#dsam

# 111 . . . QUESTION MARK

# 222 . . . SUNGLASSES

you and billie had a great relationship, until fame hit her like a brick wall. one day, things seemed like they were normal. date nights, relaxing times together at home, everything was perfect. the next, her life seemed to move at a speed neither of you could keep up with.

tour schedules stretched across continents. label meetings filled every free afternoon. interviews, photoshoots, rehearsals, flights, appearances… there was always somewhere she needed to be and something she needed to do. it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. success was something the two of you had dreamed about for years, and now that it was finally happening, neither of you knew how to complain about it without feeling guilty.

you understood her life. after all, you’d been a part of it for so long. long before the sold-out arenas and screaming crowds, before the awards and magazine covers, you’d been her best friend. falling in love with billie had never felt like a dramatic turning point. if anything, it felt inevitable, like the natural next chapter of a story that had already been unfolding for years. 

but understanding why something was happening didn’t make it hurt any less. 

missed calls became missed conversations. arguments lingered unresolved because one of you always had somewhere else to be. texts that used to get answered within seconds suddenly sat unopened for hours, sometimes days. eventually, you found yourself asking for attention that billie genuinely wanted to give you, but couldn’t seem to find the time for anymore.

the worst part was that neither of you stopped loving each other. you were simply exhausted. so after months of trying to force things to work around impossible schedules and growing frustrations, you both made the decision to end the relationship.

there wasn’t a dramatic fight. no screaming. no betrayal. just two people sitting across from each other and admitting that maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. you promised you’d stay friends. for a while, you even managed it.

you attended shows when you could. after-parties. birthdays. award ceremonies. whenever your paths crossed, you hugged, smiled, and slipped back into old conversations with an ease that made everything feel normal again. until it didn’t.

because every time you saw billie, it felt like her attention was already somewhere else. she was focused on improving the next show, planning the next project, talking with friends she’d met on tour. sometimes you’d catch her flirting with one of her openers and feel an ugly twist of jealousy settle in your stomach.

you hated feeling that way. hated what it turned you into. so little by little, the distance between you grew. and before either of you realized it, months had passed.

billie lay across the hotel suite bed after another show, staring at the ceiling while the city lights filtered through the curtains. the room was quiet in a way hotel rooms always were. not peaceful. just empty.

her body ached from performing, but sleep felt impossible. every time she closed her eyes, she thought about you. she missed your laugh more than anything. the loud, ridiculous laugh that always made her laugh too.

she missed your smile. your jokes that would make you giggle like teenagers. the way you’d skip ahead of her during date nights only to turn around and walk backward in the middle of the sidewalk because you couldn’t tell a story without seeing her reaction. she missed the flowers you’d bring home for absolutely no reason.

most of all, she missed moments like this. coming back after a show and finding you already curled up in bed waiting for her. your arms wrapping around her waist. the familiar weight of your head against her chest. sleepy kisses pressed wherever you could reach before exhaustion finally pulled you under.

god, she missed you. before she could stop herself, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. your contact was still there. same photo. same conversation. same name. billie stared at it for nearly ten minutes.

her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting the same sentence over and over until frustration made her groan and toss her head back against the pillows.

finally, she typed:

hey.

12:20am

i know this is probably the last thing you want to see. but i’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.

12:21 am

another pause.

i miss you. i miss us. i think about you all the time.

12:27 am

i know we broke up for a reason, and i’m not trying to disrespect that. i just… idk.

12:31 am

i needed you to know that i still love you. i just think we made a mistake. i need you.

