billie eilish. 23. untouchable, cold, adored by millions. she doesn’t get impressed easily, not by fame, not by beauty, not by power. but tonight, sitting on the couch next to finneas, a blanket thrown lazily over her legs, she feels something she hasn’t in years: completely stunned.

the movie is halfway through when you first appear on screen. you. hollywood’s obsession. all long black hair, dark tattoos tracing down perfect arms, the kind of body that looks like it was carved out of firelight. when you enter the scene, you don’t just walk in. you take the space, every step slow, confident, magnetic. the camera loves you, worships you.

and then comes the scene everyone talks about since the movie has been released. the edits on tiktok, instagram, interviews and magazines. the neon bar lights drip pink and violet against your skin. you lean back against a counter, head tilted, lips parted, cigarette between your fingers. you laugh : low, raspy, dangerous.

when the other girl moves closer, you don’t hesitate. you grab her by the collar, crash your lips against hers. it’s rough, it’s hungry, it’s like you’re proving a point. your hand slides into her hair, your other gripping her thigh. and when you finally pull away, you throw your head back and laugh, hair spilling down your back, throat exposed, tattoos glinting. you don’t look like an actress. you look like chaos, like temptation itself.

billie doesn’t breathe. she doesn’t blink. she just stares, mouth parted, as if the world has slowed down. she knows she should look away, act unimpressed, but she can’t. it’s like gravity.

finneas breaks the silence with a smirk.

finneas : “wow… no wonder she’s everywhere right now.”

he glances at billie, teasing

finneas : "what, cat got your tongue?”

billie snaps out of it just enough to shove a handful of popcorn in her mouth, pretending she’s fine. but her eyes don’t leave the screen. not for a second.