Fever Dream

Kalena

It was supposed to be a normal day.

I had a photoshoot in Venice Beach, Billie had a meeting with her label, and we were going to meet back up in the evening for tacos and cuddles. That was the plan. Easy. Sweet. Normal.

But nothing about this thing with Billie ever stayed normal for long.

I got to the studio, makeup half done, coffee in hand, when Armani sent me the link.

"You seen this?"

It was a tabloid article. One of the bigger ones. Not some Reddit thread or TikTok whisper. No, this one had weight. Publicity.

The headline made my stomach drop:

BILLIE EILISH SPOTTED LEAVING MYSTERY GIRL'S APARTMENT—NEW LOVE INTEREST?

I clicked on it before I could stop myself.

Photos. Grainy, but clear enough.

Billie. Hoodie. My building. The timestamp was two mornings ago. Her arm around me. Me, blurry and unidentifiable—barely—but there.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe.

Not because we got caught. But because of what the article said.

Sources claim Billie's reps refused to comment. Identity of the girl unknown. Possibly not serious.

Possibly. Not. Serious.

The words burned.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe I shouldn't care what press outlets said. But part of me had let this thing with Billie bloom in secret, because I thought we were protecting something fragile, something sacred. Not because it wasn't serious.

I texted her.

did you see that article?

She didn't reply immediately.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Twenty.

Finally:

yeah. i'm sorry. it's bullshit.

they said it's not serious. is that what you told them? I ask

i didn't tell them anything. they don't know anything. she replied

it doesn't feel that way.

Nothing for a long time.

And then:

can i see you later?

I didn't reply. Not yet.

The makeup artist asked me if I was okay. I said yes. I lied.

Because all I could think was: I let her in.

And now the whole world was watching.

-

The shoot dragged.

My poses felt stiff. My smile felt fake. I kept blinking like the lights were too bright, but really it was the weight of all of it pressing down on my chest.

In between takes, I scrolled through the article again. Read the comments. Let them get under my skin.

"Bet she's another random." "Billie's just playing around." "Where's the real tea?" "Can't even see her face. Probably nothing."

Nothing.

That word rattled in my bones.

After the shoot, I went home and slammed the door behind me. Ivana and Armani were in the kitchen, frozen mid-bite when they saw my face.