12:36 am

she hit send. then waited. hours passed. nothing. a day. nothing. a week. nothing. eventually, weeks turned into months. still nothing.

billie cried over it more times than she’d ever admit. but she respected what she believed was your answer. silence. she convinced herself you had seen the messages and chosen not to respond. so she left you alone.

what she didn’t know was that you felt exactly the same. your life had simply changed. a few weeks after the breakup, you landed a new internship. the company provided work phones, and eventually your old number was replaced with a new one. a new job. a new number. a new chapter.

and because of that, every single message billie had sent disappeared into the void. you never received them. you never knew she spent months crying over you. she wanted another chance with you.

she sat awake at three in the morning rereading old conversations and wishing she’d handled things differently. you assumed she had moved on. you thought her career had simply become more important.

it was the exact reason your relationship had ended in the first place. so eventually, you moved forward too. because what else were you supposed to do?

a year and a half later, you sat in one of your favorite coffee shops in los angeles.

ironically, it had always been one of billie’s favorites too. a frequent lunch date location. your laptop sat open in front of you while you worked at one of the tall side booths along the wall. the familiar chime above the entrance rang.

you glanced up, and froze. billie. black gym shorts. oversized white graphic tee. backward green dodgers cap. jordan 4s. mismatched socks. you’d recognize her anywhere. for a moment, neither of you moved. then she smiled, small and tentative.

“hi.” you smiled back. “hey.” she walked to the counter and ordered, her usual. ‘a medium iced vanilla oat milk latte’ you gathered as you read her lips.

while she waited, she glanced toward seat opposite of you at your table. “mind if i sit?” she asked, gently, not wanting to impose. you closed your laptop. “not at all.” she smiled and sat down. for a few minutes, conversation came surprisingly easy.

how you were. your friends. billie’s family, including shark. life. the tour. anything except the thing sitting between the two of you.

“you look good,” billie said softly. “thank you, you do too, bil.” something flickered across her face. then she looked down at the table. “you know,” she cleared her throat. “i texted you. was kinda sad you didn’t respond.” she played it off with a nervous snicker and hand thrown on the table. your stomach dropped, but you laughed it off. “no, you didn’t.” 

billie’s eyebrows furrowed. “yeah.” she looked confused, still smiling. “i did.” you stared. “when?”

“like six months after we broke up. i was on the last leg of tour and it was late. thought you just ignored me, to be honest.” your smile vanished. suddenly your mind was racing. six months after the breakup. the internship. the new phone. the number change. your eyes widened.

“billie…” her expression slowly changed. “i got a new number.” silence. “what?” billie’s voice came out, quiet and unbelieving.

“i got a new number around that time. i got that internship i had told you about months before then.” your throat tightened. “i never got any texts from you.” the color drained from billie’s face. “you didn’t?”

you shook your head. “no.” for a moment neither of you spoke. because suddenly every missed opportunity. every assumption. every day spent healing. every attempt to move on. all came crashing down at once. a phone buzzed and without missing a beat, billie glanced down.

incoming call: nat ♥️

you recognized the name instantly. billie’s opener, now boyfriend. you had suspected it from the obvious flirting you’d witnessed backstage in the green room. her best friend’s brother. your chest ached, but you covered it with a grin anyway. “if you have to take that it’s okay. i understand.” 

billie swallowed hard, containing what composure she had left after the bomb that was dropped between the two of you. you nodded, trying not to show any signs of the emotions brewing inside you. “i’m happy for you.” her eyes shimmered with tears, slightly pink. for a second, she looked away. and you couldn’t tell if it was guilt, regret, or grief. maybe all three.

“it was really good seeing you.” her voice cracked. “you too.” you echoed. billie stood and walked to the front counter, her tattooed hand grabbed her slightly-watered down iced latte from the front counter. looked at you one last time and smiled. the same smile you’d fallen in love with years ago.

“see you around, babe.” you both knew she wouldn’t. neither of you exchanged numbers. neither of you asked. some doors only hurt more when you try to reopen them.

billie turned and walked out of the café. the bell above the café door chimed softly as she stepped outside. you watched her disappear into the afternoon crowd. and for a long time after she was gone, you couldn't stop staring at the door. for the first time in a long time, the wound you’d spent years healing felt fresh again.

billie made it halfway into her house before she fell apart. her vision blurred. she ran to her room and gently sat on her bed, one hand covering her mouth as a broken sound escaped her chest.

