Halley

Obviously, I love Billie Eilish. Some of my favorite songs include

- ❀ Halley’s Comet,

- ❀ Male Fantasy,

- ❀ I love you,

- ❀ Come out and play,

- ❀ Ilomilo,

- ❀ I can’t list all of them honestly

I’m an INFP, cat person, marvel fan, college student, strawberry lover, Leighton Murray is me and I am her, she/her, lesbian, I can’t think of anything else to put

Alongside Billie, I also love Hozier, Gigi Perez, Taylor Swift, Phoebe Bridgers, etc. my favorite song EVERRR is Wasteland, Baby! By Hozier

I’m strictly wlw and will only write wlw (only Billie for now) and I will not write smut (maybe one day tho)

Billie Eilish, Wanda Maximoff, Kate Bishop, Amy Santiago, Robin Scherbatsky MY LOVESSS

PLEASE feel free to sends asks, talk to me, send requests, etc!

❀ Masterlist ;

It was a normal night. You and Billie were in her room, both on your phones. The silence was comfortable, but Billie broke it with a question that you had been asking yourself for the better part of a year. 

“Remember when we were 15 and we kissed?” 

You froze. Of course you remembered that, you thought about it every day. 

“Yeah..”

She sucked in a sharp breath, almost like she didn’t want to keep going. “Do you regret it?”

You took longer to reply than you’d care to admit. 

“…no. I don’t. Do you?”

She hesitated, eyes darting away before meeting yours again. She had a look in her eyes you just couldn’t place. 

“…after we kissed, I told you that I’m not into girls. That I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

“Yeah.” You said flatly. You didn’t enjoy reliving the moment she shattered your heart. “I remember.”

You scanned her body. A nervous energy was radiating off her, but she pressed on. “Well I was wrong.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Wrong about what?” 

“Well first of all, I don’t regret kissing you.” Her voice came out steady that time. Firm. A stark contrast to her otherwise awkward energy. 

“Yeah?” Your voice was soft. Patient. 

“And second of all… I think…”

She swallowed hard before continuing. 

“I think I am into girls. Or—you, I guess. I don’t know. I’m confused.” 

Your eyes widened at first, but then they softened. A heavy silence settled between you. You could see her panic when you didn’t reply. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. You instantly scrambled to reassure her that she didn’t do anything wrong. 

“Don’t be sorry. Please, don’t be sorry. It’s okay to be confused.” 

She looked away. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” You took her chin into your hand, guiding her sad eyes back to meet yours. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? We’ll figure this out. I promise.” 

She gulped and nodded slightly, shifting closer to you. Eventually, she let her head rest on your shoulder. You let her stay like that for the rest of the night. 

She didn't know how to make it up to you. Really, she didn't. But she knew that she had to at least try. She looked around at the disheveled kitchen, still messy from when you spent so long making that pasta just how she likes it. 

Okay, maybe cleaning the kitchen is a start. It's at least something, right? She hastily started tidying up the area. Washing dishes, cleaning countertops, closing drawers, doing anything possible while she tries to think of ways to show you how much she loves you. Her eyes fell onto her car keys abandoned on the counter. 

Back in your room, (LIKE THE WEAK BITCH YOU ARE) you were holding back the urge to go back to the kitchen and run into her arms. You had every right to be mad, but you still felt shitty for being mad at her at all. You needed to be strong and not give in so easily. You owed it to yourself to be upset, even if all you wanted was to be in her arms. You tossed and turned in bed, clutching a pillow hoping it would fill the space Billie left. The faint buzz of your car engine starting made your heart drop. Was Billie leaving? You heard the car pull out of the driveway. You were proud of yourself for standing your ground—for not crumbling into her the second she looked sorry—but it didn't tame the fear of her leaving. In fact, it made that fear grow. 

🤍~ 

Around 30 minutes later, you heard the car return to the garage. The issue was you didn't know if you should feel relieved or worried. After the front door opened, you heard ruckus out in the kitchen area—water running, cabinet doors opening and closing again, and at one point you heard Billie yell ‘OW, SHIT! MY TOE!’  

