Everything I Wanted

Walked In On - 36

The next three nights were a whirlwind of energy, music, and stolen moments hidden away from prying eyes. Billie was set to perform three consecutive sold-out shows at Spark Arena, and Story was there for every second of it, unwavering in her support.

Each evening followed a familiar rhythm—Billie's team prepping backstage, fans already screaming before she even stepped foot on stage, and Story lingering just behind the curtain, watching in awe. The way Billie commanded the space, the way her voice carried through the arena, sent chills down Story's spine every time. No matter how many times she had seen Billie perform, it never failed to leave her breathless.

Between performances, Story was Billie's grounding presence. They shared whispered conversations backstage, soft glances exchanged when no one was looking, fingers brushing in passing. It was a delicate dance—acknowledging whatever this was between them while keeping it just out of sight. They weren't ready to define it, nor were they ready to invite speculation.

The first night had been exhilarating, Billie still fueled by the high of stepping on stage for the first time in the city. She had barely contained her excitement afterward, energy buzzing through her veins, and Story had been the one to gently ease her back into the quiet. The second night, exhaustion had settled in, but so had familiarity—Billie instinctively seeking Story out in moments of reprieve, leaning against her without a word, Story's fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against her arm.

By the last night, the final show in Auckland, the energy was electrifying. Billie had given everything to the crowd, her voice raw with emotion by the time she took her final bow. Story waited for her just past the side stage, a bottle of water in hand, a proud smile on her face as Billie walked off, her chest still rising and falling from exertion.

"You were incredible," Story murmured as she handed Billie the bottle, her voice barely carrying over the ringing in Billie's ears from the cheers of the crowd.

Billie took a sip, her breath still uneven. "You think so?"

Story huffed a laugh. "I know so."

Billie reached for her hand, squeezing it briefly before dropping it again, a silent thank-you.

Later that night, after the post-show chaos had settled and they were back in the privacy of Billie's dressing room, the air between them felt different—heavier, charged with something unspoken. They were alone now, no reason to hold back the things left lingering in the spaces between words.

"You're staring," Billie noted, her voice teasing but soft.

Story flushed slightly, but didn't look away. "I just—" She paused, searching for the words. "I love seeing you like this. Doing what you love. You look—happy."

A flicker of emotion passed through Billie's gaze before she leaned in, her voice quieter now. "I am."

That was all it took.

Story closed the space between them, their lips meeting in a slow, unhurried kiss. It wasn't rushed—it was careful, intentional. Billie's hands found Story's waist, pulling her closer, while Story's fingers traced up Billie's arms, settling at the nape of her neck. The exhaustion from the night melted away, leaving only the warmth of Billie's body against hers, the taste of her lingering on her lips.

The moment stretched, deepened. Story sighed into the kiss, Billie tilting her head to deepen it further, fingers curling into the fabric of Story's hoodie. The air between them grew warmer, their breaths mingling as Billie pressed a little closer. Story's hands slipped under the hem of Billie's shirt, her fingertips ghosting over bare skin, feeling the way Billie shivered beneath her touch. Billie's fingers, now resting on Story's hips, tightened just slightly, anchoring them together as the kiss grew more insistent, more sure.

Story felt dizzy with it—the quiet intimacy, the way Billie tasted faintly of the honey lozenge she had sucked on after her performance, the way her breath hitched just slightly when Story's lips moved against hers a little more urgently. It was intoxicating. It was inevitable.

And then the door opened.

"Hey, Bill, do you—"

They jerked apart instantly, Billie's wide-eyed gaze snapping toward the doorway, where Finneas stood frozen, an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes flickered between them—Story's swollen lips, Billie's slightly disheveled appearance—before he exhaled through his nose and gave them a knowing look.

He didn't say anything. He just arched a brow, shook his head slightly, and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

A heavy silence followed.

Story felt her entire body heat up in embarrassment. "Well. That happened."

Billie groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my god."

Story let out a nervous laugh, but Billie peeked at her through her fingers and soon started laughing too. They both knew Finneas wouldn't press—at least, not right away—but they also knew this wasn't the last they'd hear about it.

"Think we should be worried?" Story asked, amusement laced in her voice.

Billie dropped her hands, smirking. "Nah. If anything, I think we should just be grateful it wasn't my mom."

Story laughed. "Good point."

They stood there for a moment, the energy shifting back to something lighter, something safe. Whatever was happening between them, it was unfolding naturally, moment by moment.

And as long as they had that, neither of them were in any rush to define it.

Words From Lana-

... i know i know, im horrible at uploading. BUT we're getting back on track, my life is way less hectic so i actually have time to write! excuse the short chapter also i just wanted to put something out!

Love,
Lana🩷