Chapter 10

(Alison is a songwriter working with Finneas. Billie spends most nights in the studio, and somehow Alison becomes the person she trusts with unfinished songs and half-formed thoughts. One night Billie plays her something she isn’t ready for anyone else to hear and asks softly: “Promise you won’t leave before I finish it? )

Working with Finneas was never part of Alison’s plan.

Neither was Los Angeles.

Neither was songwriting.

And absolutely nowhere, in any version of her life, had she imagined herself sitting cross-legged on a worn studio couch at one-thirty in the morning, arguing with Billie Eilish about whether cereal qualified as dinner.

“It has vitamins,” Billie said confidently, sitting upside down in the armchair with a bowl balanced precariously on her stomach.

Ali stared.

“That’s your argument?”

“It’s fortified.”

“Billie.”

“What?”

“You’re eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“And?”

“And milk doesn’t magically turn it into a balanced meal.”

Billie grinned.

“It literally does.”

Ali laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

It had been six months since Finneas hired her.

Six months since she walked into the home studio carrying three notebooks, two pens, and enough anxiety to power half the city.

She remembered almost throwing up when Finneas introduced her.

“Ali, this is Billie.”

And there she was.

Billie Eilish.

Not in a magazine.

Not on a screen.

Standing barefoot in sweatpants with messy hair and a hoodie that looked stolen from another dimension.

Billie had waved.

“Hi.”

Just that.

Hi.

No fanfare.

No dramatic entrance.

No impossible aura.

Just a tired twenty-three-four-old girl who looked like she’d slept three hours and had somehow survived exclusively on iced coffee.

Ali had spent the next week terrified of saying anything stupid.

Which, naturally, meant she said many stupid things.

The first was accidentally insulting avocado toast.

The second was asking Billie if she ever got nervous recording.

And the third was tripping over a guitar cable in front of everyone.

Billie had laughed so hard she cried.

Not cruelly.

Never cruelly.

Just genuinely.

And somehow, after that, everything became easier.

—

By month three, Billie had developed a habit.

Actually, several habits.

Stealing Ali’s hoodies.

Stealing her pens.

Taking over the couch and refusing to move.

Showing Ali random TikToks at inappropriate moments.

And disappearing.

That was the one Ali noticed most.

Billie disappeared.

Not physically.

Not completely.

But mentally.

She’d be laughing one second and then suddenly become quiet.

Eyes distant.

Leg bouncing.

Thoughts somewhere else entirely.

Sometimes she’d stare at unfinished lyrics for twenty minutes.

Sometimes she’d sit on the floor.

Sometimes she’d leave the room entirely.

Nobody chased after her.

Nobody made a thing of it.

Least of all Finneas.

Finneas understood his sister in ways Ali could only admire.

And somehow, slowly, Billie began letting Ali see those moments too.

—

By month six, she had her own spot on the couch.

Not officially.

But unofficially.

Everybody knew it.

Finneas joked that the couch had become theirs.

Billie called it “the emotional support couch.”

And honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

Most nights ended there.

Not because they planned it.

Because they just…

Stayed.

Hours after recording.

Hours after everyone else had gone home.

Talking.

Not always about music.

Not always about important things.

Sometimes about childhood memories.

Sometimes about spiders.

Sometimes about weird dreams.

Sometimes about absolutely nothing.

And somehow those nights became Ali’s favorite part of her life.

Which was dangerous.

Because she knew exactly who Billie Eilish was.

Not the celebrity.

Not the artist.

Not the girl everyone thought they knew.

The real Billie.

The one who forgot where she put her phone six times a day.

Who cried at animal videos.

Who constantly stole blankets.

Who overthought everything.

Who hated silence after finishing songs because it made her brain too loud.

And Ali had absolutely no business falling for that girl.

None.

Which explained why she’d spent the last three weeks pretending she wasn’t.

—

Tonight had started normally.

Finneas left around eleven.

“Don’t stay up till four again,” he warned.

Billie nodded solemnly.

“Of course.”

Finneas looked directly at Ali.

“She lies.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

And then he left.

Leaving them alone.

Again.

The clock read 1:48 a.m.

Billie sat on the floor now, headphones around her neck, staring at nothing.

Ali watched quietly from the couch.

She recognized this mood.

Billie had barely spoken for fifteen minutes.

Which wasn’t unusual.

Silence with Billie wasn’t awkward.