"fuck." the word came out strangled. another breath. another. but it didn't help. because all she could think about was the look on your face when you'd told her you never got the messages. all those months. all that time. you hadn't ignored her. you hadn't rejected her. you hadn't decided you were better off without her.

you never knew.

billie hands slid down her face smearing the mascara she had put on that morning. tears streamed down her face unchecked. she thought about that night in the hotel room. the way her hands had shaken while she typed. the way she'd stared at her phone for weeks afterward waiting for an answer that never came.

she remembered crying herself to sleep, believing so many falsehoods as faith. that you had moved on. that you didn't want her anymore. god. you never even saw the messages. a laugh escaped her through the tears. except it wasn't really a laugh. it sounded more like grief. because suddenly every memory hurt. every moment she'd spent missing you. every relationship she'd thrown herself into trying to move forward.

times she'd told herself that things happened for a reason. all of it. wasted. not because the two of you had failed. not because you didn't love each other enough. because of a phone number. a fucking phone number. billie buried her face in her hands.

for a few minutes, she let herself mourn. not you. she'd been mourning you for years. she mourned the future she'd lost. the one where you would’ve answered. where she picked up the phone and heard your voice, the two of you would have met for coffee six months after the breakup instead of a year and a half later.

maybe it would’ve worked it out. she’d have learned how to balance fame and love. she’d come home to you. that version of her life had died before it ever got the chance to exist. now she was standing at its funeral.

eventually, the tears slowed. her breathing steadied. the ache remained. it probably always would. billie wiped her face with the hem of her shirt and looked down at her phone. three missed calls. all from nat. she stared at the screen for a long moment. then pressed call. it rang twice.

"hey, baby." nat's voice came through the speaker, warm and familiar. "everything okay?"

billie closed her eyes. for a second, she almost broke again. but then she pictured you sitting in that coffee shop. healed. moving forward. living a life that no longer had room for the two of you. she mumbled, “yeah i’m fine.” billie held back her sniffles so she didn’t spiral into a sob. she quickly wrapped up the conversation and hung up, wanting to be alone in her thoughts.

the silence carried on around her as if nothing had happened. like she hadn't just discovered that the greatest heartbreak of her life had been a misunderstanding, right when she had just healed from the pain and loss; after she buried the last remaining idea of what could have been. with one final thought towards you, billie had a realization, clear in her mind.

you would always be the one that got away.

taglist:

————————————————————————————

the hallway smelled like coffee and printer ink. lockers lined the walls even though no one really used them, and the sound of someone's sneakers squeaking across the linoleum echoed faintly. it was too early for anything to feel real, and liora was still half-dreaming when she pushed open the classroom door.

the light was soft inside, filtered through high windows that caught the morning haze. students filled the back rows first—classic. liora drifted somewhere near the middle, dropped her canvas bag beside the chair, and sank into the seat like she'd been holding her breath all morning.

she barely glanced at the front of the room at first, too busy unzipping her hoodie and smoothing out her notebook. then a voice—low, even, and almost too smooth—cut through the sleepy chatter.

"morning, everyone."

liora looked up.

and froze.

the woman at the front of the class wasn't what she expected. not even close.

tall, loose-fitted shirt hanging just right, her dark hair pulled back under a knit beanie like she hadn't tried at all and still managed to look—cool. cool in a way that made your chest tighten. her eyes, pale and unreadable, swept the room with a kind of calm confidence that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.

professor o'connell.

liora didn't breathe until billie looked away.

billie set her laptop down on the desk and clicked something open on the screen. the soft tap of keys echoed, then stopped. she glanced up.

