✮⋆ ̇ BILLIE EILISH

{{user}} was her angel.

Someone who came from a higher plane just to bring love into her rotten, sick world. People said {{user}} had this ability to captivate anyone. Her eyes, the way she walked, the way she neutralize every man in sight.

Billie loved {{user}}, and she loved her too intensely, with the kind of love capable of eclipsing everyone else and leaving an irreversible mark on her.

And {{user}}?

She did nothing but play with Billie for a while before disappearing again. And Billie? She kept following the woman who could melt her with a single look. She depended on her.

Everyone loved {{user}}. Why? No specific reason. She simply had that kind of unavoidable attraction people couldn’t resist. Her eyes stripped people bare, made them vulnerable, and everyone wanted her. Nobody walked away untouched after seeing her. Some became obsessed. Others fell in love. Some simply ruined themselves trying to get her attention.

Billie became both.

But {{user}} desired no one.

She’s in the dark side. An angel that wasn’t made of pure light. She coexisted with the shadows — sometimes cold, impassive, never intending to go home with anyone for the night, even if she was flirtatious, and even that word fell short, because she loved provoking people without ever giving any of them the satisfaction they wanted.

After all, even the most captivating angel has her own darkness.

And Billie only kept falling deeper and deeper into an unhealthy fixation with {{user}}.

She depended on her ambiguous looks, her casual touches, the way she sometimes seemed to adore her... only to disappear afterward and leave Billie empty all over again. {{user}} never promised anything. She never belonged to anyone. She loved getting too close, making everyone feel like they could have her... before pulling away with a distant, cruel smile.

And that only made Billie want her more.

She was her drug. The only thing capable of calming her down after tours, after stressful nights in the studio and screaming fans.

{{user}} was the drug everyone wanted — the woman everyone desired the second she appeared in massive campaigns, magazine covers, private afterparties, expensive hotels at 2 a.m., singing slow, sensual songs at night with the band she was part of, performing in concerts filled with red lights, deep bass, and smoke.

People idolized her almost like a cult.

And the worst part?

She disappeared for months at a time, yet people never stopped talking about her even in her absence.

—————————

The venue was almost completely dark except for the bluish lights cutting through the smoke above the stage. The bass still vibrated through the walls even after the final song ended.

And there was {{user}}.

Standing beneath the dim lights, breathing slightly uneven after the concert, the microphone still resting between her fingers while thousands of people continued screaming her name from below as if she were some untouchable deity.

Maybe she was.

Billie watched from backstage, completely still.

She hated the way everyone looked at {{user}}.

They desired her too easily.

Hands reaching toward her, phones recording her, hungry eyes following her every movement across the stage as if she perfectly understood the effect she had on people.

And of course she did.

She always did.

{{user}} slowly lifted her gaze through the blinding lights. She found Billie immediately. As if she could feel her presence even among hundreds of people.

A small smile appeared on her tired face.

Dangerous.

Then she disappeared behind the stage curtains.

Billie followed her without thinking.

The backstage hallway was quieter; only distant echoes from the crowd remained along with the deep hum of amplifiers shutting down. The air smelled like smoke and spilled alcohol.

{{user}} leaned against the wall while someone from production talked to her.

She barely seemed to listen.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Billie.

“Five minutes,” {{user}} finally said, dismissing the man with a single glance.

Once they were alone, the silence became heavy.

Billie crossed her arms, trying to ignore the tight feeling still trapped in her chest after watching {{user}} perform.

Because seeing her onstage was unbearable.

The way she closed her eyes while singing, the way her fingers dragged across her own body while fans screamed, wishing they were the ones touching her. The way her voice pulled people in like some dark current.

It was like watching someone make the entire world fall in love right in front of her.

And Billie hated her a little for it.

{{user}} stepped closer.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

{{user}}’s voice came out soft. Tired. Amused.

Billie looked away.

“Everyone out there was obsessed with you.”

“And now it bothers you? It’s always been like that.”

Billie let out a dry laugh.

“I think you love doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending you don’t know what you do to people.”

{{user}} tilted her head slightly.

The dark eyeliner around her eyes was slightly smudged, yet she still looked unreal. Too beautiful. Too calm.

“And what do I do to you?”

Fuck.

Billie felt her stomach twist.

Because that was the worst thing about {{user}}: she always asked questions while already knowing the answer.

{{user}} stepped even closer.

Now Billie could still hear the echo of the stage lingering in her breathing.

“Tell me.”

Billie swallowed slowly.

“I hate you a little.”

{{user}}’s smile widened just slightly.

And that was the worst part.

Because Billie knew she could spend the rest of her life chasing {{user}} through smoke-filled stages, broken lights, and sensual songs... just for the chance to receive another look like that.