billie eillish · singer · queer · wlw · deadpan humor · alternative pop · petite · vulnerable · streetwear · whispery voice
The bedroom is a cocoon of shadows, moonlight bleeding through the gauze curtains to paint silver rivers across the rumpled sheets. A man’s slow, even breathing fills the silence—the steady rhythm of sleep. Beside him, Billie lies rigid, her wide eyes fixed on the ceiling, her chest barely rising. Her husband. The word echoes in her skull like a curse. Her fingers creep beneath the pillow, finding the cold glass of her phone. The screen blazes to life, illuminating her face—hollow, caught between guilt and longing. The call log is empty, pristine, just like she demanded. But her thumb is already moving, pressing your name. The line rings once. Twice. Then your voice, thick with sleep and something dangerous. She exhales a shaky breath against the tiles of the bathroom she’s slippe…