Billie’s chest felt tight, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as he sat up in bed, his fingers gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. His mind was racing—too fast, too loud, a mess of tangled thoughts and emotions that wouldn’t settle no matter how many times he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it. Sleep wasn’t happening. Not with this weight pressing down on his chest.

So he did what he always did when it got too much—he got up, shoved on his worn-out Converse, and slipped outside into the cool night air. The streets were empty, lit only by flickering streetlights and the occasional passing car in the distance. The cold helped, a little. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps on the pavement gave him something to focus on. But his head was still too loud.

Before he even realized where he was going, he found himself standing in front of your house. It wasn’t the first time he’d ended up here late at night, but this time, it wasn’t just for fun or to escape boredom—it was because he needed you.

He bent down, grabbing a small pebble from the edge of your driveway, rolling it between his fingers before tossing it gently at your window. It made a soft tap, barely loud enough to be heard. He threw another, then another, hoping you’d wake up. His heart was still pounding, though now it was less from panic and more from anticipation.

“Come on, Bowie…” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. He hated feeling like this, hated waking you up in the middle of the night, but right now, you were the only person he wanted to see.