Cheaters = Losers

He eased himself off of me, seemingly unfazed unlike myself, who was in a bit more of a state than I'd liked to admit. Billie Joe just stared at me. Right into my eyes. Even the silence surrounding us felt supercharged.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured while holding my waist gently, his thumbs tracing over my jeans leaving trails of sparks. I could feel my breathing speeding up even more, my pulse racing at a dizzying rate, my breath coming out in shaky puffs, little bumps and shivers dancing across my skin after his fingers. He looked at me from under his lashes, all smirk and hair and glittering eyes,

"Stay the night?"

I was shocked to say the least. And if the loud and involuntary gasp didn't tell Billie that I was slightly offended then he was blind or whatever.
"Billie Joe! No!" His eyes widened and in the dark I noticed they had an eerie green glow, added to by the charcoal pull of the eyeliner, the shadows cast a gloomy shadow on his face, making his eyes burning embers in hollow pits, his features thrown into disproportion. I frantically scrambled away from him, keeping a safe distance between myself and the punk rocker.

"I'm not going to have sex with someone I just met! Especially after breaking up with my boyfriend like five hours ago!" Billie moved a fraction and the light fell back onto his face, chasing away the ominous shadows. I could see the blood rushing to his cheeks, tinting them even though he tried to play the blush down. He'd stepped away from me too, head down and shuffling his feet. Immediately my stomach dropped and I felt awful, I just assumed the worst of him, this man was my hero and my idol and I'd loved him for as long as I could remember, and here I was thinking things like that about him.
"You think I'm like that? Like every other douchebag pop-star that fucks the first vulnerable chick they can get their hands on?" His voice had an edge to it, something dangerous and I hated how it drew me to him even more, he wore offence well.
"You think I'm vulnerable?"
"No I, no, no, I meant, y'know, because you're a girl and you're clearly alone-" He gestured around a bit, clearly unable to vocalise what he was thinking. I understood him anyway.
"Think carefully about what you're about to say." I warned him with a raised eyebrow, I couldn't just drop all my suspicions so I played the act a little longer.
"Did I mention that I love your accent?" He changed tactic, back to flirting and flattery, not that it really mattered.
"Thank you, but I don't even know you and you asked me to 'stay the night', how am I supposed to take it?"
"As a way to...I don't know! Y'know, help you? Put a roof over your head?" His voice softened and I let him grab my arms as he forced me, very gently, to look at him. His eyes were wide, begging and dilated. I gave him a small smile.
"I'm sorry, I just assumed you rock stars are all sex, drugs and violence," He grinned, but his eyes stayed soft as if he was seeing right into my soul, reading me like a book.
"We are, you're just special, Lily," he shuffled even closer to me, I didn't know that was possible, but I could feel the heat radiating off him in waves and crashing onto me like an electric tide, something I liked, a lot. "You said you felt it too, this thing, at least honor it?" The toes of our beat up Converse were touching and he leaned in slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he kissed me.

Billie Joe has very pretty eyelashes.

Our lips were barely touching, but even so it carried an almost unbearable heat, almost. It was as if he was trying to push all of his emotions, everything that he couldn't say, into this simple gesture and goddammit this American idiot could work magic.

