there he was anyway—back in the orbit of the one person he swore he didn't think about anymore.

Rhea Calder. The golden girl. Liar. His muse.

He could see her from across the crowd, her skin catching every light in the room, her laugh sharper now, practiced. She was sitting beside her, the one everyone whispered about. Billie Eilish. The quiet storm, the shadowed darling of a cancerous industry.

They looked perfect. The matching reds, the way Billie's hand brushed Rhea's knee under the table, how people turned when they entered. Gravity tilted toward them.

Perfect.

And perfect people always made James itch.

He had told himself he didn't care who Rhea loved, didn't care that she'd found someone else, didn't care that she was still winning. But when he saw her walk onstage, trophy in hand, every light glinting off her hair, he felt that old taste again—the one that mixed salt with envy. That metallic ache of being left behind.

He should've left right then. But instead, he inched closer.

The crowd was still buzzing when she finished her speech. Cameras were still flashing, her smile still plastered in place. He slipped between tables like a shadow, champagne glass still half full, smile already rehearsed. When he reached hers, their table, he didn't even hesitate.

"Hey," he said.

Billie looked up first, confused. Rhea froze as she quickly approached the table.
Her eyes flickered, barely masking the panic that rose there.

"Congratulations," James said, tone sweet as arsenic, "Big night for you."

"James." Rhea's voice was quiet, almost polite. Almost. "What are you doing here?"

He grinned, leaning a little closer. "Networking."

Billie's posture changed, straightening. Protective. "I think you should go."

James looked at her then, really looked. She was pretty and pale, the kind of beauty anyone would die to have. The kind of face that hid knives behind smiles. He tilted his head. "You're even smaller in person."

Rhea's jaw tensed. "I said—"

He ignored her, eyes still locked on Billie. "You know, I didn't expect to see you two together. Guess opposites really do attract, huh?"

Billie didn't flinch, but her gaze sharpened. James laughed under his breath, shaking his head like he pitied them. "It's funny. She used to say she hated people like you."

"James," Rhea hissed, "Stop."

He looked back at her, smiling, "You don't like it when I talk, huh? That's new. You loved my voice once."

"Leave," Billie said again, quieter this time, which somehow made it sound like an order. "Now."

He set his champagne down on their table. "You don't want me to talk about March, do you?"

The name landed like a body drop. Billie's face faltered, barely. But Rhea saw it. Her whole expression shifted, confusion curdling into something else.

James stepped closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "I kept something, you know. From that night in Melbourne. Didn't mean to, but you never know what might be useful later."

Rhea blinked. "What are you—"

He pulled out his phone, thumbed the screen, and turned it toward Billie.
A photo. One flash. One secret, caught like lightning in a bottle.

Rhea couldn't see it, but she didn't need to.
She saw Billie's face and the blood draining from her cheeks, the breath stuttering in her throat.

James smiled softly. "Beautiful shot, isn't it? The composition, the lighting. I should've been a photographer."

"What the fuck is this?" Rhea's voice cracked. She reached for the phone, but he pulled it back just out of reach. "What did you do?"

He looked between them. "Just showing her a memory. Everyone loves nostalgia."

Billie stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "Delete it."

"Why?" James said, his voice going silk-smooth, dangerous. "You ashamed?"

Rhea's hand shot out, gripping his wrist. "You need to leave."

He leaned in, close enough that Rhea could smell the cheap cologne under his expensive suit. "You really think you're different, huh?" His whisper was almost tender. "You really think you can keep someone like her?"

Rhea shoved his hand away, but her pulse was wild now, erratic. The music, the applause, the flashes, they all blurred together. She turned to Billie, "What's he talking about?"

Billie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Just silence and the look of someone caught between guilt and disbelief.

"Billie," Rhea said again, louder this time. "What. Is. He. Talking. About?"

"I—" Billie swallowed. "It was before you and me. Before it was... official. It wasn't—"

Rhea stepped back, shaking her head. "Oh my god."

The lights above them seemed too bright now, burning the edges of her vision.
Everyone was still clapping from something onstage, the whole room unaware that the world at table seventeen was cracking open.

Rhea didn't say another word. She turned, leaving the Grammy on the table beside Billie's untouched glass of champagne, and walked away.

James watched her go, smug curling through his chest like smoke. He lifted his drink again, savoring the way the bubbles hissed against his tongue. He'd always said she was too easy to unravel.

Backstage, the noise hit different. It was muffled and hollow, like the air had been drained out of the world.