"so," she said, voice light but clear, "i'm professor o'connell. billie's fine, too, if that's more comfortable. i teach this course in creative composition and lyrical analysis—basically, it's english lit, but with more music and fewer essays you'll want to set on fire."

a few people chuckled, sleep still hanging off their voices. liora's stomach twisted. she didn't laugh, but her mouth tugged at the corner like it wanted to.

billie's eyes drifted back to the roster on her screen.

"let me just get a sense of who's here," she murmured, then started reading names.

"elliot abram?"

"here."

"cassidy baines?"

"present."

"liora... rai?"

"i'm here"

billie nodded slowly, her gaze lingering just a moment too long. "beautiful name," she said, like it meant something. "thank you."

liora stared down at her notebook. the top of the page blurred slightly before she forced herself to breathe again.

billie continued reading names, but the heat in liora's cheeks didn't go away. her full name never rolled off anyone's tongue like that—never without hesitation, never with intention.

when roll was done, billie leaned against the desk, her arms folded. "okay. i don't like icebreakers. they're awkward and fake and you all secretly hate them."

a few students laughed—this time, liora included.

"but i do want to know who you are. not in the cheesy way. in the why-are-you-here way."

she pushed her hair behind one ear and nodded toward the board.

"your first assignment's simple. it's not graded. i just want you to write a page about this question—what does music say that words can't?"

the room quieted.

billie continued, soft and serious now. "i don't care if you've never written anything in your life. this isn't about being good. it's about being honest."

someone raised their hand in the back. "can we write lyrics?"

"you can write in blood, for all i care," billie said, and a few students laughed again. "just don't be boring. if you're boring, i'll know."

her eyes flicked back to liora—quick, but unmistakable.

liora swallowed.

the lecture started slow.

not boring, just... soft. like billie was setting a mood more than teaching. she talked about metaphor, about musical phrasing as narrative structure, about the way a repeated lyric could punch harder than a paragraph. her voice never rushed, never cracked. she didn't fidget, didn't pace. she just leaned her hip against the desk, fingers tracing the edge of her water bottle like she was thinking out loud to a room full of ghosts.

liora watched her the way someone might watch a fire—entranced without realizing it.

she was used to professors being either stiff or overcompensating. too many tried too hard to prove they had authority. billie didn't do that. she just was. and it did something to the room. made everyone quieter. made the air feel heavier.

"there's something music can do," billie said, tapping the board with a dry erase marker, "that essays can't. it cuts through memory. not around it. through it. the right song doesn't remind you of a moment—it puts you in it. like time travel, but with better lighting."

liora didn't write that down, but she knew she'd remember it anyway.

the girl next to her had started doodling in the margins of her notebook. someone behind her was chewing gum too loudly. the boy by the window kept checking his phone. but liora didn't move. her pencil rested against the page, unmoving.

billie walked to the board and wrote:

"when language fails, music answers."

the chalk squeaked slightly. her handwriting was slanted, imperfect. under the lights, the ink on her exposed wrist caught liora's eye—lyrics tattooed in a fine line script she couldn't read from this far away.

"that's the quote we'll work from next week," billie said. "write it down. argue with it. prove it wrong if you want. just don't ignore it."

liora lowered her gaze. her fingers gripped the pencil. write it down, billie said. like it was just another sentence. like it didn't already live inside her ribs.

billie glanced toward the back row where a group of boys had started whispering. one of them smirked and said something too low for liora to hear, but she caught enough—something about billie's age, the word hot, the phrase bet she's not even a real professor.

billie didn't flinch. she let the silence stretch. then she walked slowly back to her desk, closed her laptop, and looked out across the room.

