Kim ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

Seven months, eighteen days.

That’s how long you have been gone. How long Billie had last seen you, when she last held you in her arms, when she last heard your voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear? And she was breaking.

You had gone out on a mission, a long, cruel mission. You couldn’t give Billie the details. It was official business; citizens weren’t allowed to know, as you told her. She understood, of course she understood. She knew this was a possibility.

She just didn’t expect it to hurt so much. She didn’t expect it to be so long. She didn’t expect you leaving her for so long. And it was like a stab wound every day, growing and growing each time you didn’t pick up the phone or respond to a text.

She understood, she knew you were busy. She knew that you had a job that provided. And she was glad you could do it. But it still hurt. It hurt more than she could’ve ever imagined.

It was the beginning of her tour when you left. When your colonel had called you, telling you about your mission. What you would be doing. You were the only one fit for the job, who your colonel could trust. And you took the job.

Billie was devastated by the news. It was like a punch to the gut seeing her tear-streaked face when you left. But you had promised to come back. You had promised to come home with a huge bouquet of flowers in your arms, and a thousand more kisses.

And Billie was waiting for that day. But each day you didn’t show up at the front door step, she lost more and more hope. She began to think that instead of you coming back with a bouquet, it would be a soldier with your necklace and a perfectly folded American flag.

She tried not to show how much it was all affecting her. She smiled whenever someone mentioned your name. She said you were doing good whenever someone asked how you were. But truly, she didn’t know. She didn’t know how you were doing because she hadn’t spoken to you since the day you left.

It was tearing her apart. Lying when people talked about her, wondering how she was. Wondering if you were even alive. She hated that she couldn’t hold you. Couldn’t kiss your soft lips.

And at one of her shows, she broke.

She was sitting in the center of the stage, the space between the two holes where her band sat. The microphone was gripped tightly in her hands, her jersey lying loosely around her torso. The baggy jeans shorts that were ten times bigger than her normal size fell around her thighs, loosely making an outline of her legs.

It was a last-minute decision she made. She had talked to Finneas about it, about how her fans would take it. She asked herself so many times if she should do it. And she eventually made the decision of yes.

The music began, but it wasn’t one of her songs. At least not one that any of her fans would’ve known. Then, she began to sing. It was an unreleased song. And it was about you. Of course, none of her fans would’ve ever known that. She wasn’t one to say what songs meant to her fans.

But truly, the song was about you. Billie’s love for you. How much she truly, truly loved you.

As she continued to sing, her voice began to break. The song only reminded her of how long you had been gone. How long it had been since she could’ve held you. Kissed your lips. She pushed her emotions down, swallowing thickly as she continued to sing.

Once the song ended, she pulled the mic away and took a deep breath, before putting on a mask, forcing her smile and usual, bubbly personality. She kept herself up and continued the show until the end.

It didn’t last long before the internet clipped it. Showing Billie’s sorrowful face, singing the unknown song. People were already saying it was about you. They didn’t know that you were in the military. Billie made sure it didn’t get out, per your request.

But they knew it was you. Billie’s long-term girlfriend, who had yet to show up publicly with Billie in the last seven months. And they were wondering where you were. Yet Billie couldn’t say anything. Not that she wanted to.

That night she cried. She cried that she couldn’t hold you. That she could only hold onto the sheets that she had sprayed with your perfume so many times, it was probably stained on by now. She cried into her pillow, gripping onto the sheets tightly.

She wished you were there, holding her tightly like you used to do. She imagined that you were right there, whispering soft, loving words into her ear until she fell asleep. Until she was limp on the bed, her face stained with tears, breathing steady and even.

She didn’t know when you were coming back, but she gripped onto the sheets and replayed the song in her head. Letting herself drown in the thought that you were there.

That you were right there, sleeping right next to her. Like a ghost. ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

you blink at her, eyes adjusting to the shadows. you don’t believe her. neither of you do. but she still says it like it might be true this time. she always says it like that.

billie leans over, pressing a warm, firm kiss to your lips. then another, slower one on your bare stomach. she whispers something there, something soft and ridiculous that makes your throat tighten. your hand finds her curls, tugging gently.