I finally moved, placing my palms flat against his chest, lightly pushing him away. He barely responded, my hands stayed on his chest, just disconnecting our lips but staying so close that I could feel his breath fanning over me. His chest was moving a bit more rapidly and I could feel his heartbeat thudding beneath my hands.
"I must be mad," I mumbled to myself, then louder, I must like kissing Billie. A lot. "Okay. I'll go with you." He pulled away and did an amusing little victory dance before sweeping down and engulfing me in a hug.

~~~~~

"Your bus is huge." Was the first thing I said when Billie helped me up into the tour bus, he just grinned at me and took my rucksack doing an over exaggerated "umph" at the weight of it, making me laugh. In front of me there was a lounge/kitchen area which looked like the boys' hang out spot when they were on the road. It was equipped with a microwave, a stove that looked like it'd never been used, a sink and a fridge and in the open plan space there was a massive sofa, a TV mounted on the wall and a stand with a few guitars and basses and a fucking drum kit. I felt sorry for the driver if they had rehearsals on the road. There were a few rickety stacks of DVDs and CDs and scattered around the place was open cases, magazines (no need to guess what type they were) wrappers and the odd item of clothing or guitar pick. Billie Joe shrugged at me, but there was the red on his cheeks again as he kicked a magazine that was opened and flashing a rather large pair of fake boobs out of sight.
"We're guys, we get messy, y'know?" At the back of the room was a blue patterned door with '¡TRÉ!' splashed across it. Billie led me through it to a complete mess of a room, my heart sank and I hoped it wasn't his. It smelt of weed and smoke, there was rubbish and really strange clothes everywhere along with random broken drum parts and drumsticks and lots of dirty magazines laid open and the bed unmade. "Tré's," Was all Billie said, not that he needed to, laughing a little and kicking some stuff out of the way to get to the next door, which was orange with ¡DOS! on it that led to an identical room, this one was clearly Mike's, based on the rack of basses against the one wall. It was surprisingly neat, with nothing looking out of place or like it shouldn't be there. Billie continued walking to where there was a final door, ¡UNO!

"Your room?" He turned to smile at me as he opened the door, pulling out the black scarf that had been hanging out of his back pocket and tying it around the handle. "So they don't come charging in," He said noticing me looking at the scarf, I'd refuse to admit it, but my heart rate sped up. "After you,"

I was stood in the middle, staring around his room in silent awe, I was in Billie fucking Joe Armstrong's room on the Green Day tour bus and it was better than I'd ever imagined it. His room was the nicest of the three: he'd kept it tidy, but it was a bit more natural than Mike's, clearly Billie spent time in his room. He had a large window along the back wall (it was so tinted I hadn't even realised it was a window when we walked past it) and his bed was pushed right against it, made, but the sheets were a little rumpled as if he'd sat on them since then. There was the small door off to the side that the other's had, what I guessed was an en suite. He'd decorated a little bit, I guess you could call it decoration - Billie had just hung a few posters of some other bands and such around the room. He had a small wardrobe but I guessed most of their clothes were kept on the support busses that went with them and he had an average TV, beside which were several stacks of precariously balanced books. On the final wall there was a guitar stand holding the world famous Blue and an acoustic, both mounted carefully on the wall and beside that there was a small amp and a desk with sheets of paper, notebooks and random bits of stationery scattered across it. Billie was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and he looked a bit nervous, as if he was worried I'd hold it against him.
"So, this is my room. Sorry, you have to walk through Tré and Mike's to get to it," I grinned at him.
"It's fine, I love it," He'd balanced my backpack in a corner and it looked like it'd always been there. I gestured to Blue,
"Is that-"
"The original? Yeah," He looked at the guitar lovingly and relaxed as he was let into talking about his area of expertise "She's kinda a lucky charm, y'know?" I nodded.

As my eyes scanned over the tottering pile of books I recognised a lot of the covers. The one on top was mangled almost beyond recognition, the once red cover a faded orange and was creased so much. I picked it up with care and my favourite scent of old book wafted up with a familiar crunch of old pages and the tentative worry that the damn thing might fall apart. My eyebrow quirked up as I regarded him with an amused look.
"The Cather In The Rye?" As I spoke he turned away from me, his shoulders drawing up as his movements became stiff and unnatural while he falsely moved papers that were already tidy. He spoke like that, too, avoiding looking at me,
"I like classics." I watched his posture remain stiff and I kept silent waiting for him to turn around. The second his eyes caught mine, showing me just how apprehensive he was, my face cracked into a grin.
"Snap," I laughed. Billie Joe's eyes closed momentarily and a relieved smile washed across his face as he let out a small laugh.
"Good, I don't like people mocking me," he said, jaw jutting out slightly in defiance of something in his head. I gave him a confused look, not quite following.
"I got some shit from these older guys in this band at Gilman for reading a lot," I stared at the guy before me: Billie Joe Armstrong, punk rock legend, was worried I'd mock him for reading a book.
"So? Who gives two shits what they thought?"
He looked at me sadly, "They put me in hospital for a week. I was fourteen,"

I didn't really know what to say to Billie, my hazy mind still a little slow to respond, so I simple wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. I felt his warm hands on my back, gripping slightly as if I might let go. I wasn't planning on letting go.
"They had a gun," he mumbled into my neck, I tightened my grip slightly and ran my hand softly through his hair. It felt so natural, being in his arms, so right.
"You don't have to-"
"It broke my ribs. I was millimetres off puncturing a lung."
"Billie-"
"I nearly died! For reading a fucking book!"
I was going to push him away when I noticed his grip falter for a second, and I realised that he was shaking.

Gently, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back so I could see his face. He looked a little pale, but it was his eyes that scared me the most. They had glazed over and he seemed to be staring at something that wasn't there and I could physically see him quivering. He looked possessed, haunted almost.
"Billie?" I asked, keeping my voice soft in case he exploded.

As quickly as his terror had come on it had passed, the colour flooding back into his cheeks and his eyes brightening as they focused back on me. He shot me a slightly guilty smile, but he stood up straighter and heaved a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry," he said. I admired him for that, that he was completely able to just accept these things about himself and move on.
"It's fine, we all have ghosts,"
I patted his arm gently. I cast my eyes over his shoulder I noticed a pair of glasses perched atop another book on his bedside table and I felt a cold stab of panic.

"Shit!" Billie looked alarmed and his eyes began to dart around his room, looking for the source of my sudden dismay.
"What?"
"I left some stuff at Josh's," It suddenly hit me that I'd forgotten my glasses, having put in contacts for the concert. I was okay without them, but I'd have to take the contacts out to sleep and I didn't have another pair, which was not okay as I was quite badly short sighted to the point where I was fearful to go out without something and the glasses had kind of become my safety blanket. I could already feel the dread welling up inside me. I did not want to go back to Josh's, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that there was quite a bit that I'd left behind in my haste to leave.

"Oh," was all he said. "I'll take you tomorrow," Billie said it decisively and he had this stubborn little tone that said don't even try to argue. I guess it finally hit me, everything that had happened, and I felt like I'd been hit by a ton of bricks, with the surreality of meeting Billie, the break up and my predicament had been swept along as part of the dream, but now everything that'd happened hit me in full force.