"if anyone's confused about whether i belong here," she said evenly, "you're welcome to drop this class. i promise your refund window is still open."

quiet.

no one moved.

liora felt something tighten in her chest. not pity. not admiration, either. something in between. like respect, but more personal. she hated the way billie had to defend herself for being young. for being her.

billie's gaze swept the room again, slower this time.

when it landed on liora, it didn't move away.

chairs scraped against tile as the clock hit the hour. papers rustled, bags zipped. the usual chaos of everyone rushing to leave—except for liora.

she moved slower. not on purpose, but something in her refused to follow the current. she tucked her notebook carefully into her bag, slung it over one shoulder, then pretended to fumble with the zipper a second longer than necessary.

billie was still at her desk, sliding her laptop into a worn leather sleeve, fingers moving with practiced ease. her head was tilted slightly, earbuds resting around her neck, a lazy kind of calm on her face that made it impossible to look away.

most of the room had cleared when billie glanced up—and caught her.

"you good?"

liora blinked. "oh—yeah. i just..." she hesitated, then stepped forward. "i had a question. about the assignment."

billie nodded once and leaned her elbow on the desk, fully facing her. "shoot."

liora hated how loud her heart sounded. she tried to ignore it.

"when you said we could write in any form... did you mean, like, lyrics? or poetry? or just... freewriting?"

"any form," billie said. "i meant it."

her voice was gentler now. less classroom, more personal. and now that they were this close—no rows of desks, no audience—liora could see the pale freckles scattered across her cheeks, the faint smudge of eyeliner just barely under her lashes. her eyes weren't just blue. they were gray, soft and stormy, with something behind them liora couldn't name.

"so if it's a poem that doesn't really make sense," liora said slowly, "that's still okay?"

billie tilted her head. "does it make you feel something?"

liora nodded before she could stop herself. "yeah."

"then it makes sense."

the words settled between them like warmth. not cheesy, not condescending—just simple. true.

liora looked down, letting her fingers curl around the strap of her bag.

"what do you usually write?" billie asked.

liora hesitated, then answered honestly. "stuff i never show anyone."

billie smiled—just barely. "those are usually the best kind."

she stepped around the desk then, close enough that liora caught the faint scent of something warm and clean—like sandalwood and fresh laundry. she reached for a printed syllabus on the edge of the table and handed it to her.

their fingers touched. just for a second. but it was enough to send a pulse through liora's spine.

"just in case you didn't grab one," billie said, casual again, but her voice had dipped lower. "i keep forgetting people actually read these."

liora took it with both hands, as if it were heavier than paper.

"thanks," she murmured.

billie gave a nod, slow and deliberate. "see you thursday, rai."

the way she said her name made liora's stomach flip. it wasn't just the pronunciation. it was the intention. like she wanted to say it again. like she liked saying it.

liora turned and walked out, heart pounding behind her ribs like it was trying to outrun her.

you laughed at how much she needed you but brushed off the topic. the topic changed, and the two of you talked about random things before it got quiet. you could hear billie's breathing getting heavier.

"what's wrong pretty? what's got your head thinking so hard?" you ask

billie smiled softly, "i want to record us, make a video. something to keep me company when i'm missing you." her eyes sparkled with joy and you could see how much she wanted it. " a video, hm?" 

your voice was quiet as you whispered in her ear softly running your fingers down her back. "what kind of video do you want to film sweet girl?"

billie whined burying her head in your neck, "you know what i mean baby" she mumbled.

"do i? can you remind me baby?" you tease.

"wanna film us having sex," billie whispers clawing at your clothes.

you laugh quietly and nod at her to go set up the camera. she shot up quickly running to set it up.

she propped the phone up on the bedside table, angling it to capture the entire bed, ensuring everything would be captured. the camera lens stared back at them, a silent witness to the scene about to unfold.

"gonna show you what a good girl i am for you" billie says excitedly. "yeah? gonna be good for me?" you breathe out in anticipation.

your breath caught as billie's lips brushed against your core. the feeling of billie's tongue sending shivers through your body. your back arched, pushing your hips upwards, as she ate you out. billie's mouth was relentless, her tongue flicking and probing, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.

"fuck baby" you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. "doing so good f'me, making me feel so good, pretty."

billie's moaned at the praise, the vibrations adding to the pleasure. she could get drunk off the taste of you and bathed your continuous praise.

as your moans grew louder, billie slipped two fingers inside curling them to find that sweet spot that would send you over the edge. your body tensed, muscles clenching around billie's fingers as you cried out in release.

