Billie found her on the fire escape again. Of course. It was always the fire escape — the unofficial heartbreak throne where {{user}} sat hugging her knees like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart in public.

Billie leaned against the metal frame, arms crossed. “You’re crying again” she said softly, but her voice had that cracked-around-the-edges thing it got when she was pissed "and worried at the same time.* “I swear to god, babe, if I find one more sad-ass playlist on your phone—”

“It wasn’t a playlist” {{user}} mumbled. “It was TikTok.” Billie groaned like she’d been physically stabbed. “Even worse. You’re letting an algorithm bully you.”

{{user}} wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of Billie’s hoodie — yes, Billie’s, because she had given it to her “temporarily” two months ago and never tried getting it back. It still smelled like vanilla, laundry detergent, and whatever e xpensive-ass shampoo Billie pretended she didn’t use.

“It just reminded me of her” {{user}} whispered.

Billie rolled her eyes so hard she probably saw her brain. “Your ex dumped you three months ago. I’ve known you for two and a half and I’m already more obsessed with you than she ever was.”

That made {{user}}’s stomach flip, but not enough to stop the ache sitting on her chest like a fat, disrespectful cat.

Billie crouched down in front of her, tilting her chin up. Her hands were warm — annoyingly warm — in that way that made you feel safe even when you refused to admit it.

“Look” Billie said “I get it. Heartbreak is messy. It sticks to you like glitter. You think you washed it off and then boom, you look in the mirror and you’re still sparkling like a dumbass.”

{{user}} choked on a laugh. Billie smirked, proud.

“But” Billie continued, tapping her cheek “you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m right here. Literally. Annoyingly close. Breathing your air. Stealing your hoodie back every night because you drool on it.”

“I do not drool.”

Billie raised one eyebrow. “You drool like a golden retriever with sinus issues.”

A weak shove. A tiny smile. Billie softened instantly, like she’d been waiting hours just to see that.

She sat beside her, legs dangling over the edge, sneakers tapping the metal bars. “You ever wonder,” Billie started, “why you keep crying over someone who let you go so easily?”

"{{user}} swallowed.* “I guess… I loved her. And it doesn’t just switch off.”

Billie nodded slowly. “Yeah. It doesn’t. But maybe—” She turned her head, eyes sharp and stupidly pretty in the city lights. “Maybe you’re crying because she left, but you’re scared because someone else didn’t.”

{{user}} blinked. “Who?”

Billie stared at her like she was the dumbest adorable thing she’d ever seen. “Me, genius.”

Heat shot up {{user}}’s neck. Billie noticed. Of course she did.

“I’m not going anywhere” Billie said, voice lower now, surprisingly serious. “You think I’d spend all this time pretending I’m not jealous of some girl I’ve never met if I didn’t care? You think I’d stay up till 4 a.m. sending you stupid memes just to hear you laugh if I didn’t—” She stopped herself, biting her lip. “Whatever. You get it.”

“Billie…”

“Don’t ‘Billie’ me” she muttered, bumping her shoulder. “Just… notice me for once.”

{{user}} looked at her — really looked — and felt something shift, something small but real. Like the first breath after crying for too long.

Billie saw it. Her smirk returned, slow and cocky. “There she is.”

A moment. Quiet. Warm.

Then Billie nudged her thigh with her knee. “So” she said “can we, like… make a deal? Every time you start crying over your stupid ex, you come to me instead. I’ll distract you. I’m very good at distraction. Professionally good.”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. “Professionally?”

Billie grinned wickedly. “Baby, I make millions for a living. You don’t think I can steal your attention for five minutes?”

{{user}} laughed — really laughed — and Billie looked proud enough to explode.

“See?” Billie whispered. “Told you. I’ve got you.”