“you’ll be careful?”

she smirks. “i’m always careful.”

you give her a flat look. billie grins wider, straightening with that smug glint in her eye. “come on, you know me. i make the fire nervous.”

you groan, rolling your eyes. “you’re not charming, billie. you’re actually insufferable.”

she grabs her jacket from the hook, spinning it onto her back with practiced ease. “correction: i’m charming and insufferable. it’s part of my appeal.”

you mumble something under your breath.

she cups your face, her thumb brushing along your cheek. “and remember you’re the one who decided to marry me, ms o’connell”

“unfortunately,” you mutter. 

she laughs, deep and low in her throat, leaning in for one last kiss that’s soft making you melt into her arms, wishing she’d never leave. 

then she disappears into the hallway, gear bag slung over one shoulder. the door closes behind her, muffled and final.

but even that part of her exit holds swagger. there’s always something cocky about billie when she gets called in, like she’s starring in her own action movie. the way she walks; the confident clip of her boots against the hardwood, the casual slinging of her gear bag over one broad shoulder. she turns back once before the door shuts, gives you a wink so lazy and sure of herself that it makes you want to throw something at her. 

"don’t wait up, baby," she says with that grin that got her out of more than one bar fight before you ever met. "but also, wait up. i miss you pretty ass, sometimes”

you scowl, tugging the blanket higher. “bitch, get out.”

billie just grins wider. “love you too, grumpy.”

and then she’s gone, and you groan into your pillow, a faint blush and smile evident on your face. 

you wake again with a start. the bed is cold.

the apartment is too quiet. no soft rustle of billie’s jacket as she moves through the kitchen. no clatter of keys on the counter. just you and the clock.

you try to roll onto your side and grunt instead. the weight of pregnancy is heavier at this hour, unforgiving. your back aches. your ankles feel thick. but it’s the ache in your chest that’s worse.

you reach for your phone.

no texts. no missed calls. no updates from dispatch. you know better than to expect them, but hope’s a stubborn, stupid thing.

you sit on the edge of the bed, hands cradling the round swell of your belly.

“she said it would be quick,” you whisper aloud.

the baby shifts in response. you sigh, pressing your palm there.

“she lies, sometimes.”

you try not to stare at the news feed on your phone, but your eyes keep flicking back. the fire’s worse than they expected. six buildings involved now. displacement. one collapse.

and still no word.

you start cleaning.

the apartment is already clean, but you wipe everything down anyway. the kitchen counters. the bathroom sink. you organize the baby’s drawers even though you’ve done it three times this week. you fold onesies that haven’t even been worn.

your phone dings and your breath catches—but it’s just your bank app. a low balance notification. you nearly throw the phone across the room.

you finally sit again, hand trembling as you grab the remote. local news. a shaky camera pans over smoke and fire. the reporter’s words are background noise to the crackling in your ears.

you snap the tv off. enough. the static in your chest is louder than the news. you grab your phone again, fingers trembling. the fireaid number is saved in your favorites.

it rings twice.

"tom," you bark when he picks up. "where the fuck is my wife?"

there's a stunned silence on the other end.

"uh—y/n?"

“no it’s the electrician, who the fuck else would be calling for my wife tom? you called her in at three in the fucking morning and i’ve seen news coverage of a building collapse. she's not answering. she hasn't texted. what the hell is going on?"

tom coughs awkwardly. you can hear the stress in his voice. "she’s on scene still. it’s... rough. but she’s okay, far as i know. pulled three people out personally. i swear, she’s just—"

"just what? forgot she has a pregnant wife at home having a goddamn heart attack?"

“it’s billie,” tom says. like that’s supposed to explain everything. and maybe it does. maybe it always has.

you hang up without another word.

and then, briefly—

you see her.

just a glimpse. covered in ash. holding up debris with two others as someone crawls out from beneath it. there’s blood on her temple. her jaw is clenched.

your stomach lurches. you almost vomit. your knees press together like it’ll hold the fear inside.

you whisper her name like a prayer and wait.

the door opens.

you don’t jump. you’re already standing, arms crossed waiting. as if you had planned this and rehearsed it over and over in your head. “ms o’connell, do you realize what the fucking time is? should i have gifted you a fucking watch for our wedding instead?” you look at her sternly. billie steps inside, smiling sheepishly, and everything inside you goes very still. “um…do i call for mr fox?” she grins sheepishly. you stare at her deadpanned, your lips pursed.

billie is about to make another comment before pausing when she sees the look on your face.

"tom says i have a scary wife," billie says, trying to lighten the mood with that worn-out half-smile. "i see what he means."

she’s limping. not badly, but enough. her shirt is stained, her hair matted. there’s a cut above her brow, dried blood trailing to her cheekbone. her left arm hangs lower than her right.

she looks up and sees you.

the smile she gives you is a ghost of the one you know.

“hi my love,” she says, voice hoarse.

you don’t move. your chest rises, falls. billie kicks the door shut with her heel and drops her bag to the floor.

