Through the Lens of You | Billie Eilish fanfic

Chapter 6: Fragments of time

The first time I traveled for one of Billie's concerts, it felt strange. Not the kind of strange that makes you turn around, but the kind that pulls you in, making you wonder why you're doing it and not really caring about the answer.

It wasn't that I'd planned to become some concert groupie or start trailing after Drew wherever the tour led. But after that first night, when he casually mentioned that they'd be playing in a city not too far from Chicago, something inside me just... clicked.

The next thing I knew, I was on a train, camera bag slung over my shoulder, heading to meet Drew and the crew in St. Louis. He'd invited me, of course, insisting it would be "just for fun." But I knew Drew too well—he had a way of knowing things before I even did.

It wasn't the last time I'd make a trip like that, either.

From city to city, I found myself slipping into their world. Sometimes, I'd catch a ride with the crew after a show, Billie's team joking around and swapping stories while we sped toward the next destination. Other times, I'd head out on my own, buying last-minute tickets and navigating unfamiliar streets just to meet them.

Every city was a blur—new faces, new venues, new noise. But somehow, through it all, I kept finding Billie.

It wasn't always planned. Sometimes we'd barely cross paths—she'd wave at me from a distance before getting pulled into some press interview or backstage meeting. Other times, we'd end up sitting in the same room for hours, talking about everything and nothing while the world spun around us.

And every time, it felt like we were getting closer.

One evening, after a particularly intense concert, Drew nudged me toward Billie's dressing room again. "She asked if you were here,"  he said with a smirk, before disappearing down the hall.

I knocked on the door, hearing Billie's voice faintly through the hum of post-show activity. She sounded tired, but when she opened the door, her face lit up with a smile.

"You're still here," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I thought you'd leave after the concert."

"I figured I'd stick around for a bit," I replied, stepping into the room. "If that's okay."

"It's more than okay." She flopped onto the couch, kicking off her sneakers, her legs curling up beneath her. "I need a break from all this. You're like a quiet corner in the middle of the storm."

I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Billie's words always had a way of disarming me, making me feel exposed in a way I wasn't used to. Most people just talked, but with her, it felt like everything she said carried weight. Like she saw something in me that I wasn't ready to see in myself.

"Tour life must be intense,"  I said, sitting in a chair opposite her, careful to keep my camera strap from tangling as I adjusted.

She nodded, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. "It's insane, honestly. You're always moving, always performing, even when you're not on stage. It's like there's no time to just... exist, you know?"

I did know, in a way. My life was nothing like hers, but I understood what it felt like to lose yourself in the rush of things, to feel like you had to keep up with the world or risk being swallowed by it. But Billie's life seemed like that times a thousand.

"Do you ever get used to it?" I asked.

Billie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't think you ever really do. You just learn how to survive it."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd crossed some invisible line. But then she leaned back against the couch cushions, her gaze softening. "I don't mean to sound dramatic. I love what I do, I really do. It's just... hard sometimes. And no one close to me really gets that."

I nodded, not pushing any further. Silence settled between us again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was that same quiet understanding we'd shared since the first night we met—an unspoken agreement that we didn't need to fill the gaps with unnecessary words.

After a while, Billie glanced at the door, her eyes flicking toward the noise outside. "Do you want to get out of here for a bit? Just for a little while."

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Now?"

"Yeah, why not?" she said, standing up and grabbing a baseball cap off the table. "I know a place. It's close by. Nothing fancy, just... quiet."

I hesitated for a second, but there was something about the way she looked at me, like she needed this, like I was the only person who could offer her a moment of peace. So I nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

We slipped out a back exit, away from the crew and the noise, Billie pulling the cap low over her face as we walked. The city buzzed around us, but for once, it didn't feel overwhelming. Maybe it was because of Billie, or maybe it was because we were walking in silence, our footsteps the only sound between us.

We ended up in a small 24-hour café. The walls were lined with old records, and the air smelled like coffee and fresh pastries. Billie led us to a corner booth, away from the windows, and ordered two cups of tea without asking.

"It's my favorite spot around here," she said as we sat down. "No one bothers me here. It's like I can just be... normal for a minute."

I didn't say anything, but I could see it—the way her shoulders relaxed, the tension easing from her face. This was what she needed. Not the flashing lights or the roar of the crowd, but something simple, something quiet.

We talked about nothing and everything for the next hour. Music, art, the kind of projects I was working on. She asked about the theaters I'd photographed, about the actors I'd met. I asked her about tour life, and what it was like to be on stage every night. It was easy, the conversation flowing like we'd done this a hundred times before.

At one point, Billie caught me studying her hands as she absentmindedly traced patterns on the table. She glanced up, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing smile. "You're always watching, aren't you?"

I felt a flush rise in my cheeks but shrugged it off. "It's kind of my job."

"Yeah, but it's more than that," she said, her voice soft. "You see things. Like, really see them."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I didn't. But Billie didn't seem to mind. She just smiled and took another sip of her tea, letting the moment pass.

**

By the time we left the café, the city had quieted down. The streets were mostly empty, the air cool against my skin. Billie walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed every now and then. She didn't say much, but she didn't have to. The moment was enough.

When we got back to the venue, Drew was waiting by the door, his phone glued to his hand as he gave me a mock glare. "You ditch me for Billie, and now you're back, huh?" he teased.

Billie smirked, tipping her cap at him. "You'll survive."

Drew shook his head, but I could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You two are trouble."

As we parted ways, Billie caught my arm for a second, her grip light but firm. "Thanks for tonight," she said, her voice low, just for me.

"Anytime" I replied, and for the first time, I realized I meant it.

That night, already in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about the café, about the quiet moments we'd shared away from the world. It wasn't much, just fragments of time snatched between the chaos, but it felt like more.

And that was what scared me the most.