Back in the kitchen, Billie had in fact stubbed her toe. That minor inconvenience broke the dam for her. The unshed tears she was holding back the entire drive to the store to pick up flowers for you came flowing all at once. Despite the tears, she finished placing the flowers into a nice vase and set it up on the kitchen counter. She fumbled to grab a piece of paper and neatly write down some apologies. 

She had so many thoughts running throughout her head, but the loudest one was the thought you might not forgive her this time around. She had never meant to make you feel small, and she really hoped you knew that. Or that she could remind you of that tonight. After wiping her tears, she gently placed the notes she wrote next to the beautiful flowers. 

She didn't even bother trying to get into your shared room. Without even grabbing a blanket, she flopped down onto the couch and hoped and prayed you would forgive her. Eventually, her heart calmed and her eyes fluttered shut. Her shallow breathing evened out and she drifted to sleep. 

You're not sure how much time passed. Hours, maybe? Doesn't matter. All that mattered is you hadn’t heard much activity outside your door in a while, and you couldn't sleep. Might as well go check things out, right? 

Slowly but carefully, you slipped out of your room and padded down the hall. Your eyes scanned the area, landing on the sparkling clean kitchen.  The scent of your favorite flowers filled your nostrils. Oh, is that where she went? To pick up flowers for you? You walked over to the vase, taking a big whiff of the pedals. That’s when you noticed the paper folded on the edge of the counter. Your hands trembled as you unfolded the note. 

‘I love you so much. I’m sorry.’

‘I never wanted to make you feel lonely.’

‘Please let me fix this.’

‘I’ll be here. If you want me. I love you.’

Your lips quivered as your eyes scanned the words on the page. She did this for you? She cleaned the kitchen—something you hate doing—got flowers for you, and genuinely felt bad and wanted to fix it? You didn't let the tears fall. No, you bit them back. Your eyes scanned the room, falling on the couch. There Billie was. Zero blanket or pillow, fast asleep. She didn't look peaceful, no—she looked troubled, even in sleep. Curled up into herself like a child. 

You stood there, frozen and torn between your stubbornness and the ache in your chest that only grew stronger upon seeing her like this. You weren’t blind—you could see how hard she was being on herself. She didn’t just say she was sorry. She showed it. She showed it in all the dishes she washed, the flowers she handpicked just for you, and the letter she clearly struggled to get just right. 

And now there she was, banished to the couch, not even a pillow to comfort her. It was as if she didn’t think she even deserved the luxury of comfort right now. With a heavy sigh, you tiptoed to the hall closet and pulled out a spare blanket. You draped it over her with the utmost of care, trying not to wake her. But as you tucked it snugly around her shoulders, she stirred the faintest bit. A soft sound escaped her mouth. 

“Mm?” She looked up at you, eyes heavy with sleep. 

“It’s just me,” you whispered. “Go back to sleep.” She shifted slightly, accepting the blanket immediately. She stared at you through her lashes—wet from tears—and sniffled a little. 

“Did you read my note?” She murmured, voice tired and small. You nodded and gently stroked her hair. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

She looked at you with uncertainty in her eyes, silently asking for you to keep speaking your mind. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep mad,” you finally admitted. “I can tell that you’re really sorry.”

Billie shifted slightly, sitting up a little. “I fucked up.” She said flatly. “I let myself get too engrossed in my music. I didn’t spend time with you the way you needed—the way either of us needed.” 

Your fingers rested in her lap, nervously fiddling with an unraveled string of the blanket. “I’m not mad that you love your job. I love your music and I love that you love what you do. I just missed you. Missed your touch. Your laugh. I missed feeling like I mattered.” You let out a half laugh, half sigh of relief. 

“You do,” she cut in, voice firm yet desperate. “You do matter. God, you matter so much. I just forgot to show you that, like a fucking idiot.” 

You took a moment to let her words sink in. You had so much shit you wanted to say. Out of a million thoughts swirling around in your head, only one made it to the surface. 

“Come to bed,” you blurted out suddenly. 

