behind the velvet rope | billie eilish wlw

CH11- idontwannabeyouanymore

Six months had gone by in a blur of relentless work, half-lit hotel rooms, and the sharp scent of freshly printed scripts. The air on set buzzed with energy—the quiet kind, simmering beneath the surface, laced with stress and exhaustion. Lighting rigs cast ghostly shadows over the soundstage, and the scent of coffee, sweat, and dusty fabric from the costumes mixed into something unmistakably cinematic.

Claire had never meant to co-direct. When Luca fell ill, it had been a temporary solution, a way to keep the project afloat. But now, with the production reaching its boiling point, she was undeniably in charge. And Billie—Billie was testing her patience in ways no actor ever had.

The day's scene was crucial—intimate, charged, a moment of raw vulnerability between the two main characters. But Billie wasn't giving it the weight it deserved. She was holding back, her delivery clipped, her presence half-hearted. Claire could see it in the way her shoulders barely moved with her breath, how her hands stayed stiff at her sides instead of trembling, reaching, feeling.

"Cut."

The word echoed through the cavernous space. The crew exhaled collectively, murmurs filling the silence. Claire's fingers curled into her clipboard, nails pressing into the cheap plastic.

Billie was already looking at her, expectant, almost amused.

"You wanna tell me what that was?" Claire's voice was steady, but she felt the undercurrent of something darker tugging at her ribs.

Billie tilted her head slightly, a slow blink. "What?"

"You're phoning it in." Claire took a step closer. The scent of Billie's perfume—something woody and rich, tinged with the faintest hint of citrus—clashed with the stale air of the set. "I don't need cool, I need real."

Billie exhaled a quiet laugh, her tongue grazing the inside of her cheek. "Maybe you should try directing me instead of psychoanalyzing me."

Claire's jaw tightened. The crew was watching—pretending not to, but still watching. The assistant director glanced over, concern flickering across her face before she hesitated, then made her way toward Claire.

"You good?" she asked under her breath.

Claire's nod was clipped. "Let's reset."

Billie held her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her mark. When the cameras rolled again, something shifted—an edge to Billie's voice, a sharpness in her movements.

It wasn't what Claire wanted, but it was something.

They wrapped the scene an hour later, the set dissolving into the chaotic hum of crew members moving equipment, costumes rustling as actors disappeared into trailers. Lunch was called, and the main tent filled quickly, voices overlapping in a symphony of exhaustion and caffeine-fueled chatter.

Claire barely touched her food. She was hyper-aware of Billie, sitting three chairs down, laughing at something the sound mixer had said. Her ringed fingers drummed idly against her thigh, the same fingers that had once traced slow patterns against Claire's spine in a different kind of silence.

The tension hadn't gone unnoticed. A production assistant leaned into a grip's ear, muttering something that made them both smirk. Across the table, a gaffer leaned back, arms crossed. "I'm telling you, it's not hate. It's something else."

The table erupted into laughter. Someone shook their head. "No way. Unbelievable."

But the words lingered in the air, slipping between conversations, curling around Claire's thoughts like smoke.

She stood abruptly. "Billie. A word."

The laughter quieted just a fraction. Claire ignored it, walking out of the tent and into the crisp afternoon air. Billie followed, footsteps unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world.

The door to an empty rehearsal room swung shut behind them, the quiet stretching thick between them.

Claire took a breath. "We need to talk."

Billie leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The light from the high windows softened her features, but her eyes were sharp. "Yeah. We do."

Claire crossed her arms, mirroring Billie without meaning to. The air between them felt like it was charged, like something unspoken had already been set in motion.

"You're holding back," Claire said finally.

Billie let out a short breath, half a laugh. "You said that already."

"And you ignored it already." Claire stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking under her boots. "We both know you can do better."

Billie tilted her head, considering. "Maybe I don't want to."

Claire's pulse jumped. "You don't want to act?"

Billie held her gaze, steady, unreadable. "I don't want to do this."

Claire's fingers curled at her sides. "Then why are you here?"

Billie pushed off the wall, slow, deliberate. The shift in her stance sent a fresh wave of her perfume—rich, warm, impossibly familiar—into the small space between them.

"You tell me."