“before you yell, i—”

but you’re already moving.

not fast—you can’t move fast anymore. but it’s forceful. intentional. you reach her in three heavy steps and press your hand to her chest. it’s like you’re making sure she’s really there. you slap her chest lightly, punching it, and shaking your head with tears in your eyes. 

“billie.” your voice breaks. “you’re hurt, and it’s late”

she winces when you brush her arm. “it’s nothing. but im sure after my pregnant wife just assaulted me it’s much worse.”

you step back, arms folding over your stomach, and for a moment you look at her like she’s a stranger.

“you said it’d be quick.”

“i know.” she says looking down softly

“you said you’d be safe.”

“i tried.”

“that’s not good enough!” your voice cracks, sharp and loud in the stillness. “you came home bleeding, billie. limping. you haven’t even looked at a mirror—your face is—”

her mouth tightens. “i couldn’t just walk away. someone was trapped.”

your hands tremble. “and what if you were trapped? what if someone called me from the hospital instead?”

billie looks down. ash sprinkles from her curls.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you whisper. “i don’t know how to keep doing this, billie. not when every shift could be the last time i see you. i’m so scared, all the time”

“i don’t want to scare you,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “but i can’t lie. not about this.”

you nod slowly. “then don’t lie. but stop pretending you come home unscathed. don’t say you’re coming home soon, when we both know you’re out forever. you don’t. we don’t. i carry this baby alone for hours wondering if i’m going to raise her alone. i fold her clothes and wonder if she’ll have your smile, or if she’ll never get the chance to.”

billie’s face crumples.

and you hate that. you hate how fast guilt rises in your throat. how you want to take it all back the second her eyes glisten. but you don’t. you can’t.

she’s shaking her head, resting it between your neck, her hands finding the swell in your belly, caressing your future baby girl. “i’m so sorry.”

“i’m scared, billie.”

“i know.” she steps forward, slow and cautious, like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. “i’m scared too.”

you press your lips together, tight. but your hands reach for her on their own, trembling as they press to her ribs, her back, her neck. she lets out a soft noise, pain, relief, both, as you touch her.

“sit down,” you say. “let me clean you up.”

but she’s already sinking to her knees.

“what—billie—”

her hands frame your hips gently, reverently. she presses her face into the round curve of your belly. her breath hitches.

“please ma—,” she says into your skin. “know i’m trying, for you, for our little baby”

you exhale shakily, threading your fingers through her hair. “i know baby”

she tilts her face up to you, eyes wet. you bend slowly, bringing your forehead to hers. the world narrows to this.

“just wanna show you,” she whispers.

“i know, sweet girl, i know”

“can i—can i just… hold you? please?”

you nod. “come on.”

you help her up. you guide her slowly to your bedroom, where you settle, curled together under the weight of exhaustion and truth. billie tucks her face against your neck and wraps her arms around you from behind, her palm splayed over your stomach. you cover her hand with yours.

neither of you speak for a long time. you just breathe.

eventually, she shifts.

her lips find the curve of your neck, warm and soft. not hurried. not desperate. just present.

“i missed you,” she murmurs.

you sigh. “you always miss me when you’re gone.”

her mouth brushes your jaw. “i miss you even when i’m here.”

your throat tightens. you turn your face and kiss her, slow, deep, aching. her hand finds your hip, fingers tracing the curve with reverence.

“let me take care of you,” she breathes. “let me show you how much i missed you, mama.”

you nod once, her hand threading into yours. 

there’s nothing rushed about it. billie peels your shirt away like it’s sacred. her eyes trace every curve, every scar, every stretch of new skin made by life. she kisses your stomach first, then your ribs, then your sternum. her hands settle on your thighs, wide and steady.

“you’re so beautiful,” she says, voice cracking.

you touch her cheek, softly bringing the hair out of her face humming out an answer.

she giggles softly.

her mouth finds your breast, lips soft and warm. you gasp, arching into her, your nipples more sensitive than usual. her touch is careful, her fingers gentle where they slide down your side, over your hips, between your thighs.

you spread for her without hesitation. her fingers dance amongst your thigh, like she’s memorizing, not teasing. though she has had you memorized since the day you met. her fingers are slow, deliberate, drawing wet heat from you in careful circles. you whimper out her name, in desperation. “please billie, cmon, don’t tease” billie just nods in affirmation leaving a kiss on your belly, before bringing two fingers to her mouth. she sucks the fingers before placing them on your clit, she rubs it slightly, coating it with a mix of your juices and her saliva. “so pretty, such a pretty mama” billie whispers. her fingers slowly curl inside you her palm splayed against your clit while the other was clasped between your other hand. there’s nothing rushed about it. billie touches you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she blinks too fast. her hands are rough, calloused, bruised, smoke-scented, and reverent. she peels your shirt up inch by inch, not just to reveal skin, but to reassure herself you’re real beneath it. her eyes are glassy as they move over you, lingering on the swell of your belly, the curve of your breasts, the tired tension in your shoulders.

she kisses low first, your stomach, right where your child kicks sometimes when you’re too still. her lips are cracked but gentle, and the scrape of her jaw where ash still clings only makes it more real.

