What he dosen't know | Billie Eilish

We stumbled through the front door of Billie's place, laughing like idiots.

I was barefoot, my heels dangling from one hand, the other gripping Billie's as we tried not to trip over ourselves.

I snorted, nearly dropping my shoes as I kicked the door shut behind us.

The house was dark except for the soft glow of a lamp in the hallway. Everything felt fuzzy — in the good way. Warm skin, tired muscles, that floaty feeling of too much tequila and too many compliments.

I dropped my shoes and made a beeline for the couch, collapsing face-first onto the cushions with a dramatic groan.

"My feet hate me."

Billie followed behind me, slower but just as tipsy, her suit jacket now draped over one arm and her hair a total mess in the cutest way.

"Same," she muttered, before throwing herself directly on top of me with a loud groan.

I wheezed out a laugh as her full weight pressed into me.

"You're heavy."

"I'm perfect," she mumbled into my shoulder.

"Delusional, but okay."

She nuzzled into my neck, her voice muffled.

"Shhh. You love it."

I groaned into the couch cushion.

"We have to go to bed."

From somewhere on top of me, Billie groaned dramatically.

"Nope. Absolutely not. We're doing skincare first."

"Billie, come on..." I whined.

"Get up, baby," she said, already tugging at my hand. "You are not going to bed with glitter in your pores. I have standards."

She pulled me up and half-dragged me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, I reached back to unzip my dress. It slid off me in a soft swoosh, pooling on the bathroom floor like a puddle of pastel silk. I stepped out of it and flopped into the little vanity stool in just my bra and panties.

"Okay. Do your thing. Save my face."

Billie was still in her black pants and a bra, barefoot now, her hair messy and wild, cheeks flushed. She looked at me like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or kiss me.

Instead, she grabbed a bottle of micellar water and a cotton pad.

"Sit still, drama queen."

I smiled lazily as she stood in front of me and gently cupped my chin. She leaned in, brushing the cotton pad over my cheek with the softest touch.

"You're so pretty," she murmured.

"Even with raccoon eyes?" I asked, blinking up at her.

"Especially with raccoon eyes."

She moved to the other cheek, wiping with care, thumb lightly grazing my jaw. Her brows furrowed with concentration, like I was some delicate piece of art.

"This might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."

She paused, pad still in hand, and smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Billie leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to my lips — soft, sweet, skin still warm from the alcohol and laughter.