It just… existed.

Still.

Something felt off.

She looked tired.

Not physically.

Not sleepy.

Just…

Heavy.

Eventually Ali spoke softly.

“You okay?”

Billie blinked.

“Hm?”

“You disappeared.”

A small smile.

“You notice that?”

“You do it a lot.”

Billie looked down.

“Sorry.”

Ali frowned immediately.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Billie shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

Then quieter:

“I get weird.”

Ali almost laughed.

“Weird?”

Billie nodded.

“When I can’t get things right.”

“The song?”

Billie nodded again.

“Everything.”

And there it was.

Not the answer.

The truth underneath it.

Everything.

Ali sat beside her on the floor.

Not too close.

Just enough.

“The song’s beautiful.”

Billie snorted softly.

“It’s not done.”

“Neither are you.”

Billie looked up.

Ali immediately regretted speaking.

Not because it wasn’t true.

Because it sounded too intimate.

Too honest.

But Billie just looked at her.

Really looked.

And something softened.

“That sounded wise.”

“It sounded cheesy.”

“No,” Billie smiled quietly.

“It sounded nice.”

They sat there for another twenty minutes.

Neither speaking much.

Billie fiddling with her rings.

Ali pretending not to stare.

Because God.

She was beautiful like this.

Not glamorous.

Not performing.

Just real.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because Ali wasn’t falling for Billie Eilish.

She was falling for the girl sitting on the floor in mismatched socks at two in the morning.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

—

At 2:31 a.m., Billie stood up abruptly.

“Wait here.”

Ali blinked.

“What?”

“Don’t move.”

And disappeared into the recording room.

Ali smiled to herself.

Weirdo.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then Billie returned.

Headphones in hand.

Eyes nervous.

Actually nervous.

Which wasn’t normal.

“Can I show you something?”

Ali straightened immediately.

“Always.”

Billie hesitated.

Which made Ali’s chest tighten.

Because Billie never hesitated with her.

Not like this.

“This one…” Billie swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

Ali smiled gently.

“You don’t have to.”

Billie looked at the floor.

Then quietly said:

“I know.”

Another pause.

Then softer.

“But if I show you…”

Her voice almost disappeared.

“…promise you won’t leave before I finish it?”

Billie stood there with the headphones dangling loosely from her fingers, and for the first time since Ali had known her, she looked genuinely uncertain.

Not anxious.

Not perfectionist-Billie.

Not frustrated-Billie.

Uncertain.

And somehow, that felt rarer.

Ali frowned softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Billie.”

Billie shifted her weight.

“What?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in her face changed.

Not dramatically.

Not enough that anyone else would’ve caught it.

But Ali did.

Because over the last six months she’d learned that Billie expressed half her emotions in tiny things.

The way she blinked when she was holding back thoughts.

The way her shoulders relaxed when she felt safe.

The way she stared at her rings whenever something mattered too much.

And right now she was looking at the floor.

Which meant whatever this was, it mattered.

A lot.

“Okay,” Billie whispered.

Then she disappeared back into the recording room.

Ali followed.

The room itself had become familiar.

Warm lights.

Messy notebooks.

Empty coffee cups.

Three guitars that nobody had bothered putting away.

And that smell studios somehow always had.

Wood.

Coffee.

Dust.

Music.

Home.

Billie sat in the producer chair, pulling one leg underneath herself.

Ali took her usual spot beside her.

Neither spoke.

Billie pressed play.

The song started quietly.

Different.

Not unfinished in a technical way.

Unfinished in a vulnerable way.

Like someone had opened their chest and forgotten how to close it.

Ali didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t react dramatically.

She just listened.

And Billie…

Billie watched her.

Not the screen.

Not the speakers.

Her.

Waiting.

Studying.

Like her reaction mattered more than the song itself.

When it ended, silence settled over the room.

Billie immediately reached for the keyboard.

“I know the bridge sucks.”

Ali blinked.

“What?”

“The bridge—”

“The bridge is fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“Billie.”

Billie sighed heavily and leaned back.

“I hate everything.”

Ali smiled.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’ve said that about every song I’ve ever heard you make.”

Billie frowned.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because this one is…” she stopped.

Ali waited.

Billie rubbed her eyes.

“It’s too honest.”

That made Ali pause.

Not because of the answer.

Because of how quietly she said it.

Too honest.

