While Alex was rediscovering himself on the quiet coasts of California, Billie and Finneas were quietly confronting the question that had been looming ever since the success of dont smile at me: What now? The EP had been a critical and fan favorite, cementing Billie as a haunting new voice in the indie-pop world. But with that acclaim came expectations—ones that neither of them felt ready to meet in the way people seemed to want.
In the months following Alex's collapse, the dynamic between the three had shifted. No longer bound by the pressure of a full album or by the meticulous analytics that once guided their decisions, Billie and Finneas had found a renewed creative rhythm in their Highland Park home. Without external deadlines or industry pressure, their conversations turned inward. What did they want next?
"Everyone expects another 'Ocean Eyes' or 'Bellyache,'" Billie murmured one night, lying on the carpeted floor with her phone resting on her chest. She scrolled through waves of fan comments, nearly all echoing the same sentiment: give us more of what we already love. "It feels like they want me to stay in that box. I want to do something… prettier, but sadder."
Finneas looked up from his laptop, where he had been playing with chords that never seemed to settle. They had talked endlessly about whether to start a new album, or whether to pivot. Lately, they were leaning toward releasing a series of singles—moments captured in time, rather than chapters of a single story.
That's when Billie remembered the demos Alex had sent months ago, back when her debut album was just a cloud of ideas. One in particular had never quite left her—the song called Video Games. It was unlike anything on the EP: cinematic, slow-burning, and heartbreakingly vulnerable. No irony, no darkness masquerading as armor—just beauty and ache.
"I wanna do that one," she said with sudden clarity. "The 'Video Games' one Alex wrote."
Finneas pulled up the old file from their shared drive. It was just a sparse piano and vocal sketch, but it had gravity. It was quiet but confident, mournful yet expansive. As a producer, he knew that their strength was in subverting expectations. Their audience had fallen in love with them for their authenticity. So what could be more authentic than chasing the sound that moved them, not the one that pleased algorithms?
"Okay," he said, a slow grin spreading. "Let's give them something they didn't even know they wanted."
And just like that, the plan shifted. No album. Not yet. Just a single. A song that felt right for right now.
Meanwhile, Alex had returned from his road trip with Olivia, sunburnt, clear-headed, and unsure of where things stood with the people he'd once tried to help from a distance. He wasn't expecting anything when the email arrived.
Subject: Our next move.
Body: We took your song and ran with it. I think you'll be surprised. Call us.
With cautious curiosity, Alex opened the MP3 attachment and pressed play. A delicate harp arpeggio floated out, followed by the solemn toll of a church bell. Then Billie's voice entered—hushed, aching, and close enough to touch.
The production was spare but radiant. Where his demo hinted at emotion, their version felt it—deeply, unapologetically. It honored the intimacy that defined Billie's early work but reached for something more cinematic, more timeless.
Without hesitation, he picked up the phone.
"Finneas… Billie," Alex said, his voice a mix of gratitude and renewed excitement. "This decision you made—going your own way, not repeating the EP—this is exactly the move you needed. And this song? It deserves everything."
"Come join us," Finneas said. "We're still working on the final layers. It needs your instincts."
Alex didn't hesitate. Within two days, he was back in the Highland Park house, headphones on, sleeves rolled up. The three of them worked like they had in the earliest days—no pressure, just passion. They fine-tuned every note, every breath, every silence in Video Games, sculpting the song into its final form. Then came the visual.
Together, they conceptualized a music video that echoed the song's aching beauty—slow, dreamlike, shot on 16mm film in overcast light. Billie floated through crumbling houses and deserted arcades, a ghost in love with a memory. Alex directed. Finneas scored new instrumental elements to stretch across scenes.
And when it was done—when the last frame was color graded and the last harmony tucked in—they released it as a single. No grand announcement. No teaser campaign. Just a post, a link, and a quiet message:
This one is for the ones who feel everything a little too deeply.
It wasn't a follow-up to dont smile at me. It was a pivot. A statement. A reminder that evolution isn't betrayal—it's courage. And for Alex, Billie, and Finneas, it was the beginning of something unspoken but undeniable: a new era made entirely on their own terms.
In a cluttered dorm room in Portland, a nineteen-year-old art student named Maya saw the notification pop up on her phone: Billie Eilish just uploaded a new video: "Video Games."
Her heart did a little jump. She'd been mainlining dont smile at me for months; the EP was the soundtrack to her late-night painting sessions, her lonely walks to class. She untangled her earbuds, clicked the link, and lay back on her bed, staring at the textured ceiling.
The opening harp notes and church bell instantly silenced the noisy thoughts in her head. Then came Billie's voice, a ghost in the machine.
"Swinging in the backyard
Pull up in your fast car
Whistling my name
Open up a beer
And you say, "Get over here
And play a video game"
I'm in his favourite sundress
Watchin' me get undressed
Take that body downtown
I say, "You the bestest"
Lean in for a big kiss
Put his favourite perfume on
Go play your video game
It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you wanna do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
And, baby, now you do
Singin' in the old bars
Swingin' with the old stars
Livin' for the fame
Kissin' in the blue dark
Playin' pool and wild darts
Video games
He holds me in his big arms
Drunk and I am seeing stars
This is all I think of
Watchin' all our friends fall
In and out of Old Paul's
This is my idea of fun
Playin' video games
It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you wanna do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
And, baby, now you do"
Maya felt an involuntary shiver. This wasn't the playful menace of "Bellyache" or the yearning of "Ocean Eyes." This was different. This was the sound of a beautiful photograph fading in the sun. The song built around her, Finneas's production a velvet-lined casket for Billie's crystalline voice. It was a love song that felt like a eulogy.
"It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you wanna do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
And, baby, now you do
Hmm, hmm, hmm
(Now you do)
(Now you do)
Now you do
(Now, now you do)
(Now you do)
(Now you do)"
Maya thought of the boy from her hometown she was trying to forget, the one who loved the idea of her more than he loved her. The lyrics didn't just describe a feeling; they excavated one she had buried. She closed her eyes, and the grainy, self-shot images from the music video filled her imagination. The song was a perfume, an atmosphere. It was a memory of a love she hadn't quite had but desperately mourned.
When the final bell tolled and the song faded into silence, she didn't move. She just lay there, her chest aching with a sweet, terrible sadness. She felt seen. Understood.
She opened her laptop and went to the YouTube page. The comments were already flooding in, a chorus of listeners just like her, all struck by the same lightning.
MayaCreatesArt: This song found a bruise on my heart I didn't even know I had.
She hit post and then played the song again. And again. Tonight, she wouldn't paint. She would just listen.
The reaction from the wider music world mirrored Maya's on a grand scale. The release was a masterstroke. Mainstream radio ignored it, but for her followers, it was a profound gift. Pitchfork gave it "Best New Track," writing, "Just when you thought you understood Billie Eilish, she deepens the mystery. 'Video Games' is a masterful pivot to baroque pop, proving her emotional landscape is vaster than we imagined." The Fader praised the "Vance/Eilish pairing," calling them "the most compelling artist/songwriter duo in independent music."
"Video Games" didn't explode onto the charts, but it solidified Billie Eilish's status as a critical darling and an icon for her devoted followers. It successfully bridged the gap between her acclaimed debut and the full-length album to come. More importantly, it was a testament to the trust Alex now placed in his artists, proving that his role wasn't to dictate their path, but to provide them with extraordinary material and watch them ignite the fire.