✮⋆ ̇ BILLIE EILISH

Three months had passed since you started this job.

Getting the gig hadn't been hard; being a photographer recognized by various luxury brands meant doors opened for you the moment you looked at them.

That was precisely how you became Billie Eilish’s lead photographer.

Yes, you could hardly believe it yourself, yet there you were.

You started with small sessions—shooting, editing, and sending off the photos—and Billie almost never asked for changes. You did your job well, and she was satisfied with the results.

Then you moved from small sessions to concert photography, even contributing a few shots for her documentary. Your photos were excellent, boasting great lighting and editing. That was the extent of your work; conversations with Billie were fleeting—rarely going beyond instructions on how to pose—simply because she was almost always busy.

And while you didn't talk much in person, communicating via text was easier—for some strange reason you neither understood nor cared to figure out. Those messages were strictly about schedules, dates, locations, and photo files.

You didn't exactly get along with Billie—just well enough to keep your job safe—since you weren't the spontaneous type she seemed to prefer.

But being fun wasn't exactly a requirement, right? After all, you were only there for the paycheck. In reality, your main role was setting boundaries—boundaries that kept your job secure—because Billie wasn't entirely professional; she was far friendlier than you had expected.

So yes, it was partly your fault that you two didn't get along like lifelong best friends.

But, truth be told, you weren't really interested in that happening anyway.

Aside from that, the job wasn't complicated—at least most of the time. Billie was incredibly easy to photograph; from your perspective—and that of many others—she was photogenic. And it wasn’t because she knew how to pose or because she stood still during concerts—since everyone knew Billie did anything but stay in one place—but rather because, from any angle you photographed her—running, jumping, lying down, screaming, you name it—she always looked good.

And that... was infuriatingly captivating.

That day was no different from all the others.

London was a place you never imagined visiting for work—even though, technically, you spent the whole day in a stadium, only to return to your hotel to work on and edit the photos you’d taken of Billie, along with others like fan shots or even views of the stage from below.

You’d arrive an hour before the show started; the barricades were already up, the lights were on, and everything was quiet—except for the area beneath the stage.

You were at the control desk, having plugged in your laptop because, for some strange reason, it hadn’t charged at the hotel. As you typed and dragged the folder containing Billie’s photos, you felt someone leaning in beside you.

"I didn't know you had more photos of me."

Billie spoke, looking at the open folder—which held several photos you’d never edited because they seemed too boring compared to the others, or the framing wasn't to your liking, or the camera hadn't quite focused sharply on her.

You glanced at her briefly, furrowing your brows as if she’d offended you in the worst possible way. She was already wearing that black eyeliner on her waterline, making the blue of her eyes pop. She wasn't looking at you; she was looking at the photo thumbnails, a genuine smile—slow and almost smug—already forming on her face.

"Why didn't you send them to me?"

She asked, arching her brows slightly as she finally turned her curious gaze toward you. The way she looked at you had always made you feel as though Billie could see right through you; it was frustrating.