"yesss baby. so good for me always. always been my good girl" your voice echoed through the room, pushing billie to continue, savoring the taste of your orgasm.

billie crawled up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your chest. before kissing your lips passionately.

you laughed, a playful glint in your eyes. "can't wait to watch it back. maybe we should make a few more, just to be sure."

you wonder what she’d do if she knew. if she saw the way your hands shake when her name lights up your phone. if she knew how many nights you’ve fallen asleep picturing what her mouth might taste like between i love you and goodnight.

today is one of those days where you’re trying to forget. you’re doing errands. folding laundry. pretending you’re fine. and then her text comes through:

billie 💕: come over?

your heart drops.

you don’t even hesitate. everything else evaporates.

you: "rn? ok give me 5"

you throw on the first hoodie you find, barely register the color. it's hers—she lent it to you months ago and never asked for it back. it still smells like her. you don’t let yourself think about that too long. you just grab your keys, tell someone in your house you’ll be back soon, and leave. you don’t know what you’re going over for, but it doesn’t matter. it never matters. when it’s billie, it’s always yes. always.

the drive feels like nothing and forever all at once. your fingers tremble on the wheel. you’re trying to calm your breathing, trying not to imagine her answering the door in a tank top and sleepy eyes, the way she always does. you try not to imagine what it would be like if she pulled you in by the collar, whispered something soft and wrecking against your cheek.

you hate yourself a little for it. for wanting more. for being so goddamn pathetic about her.

you pull into her driveway, and your stomach sinks.

her girlfriend’s car is already there.

you swallow it down. no. you don’t get to be upset. she’s allowed to be happy. she’s allowed to love someone. it’s not your place. it’s never been your place.

you put your best smile on—it feels like pressing broken glass into your cheeks.

billie opens the door with that same grin, the one that used to make you feel like the world was okay. like maybe she was your safe place. she’s barefoot, hair in a messy bun, skin glowing. “hey!” she beams. “you got here so fast.”

“you said come over.” you shrug, try to laugh it off. “you know i’d drop anything.”

her girlfriend’s on the couch. you recognize her—pretty, sharp-jawed, the kind of girl who always knows what to say in a group. she waves politely and offers a tight smile.

you smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

they're watching some show, talking about nothing, laughing in the way couples do. you sit off to the side, legs tucked under you, trying not to shrink into yourself.

billie tosses a blanket at you like she always does, like she knows you're cold even when you don't say it out loud. it should feel like home. instead, it burns.

at some point, her girlfriend gets up to use the bathroom. billie turns to you immediately, eyes narrowing.

“okay,” she says quietly. “spill.”

your heart jumps. “what?”

“don’t play dumb. i’ve known you my whole life, y/n. something’s up. you’re breathing weird. are you okay?”

you almost say it.

you almost say, i can’t stand watching you love someone else.

you almost say, i’m in love with you and it’s killing me.

instead, you shake your head. “nothing’s wrong.”

“bullshit.” she leans in closer. you can feel the heat of her next to you, the way your body reacts on instinct, like you’re drawn to her by gravity alone. “you always get this look when you’re upset. like your heart's too heavy for your chest.”

you want to cry.

you want to grab her by the shoulders and scream. tell her that she’s everything. that she’s the reason you get out of bed some mornings. that no one’s ever made you feel more like yourself and less like enough all at once.

but instead, you say, “i’m just tired.”

she stares at you for a second too long. like she’s trying to read between the cracks. like she’s waiting for something.