“i was so scared,” she whispers.

you cup the back of her head, fingers buried in her curls. “me too.”

she lifts her face, something raw in her eyes, then moves up your body. each kiss climbs higher, ribs, sternum, collarbone, until her lips hover just below your throat. her breath stutters. she presses in, open-mouthed.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” she rasps. “prettiest mama.”

you’re already crying and don’t realize until she kisses the salt from your chin.

“billie,” you murmur, tugging her down. she follows, bodies slotting together awkwardly but close.

her hands find your thighs, spreading them with a kind of aching slowness that makes your hips jerk. she doesn’t tease. not tonight. her fingers slide between your folds like she already knows exactly how wet you are, because she does. one breath against your neck and you were aching for her.

but she’s trembling a little. not from hesitation, just emotion. her mouth is at your jaw, your throat, your chest, murmuring soft, shaky praise.

"i got you, mama," she whispers, breath catching. "gonna take care of you so good... be the mommy our little girl deserves."

you moan softly, running your hands through her hair. “please.”

she nods against your skin. “yeah... yeah, baby. i got you.”

her strap presses in, slow and careful, and she gasps when she sinks into you, like she can feel everything too. her hips move with steady rhythm, eyes wide and reverent as she watches you take her. you guide her pace with a hand on her hip, but she never stops looking at your face.

“feels so good,” you pant.

her breath hitches. “look so perfect... taking me like that... fuck ma—”

“billie,” you whimper. “don’t stop—“

“wouldn’t dream of it princess,” she moans, a flush high on her cheeks. “c'mon, mama. cum for me, make a mess all over me”

Every week. Every single week, without fail, Billie would show up at your house, a bouquet of flowers resting in her arms. A wide smile would always be on her face, ready to hand you your favorite flowers.

Your house would smell like roses and tulips constantly. It would always linger in your nose, right before you walked out the door for work. The flowers would be sitting right there on the table next to the steps. They sat so prettily next to the wood railing, like they were made to sit right there.

Sometimes, Billie would even bring two bouquets in a week. She just couldn’t help but want to see that smile cross your lips. The way your eyes shimmered in excitement of the florals. She loved the little kisses you gave her after taking the bunch of flowers from her, running into the kitchen to fill up a vase.

And when you told her you accidentally knocked down the vase, shattering the glass and ruining the flowers, she was over in 20 minutes, two new bouquets in her arms, a gentle, comforting smile on her face. The flowers were already in a pretty, new vase by the time you came downstairs.

But now, the flowers sat dead in the vase, waiting to be replaced, but they never would. Not ever again. Because Billie was gone. Forever. And she wasn’t coming back. She couldn’t come back, no matter how much you prayed it was you.

No matter how much you prayed it was you in that car crash, how much you wished it was you that died, you knew you would never get your beautiful girlfriend back. No matter how much you prayed to a god you didn’t believe in.

You just wanted her flowers back. You wanted the fresh scent of roses and tulips to fill your nose again while you let her into your home. You wanted to feel her body against yours just one last time.

And when the news hit that Billie had a bouquet of flowers in the car with her when she crashed, you were a mess. She was thinking of you. She was always thinking of you. She wanted to replace the dead flowers, she wanted them to be alive for you.

But now the flowers were dead, and so were she. And you couldn’t bring yourself to replace the flowers, because it wouldn’t be Billie doing it for you. And it would only confirm your worst fears. And you couldn’t move on.

Maybe if you were the one who gave her the flowers, who came over to her house every week with a new bouquet, maybe she would be alive. Maybe it would be you that was gone. Maybe Billie would still be here, alive. But you can’t change the past. No matter how much you wish you could.

If only you gave her flowers. ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: hi, yes the photos were intentional, i know what I was doing

the screen glows with snippets of your chaotic day, spilled matcha, street food stalls, neon lights blinking like stars come to earth. the edits are almost done, and your tired brain is already thinking about the next video, the next story you want to tell. you’re deep in that comforting zone where everything slows down to the gentle rhythm of creation, when you hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening.

your head tilts up just in time to see billie step into the room, her damp hair curling at the ends, water droplets still clinging to her skin like tiny jewels. she’s wearing one of your oversized hoodies, the sleeves swallowed past her hands, and a pair of loose shorts that make her look impossibly cozy and relaxed. the warm scent of her shampoo mingles with the vanilla candle, making your chest tighten with that familiar fluttery feeling.

