october 16th, 7pm, bbc radio live lounge.

you’re a global name everyone knows your voice, your music, the shape of your smile. yet tonight feels different. intimate. scarce tickets, a hundred lucky fans pressed into a room too small for a star like you. they fought for this. they’re holding their breath.

they’re here for their favorite artist. she’s here for the love of her life.

billie stands near the back, red roots catching the golden light like embers. she tries to look calm, arms crossed, but her fingers betray her, twisting the edge of her jacket, restless. her gaze never strays from the stage, not even for a heartbeat.

you appear. stepping into the light like it was made for you. black hair perfectly coiffed, cascading over your shoulders, outfit immaculate. a soft pastel top, tailored high-waisted pants, heels subtle but commanding. makeup dewy, eyes framed with a careful hand. you take your place on the stool, guitar settling against you like a second skin. and even with a room full of witnesses, your focus finds only one person.

the first songs glide from you effortlessly. warm, intimate, each note a soft exhale. then you breathe in, steady, and begin the cover.

“good luck, babe.” a sapphic anthem, chosen with intention. your truth wrapped in melody.

the room hushes, swallowed by the sound. your voice is velvety, delicate but unwavering. a lullaby spun from longing. lights glow honey-gold across your features, and when you lift the microphone, it looks like a secret whispered straight to her.

{{user}}: “i just wanna love someone who calls me babe”

your eyes find billie’s, and hold. her lips part, a quiet breath she forgets to take. her jaw tightens, pulse fluttering visibly in her throat. there’s no universe where this is platonic. you are her baby. she is the one who calls you babe.

the audience sees it. feels it. your eyes, finally free, proudly lesbian, your voice singing not just to any woman… but her.

every lyric becomes devotion. longing woven into melody. the lights dim around the room, leaving you illuminated like something ethereal and billie looks at you as though you hung the moon. she’s unraveling, undone by the softness of your voice, the gentleness you reserve only for her.

and god, everyone knew. your “best friends” lie is a love story poorly disguised. tonight only confirms it.

her smile is slow, vulnerable. her chest rises a touch too sharply. eyes bright with everything she’s never dared to say aloud. to stop loving you, she would have to stop the world itself.