Chapter Text
Meet the contestants!
Osha sucks in her tummy, all too aware of how little she's currently wearing. She really shouldn’t have eaten that cheese danish, but it was free and just sitting there on the table when she arrived and no one told her that she’d be stripping down to just her bikini in mere minutes.
Wait just a fucking second. How did she even get here?
Someone adjusts the mic pack and strap around her waist. She winces, adjusting her long braids so they don’t get caught in the mic line roped around her neck.
“You're doing great, Osha.”
“I haven't done anything yet.”
“Yeah, well, you look great.”
What in the world was she thinking? What events led to her current situation? Why is she smiling like a lunatic, lined up with several other women, looking like prized animals at the State Fair? She, of all people, presenting herself to the camera like her only value comes down to how good her makeup looks in the Fijian heat or how tight her ass is in these scraps of fabric only an insane person would call a “swimsuit.”
“Stand right over here,” the producer says, pointing to a spot next to the pool. The little mic hanging on her neck tickles and she scratches it absently. “Yeah, don’t do that,” the woman corrects, pointing to Osha’s neck. “Makes a ton of noise. We don’t want to lose important audio.”
“Right,” Osha whispers. “Sorry.” The woman stands back and tilts her head. “What’s your name?” Osha asks, trying to feel comfortable in this environment. Maybe if she knew who these people were behind the cameras, she’d feel a little less alone.
Not that she’s not used to cameras. She certainly is. But she hasn’t gotten a chance to really get to know anyone yet. They flew her out here only after a few Zoom calls, and she hasn’t yet seen anyone here from those calls.
Not a familiar face in sight.
“Jecki,” the producer responds, then flashes her a smile. She’s pretty, if not a bit frazzled. She looks as though she’s been working without a lot of sleep, her light brown hair in a messy bun on her head, only faint traces of eye makeup, blotted from where she attempted to wipe it away.
Productions like these have multiple producers who are responsible for managing certain contestants. Osha supposes this is the one that’s been assigned to her.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “We’re gonna get to know each other real well. I promise.”
“Sounds like a threat,” Osha retorts, then cringes at her lack of manners. “Sorry. I’m just… nervous.”
Jecki huffs a laugh. “Don’t be sorry. You were cast because of that attitude.” Then, she leans in so only Osha can hear, “So don’t you dare hide it.”
Osha smiles shyly as Jecki turns her attention to one of the production assistants. She keeps her feet planted on the edge of the pool as more crew bring out another cast member. All the women of the villa are around her now—gorgeous women, too. Four in total, including her.
“Now,” Jecki starts, clapping her hands together. “We’re going to be filming your entrances later, but we need the establishing shot while we have the best light. So just stand there and do what you do best!”
“And what is it that we do best?” a woman to Osha’s right speaks up. Osha snorts, having just thought the exact same thing. A brunette beauty queen, with soft brown eyes and perfectly manicured brows. Her lipstick is a nice dark nude, and Osha can’t help but wonder if she used the nipple trick—matching one’s lip color to the color of their nipples. She saw it on TikTok once. Certainly looks like it.
Jecki sucks in her lips, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that—”
“We’re only good at looking pretty?” Osha asks, then looks at the brunette to her right. “I think Jecki was just trying to compliment us.” Then she leans over a little. “You do look incredible, by the way.”
The brunette smiles, looking Osha down and up. “So do you.”
“Okay, you two, save it for later.” Jecki claps her hands twice. “Let’s roll.”
“My name is Osha Aniseya and I’m twenty-three years old, from Melbourne, Florida.”
Osha sits on a skinny bench in a brightly lit room with a giant, golden heart behind her and cameras in front of her. It’s for her intro sequence. She’s seen dozens of these over the years and does her best to be charming. At least she doesn’t have to only wear a bikini for this part, though the tight orange dress still makes her feel naked.
“I’m an influencer…” She laughs nervously. “Though I hate calling myself that.”
“Be honest,” Jecki says. “That’s what this is all about.”
Osha straightens up. “Okay. Well… I was on TikTok one day and saw someone giving tips on how to fix a leaky sink, and, well, they missed a few important points so…”
Jecki nods, encouraging her to keep going, raising her brows as though she’s interested herself.
“I decided to start filming my own videos, showing people how to fix things in their houses or apartments or how to check to make sure the landlord did the right thing. They really took off.”
