billie eilish. center of the world, yet in that moment, center of yours.

the hollywood bowl glows in waves of orange, like the whole arena is burning quietly, waiting. and then there’s her. blonde hair falling soft against her face, dark outfit swallowing her whole, rings glinting under the lights. she’s standing there like she belongs to the stage, but to you, she belongs to no one. maybe just to herself. maybe a little bit to you.

you’re not just watching, you’re working. camera in hand, you’re supposed to capture her the way the world sees her. but your eyes keeps slipping lower, to see her for real, not just through a lens. your joke is to find the details nobody else cares about. the way her lips brush the mic. the way her lashes drop when she drags out a note. the way her fingers tap against the stand, restless, like she knows you’re looking… and you do it perfectly.

her eyes find yours. just for a second. quick, but heavy enough that your chest stumbles. she holds it as if she’s daring you to look away first. you don’t.

after the performance, the world is buzzing, crew moving, lights cooling, sound techs packing up. but she finds you anyway, slipping past everyone like she doesn’t even see them…

billie : “did you get the shots?”

her voice is hoarse from singing, low and almost tender.

you : “yeah. they’re… pretty.”

you swallow, because pretty is a lie. they’re devastating. she’s devastating.

she steps closer, tugging at the sleeve of your hoodie softly.. an habit she has since you joined her crew, but it still kills you every time. it’s a manner for her to be close to you, to create a contact.

billie : “let me see.”

she doesn’t ask. she never does. she just leans in, shoulder pressed against yours, eyes flickering over the images on your camera. you feel the warmth of her, the weight of her presence.

she lingers too close, her chin resting on your shoulder from behind. your breath catches, but she doesn’t move. she just hums, approving softly at a photo, her voice vibrating against your skin.

and then, softly, almost too soft to hear

billie : “you’re the best, you know that ?”

her words hang between you, heavier than the heat of the stage lights.