Most people would kill to write honestly.

But Ali had begun to understand something about Billie.

Honesty scared her.

Not because she wasn’t capable of it.

Because she was.

Too much.

She felt things deeply.

Thought deeply.

Loved deeply.

And once something became real, there was no taking it back.

“I like honest,” Ali said softly.

Billie smiled faintly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Billie nodded slowly.

Then stared at the desk.

“Sometimes I wish my brain had an off switch.”

Ali chuckled softly.

“Mine too.”

“No, seriously.”

Billie’s voice became quieter.

“I mean it.”

And suddenly Ali knew this wasn’t about music anymore.

Billie exhaled heavily.

“I don’t know how people stop thinking.”

She laughed softly.

“But then I say that and everyone’s like, ‘Meditate!'”

Ali snorted.

Billie laughed.

“No, seriously. Like thanks, Sharon. I’m cured.”

Ali laughed harder.

But Billie didn’t.

Her smile faded.

“I mean it, though.”

Silence.

“I don’t know how to turn it off.”

Ali looked at her.

And suddenly she wasn’t looking at one of the biggest artists in the world.

She was looking at a girl sitting barefoot in a studio at almost three in the morning, exhausted from fighting her own mind.

And God.

She looked lonely.

Not alone.

Lonely.

There’s a difference.

Ali didn’t answer immediately.

Because some things deserved thought.

Then softly:

“Maybe you’re not supposed to turn it off.”

Billie looked over.

“What?”

“Maybe you’re just supposed to let someone sit with you while it’s loud.”

Billie froze.

Actually froze.

Her eyes softened slightly.

Then she looked away.

“Oh.”

Ali immediately panicked.

Too much.

Too personal.

Too weird.

Abort.

“I mean—not like—”

“No.”

Billie interrupted gently.

“No.”

A small smile.

“That was nice.”

Ali exhaled.

Billie leaned back in the chair.

“You know…” she murmured.

“I didn’t think we’d be friends.”

Ali laughed.

“Neither did I.”

“No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’m serious.”

Billie smiled.

“I thought you’d hate me.”

Ali blinked.

“What?”

“You were scary.”

“Me?”

Billie pointed at her.

“You.”

Ali burst out laughing.

“I’m scary?”

“You came in with like four notebooks and looked like you were gonna report me to HR.”

Ali covered her face.

“Oh my God.”

Billie laughed too.

“You looked so serious.”

“I was terrified!”

Billie grinned.

“I know.”

Ali looked over.

“You knew?”

“You tripped over a cable.”

Ali groaned.

“Can we retire that story?”

“No.”

“Billie.”

“Never.”

They laughed together.

And when the laughter faded, neither rushed to fill the quiet.

Billie smiled softly.

“I like this.”

Ali’s heart betrayed her.

“What?”

“This.”

Billie gestured around them.

“Late nights.”

“The couch.”

“You laughing at me.”

Ali smiled.

“I don’t laugh at you.”

Billie raised an eyebrow.

“You absolutely do.”

“Because you’re ridiculous.”

Billie smiled.

“You still stay.”

The words were casual.

But they landed somewhere deeper.

Ali swallowed.

“Yeah.”

Billie looked down at her hands.

“People leave.”

Ali frowned slightly.

“What?”

Billie shrugged.

“Not forever.”

“But people move.”

“They get busy.”

“They fall out of touch.”

“It’s normal.”

She smiled sadly.

“I just suck at it.”

Ali stared.

She’d heard Billie talk about fame.

Success.

Touring.

Pressure.

But never this.

Never the quiet fear underneath.

“I don’t think you suck at it.”

Billie laughed softly.

“Ali.”

“No, seriously.”

Ali looked at her.

“You’re worth staying for.”

Billie’s eyes lifted.

And for a second neither of them moved.

Neither breathed.

Something shifted.

Not enough to break.

Enough to notice.

Billie looked away first.

A tiny smile on her face.

“You’re nice to me.”

Ali laughed softly.

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

Billie smiled.

“Don’t.”

Silence settled again.

Comfortable.

Easy.

Until Billie quietly asked:

“Can I tell you something awful?”

Ali grinned.

“Always.”

Billie groaned dramatically.

“I cried because Shark ignored me yesterday.”

Ali blinked.

“What?”

“He chose my mom over me.”

Ali stared.

“You got jealous of your own dog?”

