Through the Lens of You | Billie Eilish fanfic

Chapter 5: Caught in the glare

The next evening, I found myself standing outside the venue again. Drew's text had come through early that morning, telling me to meet him backstage after the show. The first time was surreal enough. The second time... it felt different. Not because of the setting, but because of Billie.

There was something about her that had stuck with me. Maybe it was the way she hadn't tried to pry me open like so many others did. Or maybe it was the strange, unspoken connection we seemed to have, even after only a few minutes of conversation. It didn't make sense, but I was curious.

Drew greeted me with his usual burst of energy, but this time, he didn't hang around. "Billie wants to talk to you," he said, his grin wide and teasing like he was in on some inside joke I wasn't privy to.

I didn't ask questions. I just followed him through the hallways, feeling the low buzz of anticipation in my chest. When we reached Billie's dressing room, Drew gave me a quick nod before disappearing down the hall, leaving me alone in front of the door.

I hesitated for a second, hand hovering over the door handle. The same nerves I'd felt the night before fluttered in the pit of my stomach, but I pushed them down and knocked lightly.

"Come in" her voice called from the other side.

The room was smaller this time, and less chaotic. Billie sat cross-legged on the couch, her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, hair still damp from the post-show rush. She looked up when I entered, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"You made it," she said, her voice calm, like she'd never doubted I would.

"Yeah," I replied, closing the door behind me. "I made it."

For a moment, the silence stretched between us, but it wasn't awkward. It was like we were both waiting for something, though neither of us knew what. Billie leaned back against the couch, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve as she spoke.

"Drew said you're not really into this kind of scene. Concerts and all."

I shrugged, leaning against the wall. "I'm not, usually. But I'm here for Drew."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "And what about tonight? Still just here for Drew?"

Her question caught me off guard. I wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't exactly a lie—I was here because of Drew. But now that I was standing in this room with her, it felt like there was something more pulling me here. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Maybe," I said finally, my voice quieter than usual.

Billie's smile deepened, and for a moment, it felt like she knew something I didn't. "I'm glad you came," she said, and this time her voice was softer, more genuine. "You have a different vibe from the people I'm usually around."

"Different how?"

"I don't know... most people I meet are loud. Always talking, always wanting something. You're... quiet. It's nice. It's not forced."

I felt my usual guardedness rise at her words, but instead of deflecting, I let them sit between us. Billie had a way of cutting through the noise, of getting to the point without making it feel intrusive. It was refreshing, in a way I wasn't used to.

"I've always been quiet," I said. "People either like it or they don't."

"Well," she said, her eyes locking with mine. "I like it."

The weight of her words hung between us, and for a moment, I felt the air shift again, like there was something unsaid lingering just below the surface. I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I just stood there, my fingers twitching slightly against the strap of my camera bag.

"I saw you taking photos last night," she said after a pause. "I'm curious. Can I see them?"

I hesitated. It wasn't that I didn't want to share my work with her—it was more that my photos felt personal, like pieces of myself I wasn't ready to show. But something in her voice made me feel like it was okay. Like I didn't have to hide behind the lens with her.

"Sure," I said, pulling out my camera and scrolling through the shots. I handed it to her, and she studied the images with an intensity I wasn't expecting.

"These are amazing," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "You've got an eye for this."

"Thanks."

She flipped through a few more photos before handing the camera back, her expression thoughtful. "You should do this more often."

"Do what?"

"Take photos of people like this—people in the moment. You capture them differently, like you're seeing something the rest of us miss."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded. I wasn't used to compliments like this, especially from someone like Billie. It felt too sincere, too real.

"You don't like talking about yourself, do you?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.

I shook my head slightly, a half-smile pulling at my lips. "Not really."

"That's okay," she said, leaning back into the couch again. "I like that about you too."

The silence returned, but this time it felt different—warmer, like there was an understanding between us. Billie didn't push, didn't pry. She just let the quiet settle around us, comfortable in the spaces most people tried to fill.

After a while, I glanced at my phone, realizing how late it had gotten. "I should probably head out," I said reluctantly, not wanting to break the strange, unexpected connection we'd built.

"Yeah," she said, standing up and walking me to the door. "But... maybe we can hang out sometime. Just us. If you're up for it."

I looked at her, trying to gauge her meaning. It felt like more than just a casual suggestion, but I couldn't be sure. "Maybe," I said, echoing my words from the night before.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with something unspoken again. "Cool."

As I left the venue, I felt something shifting inside me, like the world was turning in a new direction, and I wasn't quite sure where it was heading. But for the first time in a long while, I was curious to find out.