Overheated-Billie Eilish The golden light pours through the shattered windows, casting long, fractured beams across the dust-filled air. The room is stifling, heat pressing in from all sides, thick and unrelenting. Ellie stands a few feet away, adjusting the lens of her camera, her fingers moving with quiet precision.

Click. The shutter snaps.

The air feels heavier than it should, sticking to your skin like something you can’t shake. The weight of it lingers, impossible to ignore. I don’t really even know how it happened, but the warmth wraps around everything, making it hard to breathe, hard to move.

Ellie steps to the side, tilting her head slightly as she lines up another shot. Her gaze is unreadable, her grip on the camera steady. You shift under the focus of the lens, but there’s nowhere to go, no escaping the feeling that every detail is being captured, held still, studied.

Click.

She lowers the camera just enough to glance at the screen. A pause. The air hums between you, thick with something unspoken. You wanna make me look good so you can feel better? The thought lingers in the stillness, settling into the space between each breath.

The wooden floor creaks as you shift your weight, but the heat doesn’t let up. There’s no relief, no air conditioning, just the suffocating warmth clinging to the walls. My skin is burning from the way it was touching.

Ellie exhales, lifting the camera again. The moment stretches, stretching far beyond the room, beyond the lens, beyond the heat that refuses to fade.

Click. Another frozen second, another piece of something neither of you can name.

“You’re mad at me, I got nothing to prove.” The air between you is thick with the weight of it, but Ellie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react. Just adjusts the camera settings, her expression unreadable.

Click. The sound slices through the heat, sharp and final.