Billie pointed.

“Exactly.”

“See, you understand.”

Ali burst out laughing.

Billie laughed too.

And somewhere between the ridiculous story and the warmth in her smile and the quiet at three-thirty in the morning…

Ali realized she was in trouble.

Because this wasn’t a crush anymore.

This wasn’t admiration.

This wasn’t harmless.

This was Billie.

Messy.

Funny.

Thoughtful.

Lonely.

Ridiculous.

Beautiful.

And terrifyingly human.

And Ali was falling.

Hard.

And judging by the way Billie kept looking at her when she thought she wasn’t paying attention…

Maybe she wasn’t falling alone.

—

Months didn’t announce themselves in studios.

They just… happened.

One day the coffee tasted the same.

The next day Ali realized she knew exactly how Billie took hers without asking.

Oat milk.

Too much ice.

Never stirred properly because she forgot and got distracted halfway through.

Time blurred like that.

Between songs.

Between late nights.

Between Billie showing up at the studio already halfway through a thought she hadn’t finished saying out loud yet.

Ali stopped noticing when it became routine.

Stopped noticing when Billie stopped being “Billie Eilish in the room” and started just being Billie.

The girl who stole her hoodie and never gave it back.

The girl who rewound songs ten times because she didn’t like the way one breath sounded.

The girl who laughed too loudly at 2 a.m. and then suddenly went quiet like she was embarrassed to exist.

The girl who always sat closer than she needed to.

—

Ali noticed something else too.

Billie didn’t like being alone after sessions anymore.

Not directly.

Never said it.

But she lingered.

Always.

Even when Finneas left early.

Even when everyone else cleared out.

Even when Ali said she could go home.

Billie stayed.

On the couch.

On the floor.

Leaning against the desk pretending she was “just finishing something” when nothing was playing anymore.

Ali pretended she didn’t notice.

Because noticing made it real.

And real things were dangerous.

—

One night, everything shifted slightly.

Not dramatically.

Not like in movies.

Just small enough that Ali replayed it in her head later and couldn’t decide when exactly it started meaning something.

It was after a long recording session.

Billie had been unusually quiet.

Focused.

Too focused.

The kind of focus that meant something was stuck in her head and refusing to leave.

Ali was packing up her things when Billie finally spoke.

“Do you think I’m difficult?”

Ali looked up immediately.

“What?”

Billie didn’t meet her eyes.

She was picking at a ring on her finger.

“I mean… to be around.”

Silence.

Ali frowned.

“Why would you ask that?”

Billie shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

A pause.

Then quieter:

“I think about it.”

Ali stopped what she was doing.

“Billie.”

Billie finally looked at her.

And Ali saw it.

That thing Billie tried to hide badly.

Fear.

Not of failure.

Not of music.

Of people.

Of losing them before she even fully had them.

“You’re not difficult,” Ali said softly.

Billie gave a half-smile.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it.”

Ali stepped closer.

“I’m telling you.”

Billie blinked.

Ali continued.

“You’re just… a lot.”

Billie raised an eyebrow slightly.

“That sounds worse.”

“No,” Ali shook her head quickly.

“It’s not bad.”

“It just means you feel things loudly.”

Billie looked away.

“That still sounds like a problem.”

Ali hesitated.

Then softer:

“Only to people who don’t know how to stay.”

That made Billie go quiet.

Completely quiet.

The room felt different after that.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… heavier.

More honest

—

Billie changed after that conversation.

Subtly.

She stopped apologizing for small things as much.

Stopped disappearing mid-thought.

Started looking at Ali longer before she left the room.

Like she was checking if she was still there.

Like she needed confirmation without asking for it directly.

And Ali started noticing something worse.

She was doing the same.

—

It happened slowly enough that neither of them labeled it.

The couch became “theirs” in a way no one said out loud anymore.

Billie would fall asleep there sometimes.

Head tilted back.

Shoes off.

Half wrapped in Ali’s hoodie.

Ali would stay later than she needed to just because Billie was there.

Sometimes they didn’t even talk.

Just existed.

Together.

—

One night, it was raining outside.

Hard enough that the studio windows vibrated slightly with it.

The city felt far away.

Muted.

Billie wasn’t working.

Neither was Ali.

They were just sitting.

Billie had her knees pulled to her chest on the couch.

Ali sat on the floor in front of her, leaning back against it.

Silence stretched for a long time.

