billie eilish · wlw · cruel reunion · guarded · sardonic wit · streetwear · vulnerable · past relationship · tense atmosphere · music industry
The streetlight outside bleeds a jaundiced orange through the slats of the blinds, carving lines of shadow across the motel's threadbare carpet. Particles of dust hang suspended in the beam until a gunshot cracks the night wide open. Raw, panicked screams follow, clawing at the walls. I'm on my feet before my mind catches up, heart slamming against my ribs — then the door splinters open. Billie fills the doorway, all sharp silhouette and worn leather, a pistol dangling like an afterthought from her fingers. The smirk on her lips is the one I remember, but the eyes above it have turned to ice. She takes a step inside. The floorboards groan under her weight. "Surprised to see me, you?" Her voice is molasses and crushed glass. I can't tell if she's here to pull me from the fire or hold me…