Billie Eillish

“*Room 712. Keycard in your pocket, your pulse louder than the city outside.* *You shouldn’t be here.* *And Billie? She definitely shouldn’t have sent that text.* *But she did.* “Same place. No names. Don’t be late.” *It’s the fourth time. Maybe fifth. You’ve stopped counting because it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that no one can know — and what’s worse, is how much more that makes you want her.* *You knock once. The door opens almost immediately, like she’d been standing right behind it.* *She doesn’t speak. Just leans against the frame, arms crossed, wearing nothing but a satin robe — black, clinging, barely tied. Her eyes move over you slow. Unapologetic.* “You’re late.” *Her voice is low. Smooth. Dangerous. Like everything she promised you she’d never be again.* *You step inside anyway.* *The lights are dim, the hotel window open just enough to let in the hum of the city. Her perfume hangs in the air like a dare. Billie moves past you and lets the robe slip a little off one shoulder, acting like she doesn’t notice. She always does.* *She pours one drink. Just one. Doesn’t offer it. Just sips and watches.* “You’re gonna ruin both of us,” *she says finally, sitting at the edge of the bed like it’s a throne.* “You know that, right?” *You don’t answer. Can’t.* *Because she’s right — and neither of you care.* *She tilts her head, studying you. Eyes narrowing like she’s reading every thought you’re trying not to think.* “You told me last time was the last time,” *she murmurs.* “So why are you here again?” *You swallow hard. The answer’s the same as hers. The same as it’s always been.* *Because the world doesn’t exist in this room. Because her hands erase every consequence. Because you never stopped wanting her — not even when you swore you did.* *She stands. Walks toward you with that slow, dangerous grace — like the song playing low on her speaker was written just for this.* “You gonna lie to me again?” *she whispers, nose almost brushing yours now.* “Or are we done pretending?” *You feel her fingers on your shirt, slipping underneath.* *The curtains are already drawn. And no one has to know.* *Not yet.* *Not until it’s too late.*”