Chapter 8

(Billie and Darcie keep drawing fake tattoos on each other with markers during the Hit Me Hard and Soft Tour. Eventually those drawings becomes something Billie and darcie want permanently.)

It started as a joke.

That was always the problem with them.

Neither Billie nor Darcie ever seemed to know where jokes ended and something else began.

It was late in the tour stretch, somewhere between cities that all blurred into the same flashing highway lights. The bus hummed steadily beneath them, tired and mechanical, like it had accepted it was part of their lives now.

Darcie sat cross-legged on the floor of the lounge, a black marker spinning between her fingers.

Billie was half-curled on the couch above her, hoodie oversized, hair loose, watching her with that quiet curiosity she only ever had when she was thinking too much.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Billie said.

Darcie didn’t look up. “What thing?”

“Thinking like you’re about to start trouble.”

Darcie finally met her eyes. “What if I am?”

That made Billie smile immediately. “Then I’m listening.”

A pause.

Rain tapped against the bus windows in soft, uneven rhythm.

Darcie lifted the marker slightly.

“Tattoo challenge,” she said.

Billie raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a bad idea already.”

“It’s simple,” Darcie replied. “We draw something on each other with marker. We don’t wash it off for the whole trip.”

Billie blinked slowly. “That’s it?”

Darcie nodded.

Billie considered it for exactly three seconds.

“Yeah, okay.”

Darcie frowned slightly. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

Billie shrugged. “I’m bored and I trust you too much for my own good.”

“That sounds like a problem.”

“It is.”

But she was smiling when she said it.

The first drawing happened quietly.

Darcie sat closer this time, marker uncapped, hesitating just for a second before touching Billie’s wrist.

“Don’t move,” she said softly.

“I’m not moving,” Billie replied.

“You’re breathing too loudly.”

“That’s not a real complaint.”

Darcie didn’t answer. She just started drawing.

Slow, careful lines.

Billie watched her instead of the marker.

Not because she didn’t care what it was.

Because she cared too much about Darcie’s expression while she was doing it.

“What is it?” Billie asked eventually.

Darcie didn’t look up. “Something dumb.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“You’ll survive.”

When Darcie finally pulled back, Billie turned her wrist.

A tiny dancing frog in a tutu sat there in fine lines.

Small.

Delicate.

Ridiculous.

Billie stared at it.

Then laughed.

“Oh my God.”

Darcie smirked. “You like it.”

“It’s a frog in a tutu.”

“It’s art.”

Billie tilted her wrist again, still smiling.

“It’s kind of perfect.”

Darcie tried to hide her reaction, but she didn’t fully manage it.

Billie took the marker next.

Darcie held out her arm without hesitation.

Too easily.

Like she trusted Billie not to turn it into something she’d regret.

That alone made Billie draw slower.

More carefully than she expected to.

“What are you doing?” Darcie asked.

“Thinking,” Billie replied.

“That’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Darcie watched her the whole time.

Billie drew something small at first.

A line.

Then a shape.

Then details she didn’t fully explain out loud.

When she finished, she leaned back slightly.

Darcie turned her arm.

A spider with big, soft eyes sat on her skin.

It had a slightly crooked smile.

And a tiny party hat perched on top of its head.

Darcie stared.

Then blinked.

“…Why is it cute?”

Billie shrugged. “Why would it be scary?”

“It’s a spider.”

“And?”

Darcie looked at it again.

Against her better judgment, she smiled.

“You made it adorable on purpose.”

Billie leaned back against the couch. “Maybe I have a soft side.”

Darcie scoffed lightly. “That’s new.”

Billie didn’t deny it.

By the third day, the drawings had spread.

Hands. Wrists. Shoulders. Fingers.

Little pieces of nonsense that started to feel less like jokes and more like a language only they understood.

Billie added a tiny star near Darcie’s collarbone.

Darcie added a crooked lightning bolt on Billie’s shoulder.

“You draw like chaos,” Darcie said.

Billie smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is.”

“Liar.”

Darcie didn’t respond, but she didn’t stop smiling either.

It changed slowly.

They didn’t notice the exact moment it stopped being just a game.

But there were signs.

Longer pauses.

More silence that didn’t feel empty.

The way Billie sometimes stopped talking just to look at Darcie instead.

The way Darcie started drawing slower when Billie was watching.

The way neither of them washed anything off anymore, even when they could have.

Even when they should have.

It happened in a hotel room near the end of the stretch.

Too quiet.

Too late.

Billie sat on the edge of the bed, turning the marker in her hand.

Darcie stood near the window, city lights bleeding into the glass like they didn’t know where to go.

Billie spoke first.

“We’re not pretending this is nothing anymore, right?”

Darcie didn’t turn around immediately.

When she did, it felt like a decision.

“No,” she said.

That word changed the air completely.

Billie stood up.

Slow.

Careful.

Like something fragile might break if she moved too fast.

“I think we’ve been building something without saying it,” Billie admitted.

Darcie gave a quiet, almost nervous laugh. “Yeah. That sounds like us.”

Billie stepped closer.

One step.

Then another.

Until the space between them stopped feeling like space at all.

“I like what you drew on me,” Billie said softly.

Darcie blinked. “The frog?”

Billie nodded.

“It feels like you.”

Darcie looked away for a second.

Then back.

“I like your spider,” she admitted.

Billie smiled faintly. “Yeah?”

“It’s… weirdly comforting.”

That made Billie pause.

Then she whispered:

“That’s you too, I think.”

A beat.

Then another.

The silence this time wasn’t hesitation.

It was understanding.

Billie lifted her hand slightly.

Darcie’s wrist still had the dancing frog.

Darcie’s finger still had the spider in a party hat.

Billie exhaled softly.

“I don’t want this to end when the tour does,” she admitted.

Darcie looked at her properly.

“I don’t either.”

That was enough.

Billie stepped forward.

Darcie met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was careful at first, like both of them were checking if it was real.

Then it softened.

Then it stayed.

When they pulled apart, Billie let out a small breathless laugh.

“We’re going to have to explain the tattoos if anyone asks.”

Darcie smiled slightly.

“We won’t.”

Billie nodded. “Yeah. Probably better that way.”

A pause.

Then softer:

“I think I’d do it again.”

Darcie didn’t hesitate this time.

“Me too.”

And for once, neither of them treated it like a joke anymore.