Victim of the Symptom(billie joe armstrong x reader)

The Crossroads

A few days had passed since Billie's breakdown, but the memory of it still clung to Lila like a shadow she couldn't shake. She hadn't heard much from him since that night. Part of her was relieved, but another part was filled with an unbearable silence. She spent those days trying to piece herself back together, replaying the chaos in her mind over and over. The tears, the shouting, the sound of his body hitting the pavement as he collapsed—every second had been burned into her.

It was early afternoon, and the apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the TV. Lila had been sitting at her kitchen table, sipping coffee that had long gone cold. The weight of everything pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had been trying to distract herself, but the tension in her body wouldn't release. Every minute, she expected something—anything. Some word from Billie, from Mike or Tre. Anything that could make sense of the storm she had been thrown into.

A sudden knock on the door made her heart skip a beat. Lila froze, her grip tightening on the coffee cup. For a moment, she didn't move. Then the knock came again—three times, loud and insistent.

She knew who it was before she even got up.

When she opened the door, Billie Joe stood there, looking like he'd been through hell. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, and there was an unshaven roughness to his face. He looked thinner, worn down. But what struck her most was the look in his eyes—shame, regret, and something desperate.

"Lila," he said softly, his voice still carrying the gravelly rasp from days of recovery.

Lila didn't say anything. She just stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a split second, she wanted to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go away and never come back. But instead, her hands shook, and she stepped aside, letting him in.

Billie walked inside slowly, awkwardly, like he wasn't sure he had the right to be there. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, his whole demeanor screaming guilt. When the door clicked shut behind him, the silence in the room grew thick, suffocating.

"I didn't know where else to go," Billie muttered, barely able to meet her eyes. "I... I had to see you."

Lila crossed her arms tightly over her chest, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She could feel the tears already starting to sting at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't want to break—not yet.

"Do you even know what you did to me, Billie?" Her voice was quieter than she expected, but each word was sharp. "Do you even have a fucking clue?"

Billie's face crumpled. "Lila, I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me..."

Lila's breath hitched as she shook her head, pacing the small space of the living room. "Sorry? You're sorry? That doesn't change the fact that I watched you nearly fucking die in the middle of the street, Billie! In front of everyone. I couldn't— I didn't know if you were gonna make it."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her eyes wild with the weight of everything she had been bottling up. "I was terrified. I've never felt so fucking helpless in my life!"

Billie's face paled, his throat tightening as her words hit him hard. The pain on her face—it gutted him. He wanted to say something, anything, to make it better, but the words caught in his throat like barbed wire.

"I know," he choked out. "I know I fucked everything up. I didn't mean for it to get that bad. I didn't mean to scare you."

Lila's voice cracked, and she wiped angrily at her tears. "It's always the same, Billie. You drink, you say you're sorry, and then you do it all over again! How many more times can I watch you destroy yourself before... before there's nothing left?"