Rhea walked fast, head down, the hem of her red dress trailing behind her. Makeup artists, stagehands, camera crews, they all turned as she passed, sensing something brittle in the air but not daring to ask.

She ducked into an empty dressing room, closing the door hard enough to make the mirror rattle. Her hands shook when she touched the sink, when she looked up and saw herself—flawless makeup, lipstick smudged at the corner, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to ruin everything.

She hated how beautiful she still looked in heartbreak.

She pressed her palms to the counter, trying to breathe, but the only thing she could hear was Billie's voice replaying in her head.
It was before you and me. It wasn't—

Wasn't what? Wasn't real? Wasn't enough to matter? In Melbourne too. The tour leg she had flown her out to. Pure betrayal was all she could label it.

The word "before" was supposed to make it better, but it didn't.

Outside, the muffled roar of the crowd shifted again, and the next performance started. The next big moment. Her moment was over. Or maybe it was just beginning in the worst possible way.

She reached into her purse, pulling out her phone.
One new message. From Maisie.

you okay? camera caught something weird.
want me to come get you?

Rhea typed back, deleted it. Tried again. Deleted that too.

Her reflection stared back at her like she didn't recognize the person in it anymore.
The girl who wanted to be loved, to be seen, to be enough—she was somewhere in there, buried under sequins and light.

She'd thought she could control the chaos, but somewhere out there, under the same bright lights, Billie was still sitting at their table, a ghost of a smile frozen for the cameras, pretending she wasn't burning from the inside out.

✧༺♥༻∞

He could still hear the applause when he stepped out of the side door. That hollow, glittering noise that people made for things they didn't quite understand. It trailed him all the way down the hall, through the exit, past the guards, and into the cold.

The air outside was wet with Los Angeles rain. The kind that wasn't really rain, just mist pretending to be something heavier. It clung to his hair, his collar. Made the gold of his cuff links gleam when he lifted his phone.

UberXL arriving in 2 minutes.

Perfect.

James laughed once, low, under his breath. It wasn't joy. It was release—the kind that tasted like rusted copper.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and tapped it against his palm. He didn't even smoke anymore, not really. But tonight called for something ceremonial. He lit it and took a drag, the smoke curling around his tongue, coating the back of his throat with a sweetness that burned.

He could still see her in his mind. That red dress glinting like blood under stage lights. That look in her eyes when she saw the photo.
The confusion.
The hurt.
The crack in the façade.

God, he'd missed that look.

For months, she'd been untouchable. Too polished, too elevated on her throne. Too far above him to bruise. But every god bleeds when you aim right.

He exhaled the smoke through his teeth, watching it drift into the streetlight haze.
They'd all called him bitter. Crazy. Obsessive. But he let them.

He'd told himself he just wanted closure. But that wasn't true. Closure was clean. This... this was deliciously messy.

He thought of the way Billie's smile had vanished. The way her jaw tightened before the cameras could catch it. The way Rhea had looked at her like she'd just realized the person she loved most could also destroy her.

He'd given them that. A gift wrapped in poison.

And they'd open it again and again, trying to understand how it all went wrong.

He laughed again, the sound too sharp in the quiet street. A car passed, its headlights flashing across his face. The cigarette had burned nearly to the filter. He flicked it into the gutter, watching the ember hiss in the shallow water.

His phone buzzed. The Uber had arrived.

A black SUV slid to a stop in front of him. The driver leaned across the seat, rolling down the window. "James?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

The door clicked open and he slid in, the warmth of the car swallowing him whole. He leaned his head back, watching the city smear by outside—red taillights bleeding into gold, everything too bright, too alive.

In the tinted reflection of the window, he caught his own eyes. And for a second, he didn't see guilt. He saw victory.

He saw the way she'd trembled when he said her name. He saw the way Billie had gone pale. He saw himself, finally pulling the strings again—the puppet master of the two people who'd tried to move on without him.

He whispered to himself, almost lovingly, "Still got it."

The driver glanced at him in the mirror, then looked away.

James smiled wider, tapping his thumb against his knee in rhythm with the car's turn signal.
Each click sounded like a countdown. Each one steadier than the last.

Click.
Click.
Click.

He thought of the song Rhea had won for. All I Wanted.
Cute title. Naïve.

He hummed the chorus under his breath, off-key and spiteful.
"All I wanted..." he sang softly, almost mockingly, "...was you."

Then he laughed again—a dry, humorless sound that filled the small space of the car until even the driver turned up the radio.

James leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He felt light, empty. Triumphant.

Venom didn't just kill. It lingered.

And tonight, he'd made sure his stayed in their blood.