“Good. Then what happened?”
“Then all of a sudden I had over ten million followers and sponsorships. I was making real money, and I was working hard.” She remembers it so clearly—how her life changed practically overnight. “I quit my day job as an engineer at a local tech company and decided to throw myself into helping people.”
“Talk about your charity work, too. People will eat that up.”
“Right.” Osha looks down. It’s not like her to brag about it, or even discuss it, so she shrinks a little before explaining, “My, uh, moms passed when I was younger, when me and my twin sister were just nine. So with the success of my online content, I’ve been able to put a lot into my charity—The Power of Many—which partners with local organizations focused on assisting children who have lost a parent or guardian.”
“Good, good. Now…” Jecki takes a deep breath. “Dating, and sex. Where are you at on these topics? Give us an inside look into who Osha is under the covers.”
Osha breathes in sharply through her nose. “Dating?” She laughs. “I don’t date much. Men are… frustrating. Oftentimes I can do things they can’t and that makes them insecure.”
“And you don’t have time for insecure men.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Can you say that in full?”
“Right…” Osha looks at the camera. “I don’t have time for insecure men.”
“And what about sex?”
Osha’s throat tightens, her mouth going dry. “Sex…” she whispers. It’s been, what, over a year? “It’s been a while.” She thought she was over this.
“If you meet a nice man here, will that be something you’re looking forward to?”
Osha licks her lips nervously. “I don’t plan on jumping into anything quickly. Too many guys just want to see what you’re like in bed, then they become uninterested. No… I want to really get to know someone, you know? Really get under their skin before I even think about doing that.”
“But you’ll kiss a guy, right? I mean, you’re here, on Love Island. That does tend to happen.”
“Kissing… Yeah. I would kiss—anyone.” She giggles, unable to help herself. “I don’t have issues with kissing. Hell, I’d kiss the girls here too, they are all so fucking pretty.”
Jecki’s brows raise. “So you’re bi?”
Osha’s jaw clenches. “Well, I mean… Did you see them?” She laughs, but sees that Jecki is digging for an answer. “I mean, sure. I might be a bit bisexual. But isn’t everyone?”
Jecki nods, not in agreement, just satisfied. “This is good, Osha.” The room starts to move, people behind Jecki leaving their posts, the camera panning away from Osha. “The audience is going to adore you.”
Osha sips on a glass of champagne, observing the girls around her. It’s just them for now, learning each others’ names and backgrounds. She finds out the brunette beauty queen is Tasi Lowa. She’s just as observant as Osha, if not even more. Very quiet, would seem reserved if she hadn’t spoken up earlier. Tasi works in the Big Apple for some Fortune 500 company.
No wonder she took offense.
Then there’s the token blond—Avar Kriss. Blond hair, blue eyes, and taller than Osha, she’s a personal trainer and Tae Kwon Do instructor who can’t stop talking about how important daily meditations are. She easily convinces the youngest to join her in the mornings down by the beach for “reflections” and “light stretching.”
Ah yes, the youngest. Poor little Misha Sharuk. She’s a little mousy, and Osha catches her staring at Avar and Tasi sometimes with stars in her eyes.
Same, girl, same.
Misha explains she’s a web designer who’s done some modeling “here and there,” but Osha logs that that’s probably not the full story. She’s guarded, and she tends to change the conversation to deflect attention off of herself.
“Oh, I know you,” Misha says during such a time, pointing at Osha. “You taught me how to install a bidet! You’re—you’re Osha Violation!”
Osha winces at the silly name. She made it up long before she had even over a hundred followers, but people seemed to like it so she stuck with it. Now, the name is even bigger than she is.
“Oh my god,” Avar says. “Osha Violation? I knew you sounded familiar! That video you made about gas leaks saved my friend’s life—I am not even joking.”
Osha likes hearing about how she’s helped people, she really does, but it all feels kind of strange while she’s dressed like this—in this fancy but thin orange gown—when she’s usually in grease-covered overalls, an old tee, and sneakers.
She reminds herself that all these ladies have two sides to them, at least. They’re all stuck here, in the same situation, all performing and just praying that people like them.
The host arrives just as Osha’s grabbing her second glass. “Alright ladies!” They all clap and yell, the excitement bubbling over. Osha doesn’t even realize she’s acting completely out of character. She’s fitting in with the others—a little too easily. Maybe it’s the heat, or the alcohol.