“hi,” she says, voice soft and a little sleepy, the way she always sounds just after a shower, like the world is still a little blurry around the edges.

“hey,” you murmur back, lifting the headphones off one ear and setting the laptop aside. your fingers find her hair, brushing it back gently from her face. she melts into your touch, settling herself sideways on the bed and curling into your lap, her cheek resting against your thigh.

you wrap your arms around her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against you, the warmth of her skin through the soft cotton of your hoodie. the dogs shift slightly but don’t move, content to be near you both. the quiet intimacy of the moment wraps around you like a blanket, familiar and comforting.

“what are you working on?” she asks, voice muffled.

“editing the tokyo vlog,” you say, smiling at the memory. “the one where i turned into a human disaster at that tiny cafe.”

she laughs, a sound like sunshine. “matcha massacre, you called it.”

“exactly,” you say, nudging her gently. “it’s almost done. want to see?”

she nods eagerly, her eyes brightening as you pick up your laptop and angle the screen so she can see. she watches the clips with a grin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your knee.

after a moment, she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. her cheeks are still pink from the shower steam, and her eyes hold that spark of curiosity that always makes your heart skip. “can i ask you something?” she says softly.

“anything,” you answer without hesitation.

she hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “can you teach me how to make vlogs? like, for when i’m on tour, or traveling. i want to remember everything, but i don’t know where to start. and you’re so good at it.”

your chest warms all over. she wants to learn from you. she trusts you. you close your laptop and reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out your favorite camera, the one you carry everywhere, the one that’s been your companion through every adventure.

“of course,” you say, holding it out to her. “i’ll show you everything.”

billie’s eyes widen, and she scoots closer, curiosity lighting up her face. “really?”

“really.” you smile, flipping the camera on so the screen lights up between you.

“okay,” you say, “so this camera does this—”

before you can finish, billie reaches out and presses a button.

“no, billie, don’t touch that idiot—”

you freeze, heart in your throat.

“i'm sorry! did… did i break it?” she whispers, panic flaring in her eyes.

you laugh, the tension breaking. “no, you didn’t break it. but you just set it to slow motion for the next three hours.”

she hides her face against your shoulder, giggling. “i’m terrible.”

“you’re adorable,” you say, brushing your fingers through her damp hair.

you spend the next hour sitting tangled up on the bed, patiently showing her how to hold the camera, explaining the basics, framing, lighting, how to speak naturally, how to capture moments without feeling awkward. she’s a quick learner, and you love the way she watches you with rapt attention, occasionally kissing your hand or squeezing your thigh.

you teach her how to check the battery, how to review footage, how to choose songs that fit the mood. you laugh together when she tries to film herself and the dogs and accidentally ends up with a bunch of blurry nose shots. she’s clumsy and sweet and so eager, and you’re already imagining how beautiful her vlogs will be.

when she finally gets the hang of it, you help her record a little practice clip, her voice soft and a little shy, telling the camera about the day, about how excited she is to learn. you hold her hand at the end and kiss her cheek.

“you’re going to be amazing at this,” you tell her. “i’ll be your biggest fan.”

she smiles, her eyes shining. after patiently walking billie through the basics, you finally hand her the camera and settle beside her, ready to help. she grips it nervously at first, her fingers just barely steady as she holds the device in front of her face. “okay, your turn,” you say softly, smiling encouragingly.

she clears her throat, looking down at the screen and then back up with a shy grin. “um… testing.... testing,” she says into the camera, voice a little unsure but getting more confident with every word. “can you guys see my beautiful girlfriend?”

you laugh quietly, heart swelling as she glances your way, eyes sparkling.

she presses the camera closer to you and leans over to press a sweet, quick kiss on your cheek, right on camera. “there she is,” billie murmurs, her face lighting up as she leans over toward you, camera still rolling. her lips find your cheek first, a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart do that slow, stupid flutter.

then she looks up at you, eyes shining like they hold a secret just for you. “you’re amazing,” she whispers, voice tender.

without thinking, you close the small gap between you, your lips brushing hers in a kiss that’s slow and warm, full of everything quiet and beautiful in this moment. the camera tilts slightly as she shifts closer, laughter bubbling between kisses.

“okay, okay,” she giggles, pulling back just enough to smirk. “definitely getting the hang of this.”

you grin, brushing your nose against hers. “best vlog intro ever.”