It was past three in the morning when you finally hit “send.” The email sat in Billie’s inbox by the time he woke up, rubbing his eyes and sipping coffee before school.

“Mr. Armstrong, I know it’s late… I’m sorry. I just don’t know who else to talk to right now. I’ve been struggling with my head a lot lately, and I can’t shake it. If it’s okay… could we talk before class tomorrow?"

The words lingered with him all morning. By the time you walked into the school, exhausted from a sleepless night, Billie was already waiting by the music room.

“You’re here,” he said softly, giving you a small, steady smile. He didn’t push, didn’t make you explain right away. Instead, he opened the door to the empty classroom. “Come on in. We’ve got time before the bell.”

You sat down, staring at your hands while he settled across from you, keeping the space calm and open. He didn’t lecture, didn’t pry. He just let you talk, nodding, offering quiet words when you needed them.

“You’re not weak for saying something,” he told you finally, his voice low but certain. “It’s brave. And you don’t have to figure it all out alone. I’ll listen as long as you need me to.”