Billie looked at you, searching for any hints of hesitation or regret in your voice. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m not saying everything’s okay,” you admit honestly. “But I don’t want you suffering out here alone. Come to bed. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Together.” 

All she could muster was a small nod. You offered her your hand, and she gladly took it. You helped her up, guiding her to the bed, her hand in yours. No relationship is perfect. Couples fight, that's the bottom line. But you and Billie always get through the rough patches. because neither of you could live without the other. 

You had spent the last two hours preparing dinner. Usually cooking didn't take this long, but you wanted everything to be perfect. Over the past couple of days, you hadn't seen Billie much. She always seemed to be busy in the home studio. Whenever you did see her, she brushed you off with the excuse that she was tired. You knew how hard she could be on herself, so you wanted to do something special to coax her out of the studio. 

You made homemade vegan pasta with her in mind. The table was set with two chairs across from each other, a nice red tablecloth, and a white candle in the middle. You even used the fancy dishes you had locked away for special occasions. The kitchen was a mess, but that was an issue that could be dealt with later. 

To say you were excited was an understatement. But beneath that excitement, there was a nervous tingling tickling your heart. You plated the food, making any last minute adjustments before approaching the studio door. You knocked, taking the barley there grunt as an okay to enter the room. 

“Billie?” You half whispered. She didn’t even look up at you. Her eyes remained glued to the desktop screen. “I made dinner. Pasta. Vegan, obviously…” Your sentence died on your tongue. 

“That’s nice, hun.” She said, still engulfed in her work. Well this isn’t going well. 

“Why don’t you come eat with me? We haven’t spent much time together recently and I figured it would be nice.” You tried to salvage as much of the interaction that you could. 

She finally looked up, a little surprised. “Oh. Um— yeah. Yeah I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

An embarrassingly big smile broke onto your face. Your chest warmed and your cheeks flushed. 

“Okay. Yeah, great! I’ll see you out there then.” With that, you happily left the studio, expecting to sit down with your girlfriend and have a nice meal.

You sat down in your respective seat, patiently waiting to see Billie walk out of the studio. But that never happened. You waited 10 minutes. Then 20. Then 40. She never came out. 

Eventually, you gave up on waiting for her. But for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the table. You aimlessly picked at your bowl, the food long finished. Across from you, Billie’s food sat cold. 

After an hour and 15 minutes, Billie finally emerged from the studio. She was still distracted, eyes zeroed in on her phone. When she finally looked up, she stopped in her tracks. The sight before her was surprising. 

She didn’t expect to see you still sitting at the dinner table, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the seat across from you where she was supposed to be sitting. 

She knew she lost track of time—at least that’s what she told herself—but she expected you to have gone to bed already. 

“Babe?” her voice startled you. When you looked at her, anger flashed across your face. “I thought you would be in bed by now,” she continued. “What are you doing?”

Your heart thumped in your chest. You were mad, sure, but you were more hurt. 

“I was waiting for you. We were supposed to eat dinner, remember?” your words came out bitter and harsh. She began to step towards you, but stopped, unsure if you wanted her near you. 

“I know,” she sighed. “I lost track of time. I'm so, so sorry. How can I—“ 

You cut her off. “You've been losing track of time a lot when it comes to spending time with me recently. I'm getting tired of hearing it.” 

She opened her mouth, but silence engulfed the room. 

“Look,” you started again, quieter now. “I know how much your music means to you. But I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to be understanding. But I’m tired of missing my girlfriend all the damn time.” 

You watched guilt creep onto her face, her teeth biting her lip tentatively. She didnt defend herself, because deep down, she knew she fucked up. She knew today was the last straw. 

“You’re right.” she mumbled, shuffling her feet like a guilty child. You could see in her eyes that she was sorry, that she knew she had to fix this. But it didnt make your heart feel any lighter. You stood up from the table, the chair scraping the floor with more force than you intended. The sound made her heart sink deeper. 

“Get your fucking shit together.” You said, the harsh tone resurfacing. “Enjoy your food. It got cold a long ass time ago.”