✧༺♥༻∞

Rhea stood in front of the mirror, her reflection too bright under the bulbs, like she'd been painted in silver light. The dress shimmered when she moved. A silver metallic. Sharp and merciless. It clung to her like armor.

Her hands shook when she zipped it up. The sound of the metal teeth closing was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her makeup artist hovered nearby, but Rhea waved her off. "I've got it."

She didn't.

The mascara wand trembled between her fingers, and she nearly poked her own eye trying to coat lashes that were already stiff from tears. She dabbed silvery eyeshadow over her lids, smudging it aggressively. Her lipstick was a deep red, the same shade as the dress she'd worn to win. She dragged it across her lips like a wound she was reopening on purpose.

Outside the door, someone called her name. Twice. The second time, louder.

Showtime.

She took one breath, cold and shallow, and stepped into the hallway.

The host's voice echoed from the stage, muffled by curtains and distance.
"And now, performing her Grammy-winning hit, please welcome, Rhea Calder!"

Applause. A thousand hands slapping together for a girl who could barely feel her own heartbeat.

She walked onto the stage. The lights hit her instantly. The crowd was a blur of shadows and glittering lenses. She found her mark, took the mic stand in both hands, and looked up.

And there she was, her eyes meeting hers. Billie.

Front row, still in that blood-red suit. The tie undone. The smile gone. Her eyes, though, they were the same. Blue and soft and full of something that used to mean safety.

Rhea froze. The noise of the room folded in on itself.

The band started behind her—a low rumble of bass and feedback. She opened her mouth and the first lyric bled out of her throat.

"Think of me when you're out, when you're out there."

Her voice cracked—just once—then steadied into something stronger and sharper.
"I'll beg you nice from my knees."

She could feel it now—that thing in her throat, that pressure that wasn't grief anymore, but something hotter. Angrier. It filled her lungs, coiled around her spine, and when the guitar ripped that jagged, electric scream, she let it consume her.

The performance wasn't pretty. It was violent. Raw.

Her voice was too loud, too wild for the mics to contain, cracking in places it shouldn't and yet sounding better for it, like she'd found the frequency of heartbreak itself.

Her hair stuck to her temples. Her mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks. Silver shimmer mixed with saltwater until she looked less like a pop star and more like a ghost made of chrome.

And the whole time, her eyes never left Billie.

Every lyric was a blade. Every breath, a cut.

"And maybe then we'd remember to slow down."

Her lip trembled. She didn't hide it. She wanted it seen, wanted every camera to capture the exact moment her world split open.

"At all of our favorite parts..."

Her hand tightened around the mic like it was the only thing holding her together.

"All I wanted was you."

The words burned on her tongue.

The guitars surged again—louder, angrier, and distorted. The crowd was standing now, roaring, but she barely heard them.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning everything but the sound of her own voice.

"All I wanted was you."

Her throat hurt. Her chest burned. But she kept singing, the tears mixing with sweat, the glitter of her eyeshadow melting down her face.

She stepped forward, closer to the edge of the stage.

Every camera followed. Every lens caught the chaos—the girl in silver, crying lightning under the spotlights.

The bridge hit like thunder. The guitars snarled, the drums pounded, the air shook.
And Rhea screamed into the mic—not a lyric, not a note—just sound from the deepest part of her body. A howl of everything she hadn't said, everything she'd buried under softness and love songs.

Her voice finally wavered. The lights above her flickered, refracting off the tears that refused to stop.

She laughed, watching as cameras flashed toward her more rapidly than ever before. It was a broken, bitter laugh that caught on the mic and echoed across the room.

Her chest rose up and down slowly as she watched the crowd. The last lyric came out not like a confession, but like a curse.

"All I wanted was you."

Silence.

For a second, no one moved.
Then applause came. Deafening and explosive.

Rhea bowed her head, gripping the mic so hard her knuckles went white. Her hair fell in wet tangles around her face. She took one shaky breath, then another.

She turned to leave, and just before she disappeared behind the curtain, she looked back, one last glance at Billie, who still sat in the front row, but she wasn't clapping with the rest of them. Her lips were pulled into a slight frown, the whites of her eyes red and glossy.

Their eyes met—blue on silver, but it didn't feel like love anymore. It felt like recognition. Like they both finally saw the ruin they'd built together.

Rhea turned, stepping into the darkness of backstage. Her hands trembled. Her breath came out ragged. The applause still thundered behind her, echoing like something hollow.

She set the mic down on the nearest table, wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and whispered to herself, half a sob, half a snarl:

"You were never worth my breath."