Or maybe it’s simply because they have to get along. They’re stuck in this villa for weeks. No connections to the outside world. No phones, no books, no television, no movies, no magazines. They have to start out on the right foot or they’re all going to be miserable.
“My name’s Sabrina and I’ll be your host for this season of Love Island!”
Sabrina is charismatic, closer to Osha’s height, cocoa brown hair, and she wears a permanent smirk like she knows something they don’t know.
And, well, Osha supposes that she would.
“Are you ready to meet the men?” Sabrina asks, her blue-sequined dress sparkling in the tropical sun.
Osha’s chest clenches as the others yell even louder. She sort of forgot this was that kind of show. She was enjoying the company of the ladies so much, she completely forgot that they’re expected to fraternize with men.
Quickly, Osha tucks her arm under Tasi’s. “Do we really have to?” she says only loud enough for the brunette to hear.
Tasi laughs a little. “I call dibs on the smart one. Wait, no, the one with the best job.”
“Fortune 500?”
“I won’t settle for anything less,” she says, hiding their conversation in a forced smile.
“You go girl.”
The first man walks in and Osha instantly notices his smile. He’s clean shaven, with dark, golden skin and kind eyes, wearing jean shorts and a thick cream tee. He goes to stand on a marked spot in the middle of the astroturfed lawn.
“Hi,” he says, waving, a little nervous. It’s cute. “I’m Yord.”
“Hi Yord,” a few of the girls answer in unison.
“I work in finance.”
Tasi grips Osha’s arm tight.
“And I surf in my freetime.”
Tasi leans into Osha’s ear. “West Coast. It would never work.”
Osha nods. “Right.”
The next man to step out is Welling Yuns. “My friends call me Wells.” He’s a crossfit nut who wants to travel the world.
“On what salary?” Tasi says to Osha, and she hides a laugh behind her hand. Wells is objectively attractive, knows all his angles for the camera, but he’s not exactly Osha’s type. She shoots a look at Avar and finds the blond already planning out their future together, smiling like she just found her soulmate. They would have gorgeous children.
Then there’s Sen Bennex, an entrepreneur from Baltimore. He’s sweet and apparently does a lot of charity work, which gets Osha’s attention.
A little coy when he says, “And I guess for any other info, you’ll just have to come find me.”
“Hm,” Osha says, “I might just do that.” Her mic itches her neck again and Osha goes to scratch it, then remembers she shouldn’t.
“You like that one?” Tasi asks in her ear.
“He’s alright.” She’s certainly not planning their future or anything, but he’s nice to look at and seems fairly kind. Intriguing, if anything.
There’s only one left. Osha doesn’t like the idea of having to pair with someone who wants to be with someone else. Maybe she should play the game more logically—find someone who wants to win, or at least get as much time on screen as possible.
Maybe she’ll become good friends with them. Maybe she’ll help them connect with who they actually like secretly, after the cameras stop rolling.
Because there’s no way she’s finding love here, like this.
So then why is she holding her breath right now? Why is she gripping onto Tasi like this is something actually important to her?
You could cut the anticipation with a knife.
Then, the last one, the last male contestant, the last of the beefcakes they get to choose from, walks out.
“Oh—no,” Tasi laughs. “Not happening.”
The man that walks out last is the only one who’s decided to arrive without a shirt, and he’s covered in tattoos. He’s like a walking red flag, wearing a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, all sharp features cut near soft, pink lips.
Osha’s mind flashes, “DANGER, DANGER,” but she’s never shied away from danger before. If anything, danger is just a warning to be prepared when approaching, not a sign to turn away.
And mister danger sign’s hair makes him look unkempt, falling in his face in thick, greasy strands—as though he styled it that way on purpose. As though he wants people to be put off.
Osha sees right through it. She can see that he’s crafted this look in order to facilitate that exact reaction.
So she tilts her head, inspecting him as he steps up to the last spot on the astroturf. “He’s different,” she says quietly.
“Name’s Qimir De La Cruz.” His eyes make contact with each of them, one at a time. “If you need to know, I work in pharmaceuticals, and I’m really good with people.” He nods and smiles, holding their attention deliberately.
Bullshit, she thinks. His tone is far too amused for him to be sincere.