Then Billie spoke quietly.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

Ali didn’t turn around.

“That depends on your definition of weird.”

Billie hummed.

“Fair.”

Another pause.

Then:

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

Ali blinked.

Slowly turned her head.

“Leaving… here?”

Billie nodded.

“Everything.”

Ali frowned slightly.

“Why would I leave?”

Billie shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Her voice was smaller than usual.

“People always do.”

That again.

That quiet assumption.

That certainty.

Ali turned fully now.

“Is that what you think I’m going to do?”

Billie hesitated.

Long enough that the answer mattered.

Then:

“I don’t know what I think.”

A pause.

“I just… think about it.”

Ali studied her.

Billie wasn’t joking.

Wasn’t performing.

Just sitting there with that uncomfortable honesty she only showed when she was too tired to pretend.

Ali exhaled slowly.

Then stood up from the floor.

Billie watched her carefully.

Ali didn’t move away.

She just sat beside her on the couch this time.

Closer than usual.

Billie didn’t move back.

Ali spoke quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Billie’s eyes flicked to her.

Ali continued.

“Not because I have to be here.”

“Not because of work.”

“Not because of Finneas.”

A pause.

Then softer:

“Because I want to be.”

Billie didn’t respond immediately.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her sleeve.

Ali could see it.

The moment it landed.

Not fully believed.

But felt.

Billie looked down.

“That’s dangerous,” she whispered.

Ali frowned.

“What is?”

Billie shrugged slightly.

“Believing that.”

Ali’s voice softened.

“Then don’t believe it all at once.”

Billie looked up.

Ali continued.

“Just… let it be true for tonight.”

Silence.

Billie stared at her for a long moment.

Then nodded once.

Barely.

—

Somewhere between that night and the next few weeks, something changed again.

Not a moment.

A build-up.

A gravity shift.

Billie started leaning into Ali more without realizing it.

Ali stopped pretending she didn’t notice.

They started sharing headphones during playback.

Started finishing each other’s sentences without trying.

Started sitting too close for it to be casual but not close enough to call it anything.

—

The breaking point didn’t feel like breaking.

It felt like inevitability.

It was late.

Again.

Always late.

The studio was empty except for them.

Billie had been quiet all night.

Different kind of quiet.

Not tired.

Not focused.

Something else.

Ali noticed immediately.

“You okay?”

Billie nodded too fast.

“Yeah.”

Ali didn’t believe it.

“Billie.”

That made her stop.

Billie exhaled.

“I don’t like when things get too… real.”

Ali blinked.

Billie continued.

“Because then I start thinking about them leaving before they even do.”

Silence.

Ali’s chest tightened.

She stood up slowly.

Walked closer.

Billie didn’t move.

Didn’t look away.

Ali stopped right in front of her.

“You don’t have to be scared of me leaving,” she said softly.

Billie let out a short, almost humorless breath.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It is,” Ali replied.

Billie shook her head slightly.

“It isn’t for me.”

Ali paused.

Then quieter:

“Then what would make it easier?”

Billie looked at her for a long time.

Too long.

Then:

“I don’t know.”

A beat.

Then even softer:

“I just don’t want to lose this.”

Ali’s breath caught slightly.

“This?”

Billie nodded.

Eyes not leaving hers now.

“You.”

The word didn’t feel casual.

It felt heavy.

Real.

Dangerous in its honesty.

Ali didn’t move away.

Didn’t interrupt it.

Just stood there breathing slightly unevenly.

Billie stood up too now.

Slowly.

Closing the distance that had always been shrinking anyway.

Ali didn’t stop her.

Billie stopped just in front of her.

“So don’t leave,” Billie said quietly.

Ali smiled faintly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Billie searched her face.

Like she needed confirmation beyond words.

Then softer:

“Say it again.”

Ali didn’t hesitate this time.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Billie exhaled.

And leaned in.

Slow.

Like she was afraid of the moment she’d been building toward.

Ali met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t sudden.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t unsure.

It was finally honest.

When they pulled apart, Billie stayed close.

Forehead almost against hers.

Eyes closed for a second.

Then whispered:

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Ali smiled softly.

“Neither did I.”

Billie let out a small breath that almost sounded like relief.

“Good,” she said quietly.

“Because I don’t want to stop it.”

————————————————————

HI babesss, how yall doing? how do you like the one shots so far?