behind the velvet rope | billie eilish wlw

CH10 - hotline

The car's interior was dim, illuminated only by the soft green glow of the dashboard and the occasional wash of streetlights through the windows. The air smelled faintly of leather and something else—clean, sharp, almost metallic. Claire settled into the passenger seat, her trench coat pooling around her knees. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, fingers interlaced as though to keep them still. She could feel the heat of Billie beside her, an almost electric presence in the confined space, but she kept her gaze fixed on the blurred streaks of light outside the window.

Billie drove in silence at first. Her grip on the steering wheel was loose, one hand at twelve o'clock, the other draped lazily over the gearshift. The car hummed softly, a steady sound that filled the void between them. For a moment, it seemed as though neither of them would speak.

The city slid by in flashes of muted color—amber streetlights, neon signs reflecting off rain-slick pavement. Claire watched it all with an intensity she couldn't quite explain, as though fixing her attention outward might still the uneasy rhythm of her thoughts.

"Are you really okay with it?" Billie's voice cut through the quiet, low and even. She didn't look at Claire, her eyes staying on the road ahead.

Claire turned her head slightly, enough to see the faint profile of Billie's face—the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the shadow of her lashes against her cheek. "With what?" she asked, though she already knew.

Billie's fingers tapped the steering wheel once before going still again. "With me playing the character. I mean..." She exhaled softly, her voice lowering. "I get that it's probably hard for you. Letting go of something you've built, something that means so much to you."

The words lingered in the air between them, quiet but firm, like a stone dropped into still water. Claire felt the ripple of them move through her, and she shifted slightly in her seat, tucking one leg beneath her.

"It's not hard," Claire said finally, though the words didn't sound entirely convincing, even to herself. She glanced out the window again, watching as the city gave way to quieter streets. "It's..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze distant. She pressed her lips together, considering her next words carefully, deliberately.

"I think," she began, her tone quieter now, "there's nothing more enriching than seeing a character come to life. When they stop being just... ideas on a page, when they start breathing and moving and existing beyond what you imagined." She paused, her hands tightening slightly in her lap. "And I can see her in you. That's the part I wasn't expecting."

Billie turned her head at that, just for a moment, her eyes flicking toward Claire before settling back on the road. "What part?"

Claire hesitated, the silence stretching long enough to feel heavy, palpable. She could feel Billie waiting, the weight of her presence pressing gently but insistently against her. Finally, she exhaled, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"That you're perfect for her," Claire said, almost reluctantly, as though admitting it cost her something. "It's hard to accept that sometimes."

Billie's grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly, and she let out a soft hum, a sound that seemed somewhere between acknowledgment and thought. The air in the car felt thicker now, heavier. She wanted to ask what Claire meant by that, but something in the way Claire looked—the way her shoulders curved inward slightly, the way her eyes stayed fixed on the glass—made her hold back.

"I don't want to screw it up," Billie said instead, her voice softer now, tinged with something unspoken. "It's important to me that I get it right."

Claire turned to her then, her eyes finally meeting Billie's. There was something piercing in her gaze, something sharp but not unkind. "You won't," she said simply, the words carrying more weight than their brevity suggested.

The car slowed as they approached a red light, the glow of the brake lights casting a faint red hue over the dashboard. Billie glanced at Claire, her profile softened by the dim light. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and the quiet felt louder than anything else—the kind of silence that hummed with everything left unsaid.

When the light turned green, Billie eased the car forward, her hand shifting gears with practiced ease. She didn't look at Claire again, but her voice cut through the quiet one last time, steady and deliberate.

"I hope you'll tell me if I'm not."

Claire didn't respond immediately. She watched the road ahead, the soft blur of trees and shadows slipping past the windows. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost too quiet to hear.

"You'll know."

The car idled softly in front of Claire's building, the warm glow of the streetlights reflecting off its polished surface. Inside, the atmosphere was still, the faint hum of the engine the only sound between them. Billie rested her hands on the wheel, her fingers drumming lightly, though her gaze flickered toward Claire as if she had more to say.

Claire unbuckled her seatbelt, the click unnervingly loud in the small space. She turned toward Billie, her movements deliberate but unhurried, her face caught somewhere between hesitancy and resolve. Leaning in, she pressed a quick kiss to Billie's cheek. It was fleeting, almost too fleeting to leave a mark, but the warmth of it lingered.

"Good evening," Claire said, her voice soft but clear, words carefully measured.

"See you Friday," Billie replied, her tone steady, though her expression betrayed the slightest flicker of surprise at the kiss.

Claire opened the door, letting the cool air rush in. She stepped out, the gravel crunching faintly under her shoes. But just as she straightened up, her hand still on the door, she froze.

For a moment, she stood there, caught in a hesitation that felt heavier than it should have. The air outside seemed sharper, colder, as if urging her to act quickly before reason overtook impulse.

She leaned slightly into the open door, her voice quiet but deliberate. "You want some tea?"