Haunted Melodies - Billie Eilish Story

Reaching for light

Reaching for Light

The studio lights were dim, casting soft shadows across the room as Y/N sat at the piano. The notes hung in the air, haunting and fragile, but every time their fingers pressed the keys, it felt like something inside them was slipping further away. The weight of everything—the past, the memories, the guilt—clung to Y/N like an anchor, pulling them deeper into a sadness they couldn’t shake.

Billie sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, her back against the wall, watching Y/N with quiet intensity. She could sense it, the way Y/N’s energy had shifted over the past few days. They were trying, but the darkness was creeping back in, threatening to swallow them whole.

“Y/N,” Billie said softly, her voice gentle, almost hesitant.

Y/N’s hands stilled on the keys, the last note lingering in the air. They didn’t turn to look at her, but they didn’t have to. Billie had a way of seeing through them, straight to the heart of whatever storm was raging inside.

“I’m fine,” Y/N mumbled, though their voice cracked. It was the same lie they had told themselves countless times before, but it felt thinner, more fragile now.

Billie pushed herself up from the floor and walked over to the piano, leaning against the side of it. Her arms crossed, and for a moment, she just watched Y/N, not saying anything, not pushing.

“I don’t believe you,” she finally said, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, their fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the keys. They wanted to say something, anything, to reassure her. But the words wouldn’t come. All they could feel was the crushing weight of their own thoughts, the way the sadness had become too much to carry alone.

Billie hesitated for a second before she reached out, gently placing her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it broke something inside Y/N. Their vision blurred, and before they could stop it, tears started to spill down their cheeks, silent but unstoppable.

Billie didn’t say anything. She just slid onto the piano bench beside them, her presence close and comforting. Y/N didn’t try to wipe the tears away, didn’t try to pretend anymore. It was like the dam they’d been holding up for so long had finally burst.

“I don’t know how to keep doing this,” Y/N whispered, their voice shaking. “I don’t know how to get better.”

Billie’s hand found Y/N’s and squeezed gently. She didn’t try to offer platitudes or empty reassurances. Instead, she leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder, her touch soft but grounding.

“I don’t know either,” Billie whispered back, her voice almost as fragile as Y/N’s. “But you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

For a moment, Y/N couldn’t breathe. The tears came harder now, their chest heaving with quiet sobs. The grief, the trauma, the feeling of being so lost—it all poured out of them, like they had been holding onto it for too long.

Billie didn’t move. She stayed right there beside them, her head resting on their shoulder, her hand still gripping theirs. The room was silent, save for the sound of Y/N’s quiet cries, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt like something was shifting, something was softening in a way that Y/N hadn’t allowed themselves to feel before.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N choked out between sobs. “I’m such a mess.”

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling this way,” Billie said gently, her voice steady despite the emotion in it. “You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

Y/N squeezed their eyes shut, trying to swallow the lump in their throat. The guilt they carried was still there, but Billie’s words were like a small light in the darkness, reminding them that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to not have everything together.

Billie pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she repeated, her voice firmer this time. “I’m here. And so is Finneas. We’re not going anywhere.”

Y/N couldn’t speak. The words felt too heavy, too tangled in their chest. But the look in Billie’s eyes, the way her voice softened when she spoke to them—it was enough to remind Y/N that they weren’t completely lost. Not yet.

“I know it feels like everything’s falling apart,” Billie continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we can figure it out together, okay?”

Y/N nodded, the tears still falling, but for the first time in a long while, they didn’t feel so suffocating. There was still sadness, still so much pain, but Billie’s presence made it feel bearable, like Y/N wasn’t drowning alone.

Without thinking, Y/N leaned into Billie, resting their head against her shoulder. Billie didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Y/N, holding them close in a way that felt more comforting than anything Y/N had felt in years.

For a long time, they sat like that. Y/N’s breath started to even out, their sobs fading into quiet sniffles. Billie didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence. She just let Y/N be, holding them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was the kind of comfort Y/N hadn’t known they needed. A quiet, unspoken understanding that sometimes, the best way to help someone heal wasn’t with words, but with presence. With just being there.

Eventually, Y/N pulled back, wiping at their tear-streaked face with the back of their hand. They felt raw, exposed, but lighter somehow, like they had let go of just a small piece of the burden they’d been carrying for so long.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, their voice barely audible.

Billie gave them a small, soft smile, her eyes still full of that quiet understanding. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re friends. This is what friends do.”

Friends. The word felt strange, but comforting. It was something Y/N hadn’t let themselves believe they deserved for a long time. But Billie’s words were genuine, and for once, Y/N let themselves believe that maybe, they weren’t so alone after all.

Just as they were settling back into the moment, the door to the studio creaked open. Finneas poked his head in, his face a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked gently, stepping inside when he saw Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

Y/N gave him a small nod, their chest still tight but not as overwhelming as before. “Yeah. I think I’m okay.”

Finneas smiled softly, walking over to join them at the piano. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask for details. He just sat on the floor beside them, leaning his back against the side of the piano, his presence as quiet and steady as ever.

For a moment, the three of them sat there in comfortable silence, the weight of the world feeling just a little lighter.

“Wanna hear something I’ve been working on?” Finneas asked, breaking the quiet. His tone was light, but there was a softness to it, like he knew they needed something to lift the mood.

Y/N nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Finneas picked up his guitar, strumming a soft, melodic tune that filled the room with warmth. It was calming, like a balm for Y/N’s frayed nerves. As the music flowed, Y/N closed their eyes, letting themselves get lost in it.

Billie hummed along, her voice soft and soothing, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N felt a flicker of peace.

It wasn’t much. Just a quiet moment shared with friends. But for Y/N, it was everything. It was hope, wrapped in the simplest of things—music, friendship, and the understanding that they didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep going.

As the music filled the room, Y/N allowed themselves to smile—a small, tentative thing, but real. It was a start. A fragile step toward something better. Toward healing.

And with Billie and Finneas beside them, maybe—just maybe—they would find their way out of the dark.