Jordan POV
Stepping onto the plane alone, I offered a quick greeting to the stewardess and pilot stationed at the entrance.
Finding my seat in the overstuffed aisle—luggage crammed into every overhead bin—I checked my ticket for the fifth time. Finally, I spotted it. I settled into the aisle seat, and the happiness I’d felt just minutes ago evaporated. Why do I feel so lost already, even though we just met?
Trying to ignore the ache, I plugged in my AirPods and hit play. Derek King’s “Tetris” drifted through my ears, pulling me back into my own small, sad world. After five minutes, the plane finally lifted off.
I wondered what Billie was doing. Was she thinking about me too? Probably not. Why would she?
A tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality. I turned around. A friendly stewardess held out a folded piece of paper.
“Here you go, Jordan. This is for you. From Ms. Billie Eilish.” She smiled.
Eilish. That’s why she felt so familiar. *Billie Eilish*. Oh my god. I’m such an idiot. How could I forget? So embarrassing.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, still reeling. Taking the note.
I opened it, noticing the stewardess still standing beside me, eagerly waiting for me to read it. She nodded, encouraging me to continue.
The note read:
Hey J, It’s Billie. I hope you still know who I am. Jk I’m bored. Wanna come over to first class? There’s an empty seat right next to me and I could use some ‘boring’ company right now. ;-) Think about it. - Bil
Wait, what? She really wants me to come to first class? Wait. Seriously? Is this…
“Madam? What do you think? Do you want to change your seat to first class?” She asked, her tone kind.
“Uhm, yeah—yeah, of course. Let me jus—” I stuttered, not knowing what was coming next.
I was excited as hell, but also confused and overwhelmed. Billie was being way too nice to me. Why does she care? Who’s paying for the upgrade?
I grabbed my backpack and stood up. By now, everyone around us was staring.
“Come on, don’t be shy. Ms. Eilish insisted on inviting you. She’ll be very happy,” the stewardess smiled, gesturing for me to follow.
“Insisted.” Damn. This probably means more to her than I thought.
I followed her to the entrance to the first-class area.
“Here we are. I’m going to escort you to your seat.”
Walking in, I could already tell it was quieter and more comfortable. Duh.
I scanned the booths, and immediately the green of Billie’s hair caught my eye. Of course. You could find her in a crowd of thousands.
“Ms. Eilish. Your guest,” the stewardess said, leaving us alone. Standing next to Billie’s seat—her booth attached to mine—it felt surreal.
“Jordan, hey. Thank you for coming.” Billie greeted me, her smile wide and genuine.
“Hi,” I blurted out, my cheeks burning.
“Thank you so much, Billie, but you really didn’t need to do this. Thank you a lot,” I apologized, stumbling over my words.
“Hey, stop. I insisted. It’s my pleasure to have you here. It’s so boring alone. Finneas’ seat is so far away. My manager booked it wrong. But now I’m good,” she smiled.
“Come on, don’t stand there like a tree in the forest. Sit down,” she pointed to the other booth.
I’d never been in first class. Everything felt new and special. I felt special *with her*.
I sat down and put my backpack away. Looking at Billie, I blushed because she was already looking at me—as always.
“Aw, you’re all blushy and shit. Cute,” she teased, winking.
“Stop, I’m not. You’re the one who wanted me here,” I said, embarrassed but happy.
“You can leave anytime. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage. Unless you want me to,” Billie winked again.
Ugh. I was about to explode from all the butterflies in my stomach.
“Okay, let’s watch a movie.” She broke the awkward silence. Thank God.
“Yes. We should. What movie though?” I asked, hoping she didn’t want to see anything scary. I hate scary movies.
“Let’s see what they have.” She scrolled through the movie options on the screen attached to the back of the seats.
“Oh, I got one!” Billie yelled, a little too loud.
“Oops, sorry. That was loud,” she laughed.
“Which one?” I asked, my anxiety rising because I was scared she would choose something terrifying.
“The Purge. Such a good one. Come on, turn it on,” she said, handing me my headphones.
Fuck. Out of millions of movies, she chose *that* one? The scariest movie out there?
“What are you waiting for, J? Turn it on!” Billie said, losing patience.
“Can’t we watch something that’s not that scary?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t laugh at me.
“Wait, you’re scared? That’s fine. I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about, mama. We can turn it off anytime we want,” Billie said, her concern softening her features. She was so cute.
“Do we really have to? Ugh. Man.”
“Jordan, it’s not that bad. You can hold onto me or something if you get scared. That will help,” she said, turning on the movie on my screen as well.
I put on my headphones and stared at the screen. Our movies played in sync. I felt her gaze on me, checking if I was okay.
After the first twenty minutes, the movie got genuinely scary, and my anxiety spiked.
“Oh hell nah!” I jumped, reflexively cuddling up to Billie, holding onto her arm and covering my eyes with it.
“You’re such a baby,” Billie said, laughing. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, “protecting” me from the movie.
I felt so safe in her arms.
*TIME SKIP*
Billie POV
I woke up, confused. Did I fall asleep? Wait. Jordan was laying in my arms.
The credits of the movie were rolling. We’d slept through most of it. Good for her.
Jordan looked so peaceful, slumped against me. I tightened my hold, wanting to make her feel safe after her terrifying experience.
She stirred, and I immediately looked at her. We stared into each other’s eyes—and souls. Both of us getting lost in the moment.
I felt a feeling I couldn’t explain, a pull I didn’t recognize. Was it her?
“Hi,” Jordan said cutely, blushing.
“Hey, cutie,” I blurted out. I didn’t mean to say that. Oh my god. The tension between us felt new, electric.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Ew.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. It was cute, if I’m being honest.”
Okay, things were getting…romantic. I just didn’t know this feeling—not with a girl.