“you sure?” she whispers.

you nod.

you think your lungs might collapse.

she reaches out and squeezes your hand. just a second. just a flicker of touch. but it wrecks you.

you look down at your knees, suddenly too aware of how your hoodie smells like her. how it still feels like something sacred and stolen.

her girlfriend comes back and billie pulls her hand away, just like that. like it never meant anything.

because to her, it didn’t.

the three of you sit there for another twenty minutes. laughing. making dumb jokes. pretending this isn’t hell. and when you finally stand up to leave, your legs barely hold you.

“text me when you get home,” billie says. “you know i worry.”

you nod again. you can’t speak. if you open your mouth, something might come out that you’ll never be able to take back.

you get to the door. her girlfriend’s in the kitchen. billie follows you, just for a second, hand brushing your wrist.

“hey,” she says softly. “you know i love you, right?”

it hits you like a truck. she doesn’t mean it the way you do. she never has.

you force a smile. it feels like something’s breaking.

“yeah,” you whisper. “i know.”

you turn to go, and she says it behind you—

"thank you, y/n. you're such a good friend to me."

you don’t remember walking to your car.

your feet move but you’re not in them. your body goes through the motions—unlock, slide in, start the engine—but your head is somewhere else. still on the doorstep. still in her eyes. still in the echo of that fucking sentence.

“thank you, y/n. you’re such a good friend to me.”

you’ve heard her say i love you a hundred times. sometimes in texts. sometimes whispered during late-night phone calls. sometimes at sleepovers when you were half-asleep and warm under the same blanket. it always meant something.

but tonight—it meant nothing.

or maybe it meant everything.

just not the kind of everything you wanted it to.

you pull out of her driveway too fast. you’re shaking. the streetlights blur. your vision goes glassy. you blink hard, but it’s no use.

you’re crying before you’ve even turned the first corner.

not the loud kind. not the sobs that shake your whole body. this is different. it’s quiet. it’s shameful. it’s all your ribs caving in at once. it’s your throat closing up like it’s trying to save you from speaking the truth out loud.

you drive in silence.

no music.

no noise.

just the sound of your own breath stuttering in the dark.

you don’t go home. not yet. you can’t. you wouldn’t know how to walk into your house and pretend you’re okay. not like this. not when everything inside you feels like it’s splintered.

you pull into the parking lot of some random grocery store. leave your engine running. sit there in the dim orange glow of a flickering streetlight, clutching the sleeves of the hoodie like it’s a lifeline.

her hoodie.

her scent.

her warmth.

her name pounding in your chest.

you press your forehead to the steering wheel and finally let it all go.

the tears come harder now. like your body’s been waiting. like your heart’s had enough of holding everything in. you sob into the silence, mouth open, breath hitching, hands trembling.

why did you have to love her like this?

why couldn’t it just be enough to be her friend?

you would’ve done anything for her.

anything.

but you never stood a chance. not against someone like her girlfriend. someone beautiful. someone bold. someone who could touch her in all the ways you weren’t allowed to. someone who didn’t flinch when billie leaned in close. someone who didn’t fall apart every time she said i love you like a knife disguised as kindness.

you squeeze your eyes shut and try to rewind it all. try to pretend you never came over. that you stayed home. that you never saw the way billie’s hand fit into her girlfriend’s so easily. that you didn’t hear the words that finally killed the last stupid hope you were clinging to.

“you’re such a good friend to me.”

you’ve been her friend your whole life.

and now, it feels like a prison you built yourself.

you want to hate her. god, it would be so much easier if you could. if she were cruel. if she strung you along on purpose. but she didn’t. she just… loved you the only way she knew how.

and it wasn’t the way you needed.

your phone buzzes beside you. you already know who it is.

billie 💕: did you make it home safe?

you stare at the message for a long time. thumbs hovering over the screen. there’s a pressure building in your chest like a scream you’re not allowed to let out.

you type.

you: yeah. thanks.

you don’t say i love you. not this time.

you just toss your phone onto the passenger seat and let your head fall back against the headrest. your eyes are still wet. your heart’s still breaking. your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of her hoodie like maybe, if you hold on tight enough, you won’t completely come undone.