He scans them all, and when his dark, swallowing gaze finds Osha’s eyes, she looks away—at Yord, who is unexpectedly staring at her, his light brown eyes having the opposite effect. She smiles shyly, still feeling Qimir’s eyes on her, but not daring to look at him.
She knows he’s not what he seems to be, but if she’s paired with him, it’s not going to do her any favors. Even if she wants to know what his deal is, to get into his head and figure out what makes him tick, she’s not here to fix something that isn’t broken.
“Alright, ladies, do you like what you see?” They all clap. Avar hollers, still fixated on Wells. “Good,” Sabrina says. “Now, in order to match you up, we’re going to play a little game. Are you ready?”
The producers and PAs move the cast to a deck at the far end of the pool. There are eight stools, four on each side. The girls sit on one side, while the guys sit on the other. Osha can barely sit in this dress, so she sort of awkwardly leans against it, cursing under her breath.
Jecki comes up to her and tugs at the back of her dress. “Now sit,” she says.
“Oh, thank you,” Osha says, realizing she just made it easier for her to sit on the stool, but Jecki’s long gone, back behind the monitor.
With everyone now in place, the director says, “Action,” and Sabrina’s persistent, coy smirk transforms into a bright, million-dollar smile. She explains the game—well, not really a game, per se. But this is how they keep things interesting for the show.
Each girl gets to kiss two guys. Then, they get to pick which one they want to pair up with. They can steal too, because why the hell not?
“Avar, you’re first,” Sabrina says.
The blond instantly goes for Wells. No surprises there. “I want this one,” she says after just a peck.
“You sure you don’t want to kiss any others?” Sabrina asks.
“Nope.”
Must feel good to know exactly what you want in a man. Osha can’t relate. She’s not even sure if she wants to be here. But it’s good for her business if she wants to expand beyond just TikTok, get more sponsorships, and potentially host her own television show on home improvement and small space hacks.
That’s the dream. That’s what she wants.
And apparently, to get there takes doing this: kissing multiple men on television.
Osha watches as Misha goes next, choosing to kiss Sen, then Yord. She acts nervous about it, but then puts her all into it, not afraid to use tongue. And the guys are clearly not afraid to reciprocate. There’s no way Osha’s brave enough to do that. What if they keep their mouths closed? Or what if they taste funny or smell weird and she instantly gets the ick?
“I choose…” Misha draws it out, taking her time, looking at each man again. Then, finally, she points to Sen. “Sen?”
He nods quickly. Misha giggles and goes to stand next to him.
Osha’s nose scrunches. That was her first pick, but she doesn’t want to cause a rift between herself and Misha. She’s seemingly sweet but she could have a vengeful side to her.
Osha’s eyes move down the lineup. Avar and Wells, Then Misha and Sen, then Yord…
She makes eye contact with Qimir, who winks at her. Her eyes go wide and she blinks, looking somewhere else, pretending she didn’t see. But the visual of him winking at her is imprinted in her brain. It communicated something, like he knows exactly what’s about to happen.
“Osha, you’re next,” Sabrina says.
Osha moves towards Sen, then hesitates. All of the men have been kissed except Qimir. She licks her lips, then moves towards him. She’s not sure if she feels kind of bad for him, or if she’s curious to see if this is what he had in mind. He acts so confident, like he’s three steps ahead of everyone.
Well, let’s see if he anticipated this.
As Osha moves closer to him, she can hear faint gasps from various directions.
Yeah, yeah, I’m kissing the weirdo, deal with it.
But Qimir doesn’t seem surprised at all. His eyes narrow and his lips curl into a smile, as though he’s daring her to really give them a show. Then Osha leans in.
DANGER, DANGER. She’s going to kiss him. She’s actually going to kiss him.
There are some hoots and hollers, but Osha’s pretty certain most are just stunned into silence, because Qimir’s hands instantly move to her waist, pulling her closer. She hasn’t even exchanged a word with this stranger, and here he is, kissing her like he’s known her for months. His tongue presses inside her mouth and she lets it in. Her arms naturally hug his neck, but she’s a little stiff, not sure how to touch him, or if she should.
It’s been so long—too long—since she’s felt any sort of intimacy with anyone. She assumes that’s why it feels so good. Must be. Because there’s no way she actually likes this guy—this fraud, this… greaseball.
No, not greasy, just… wet. His strands of dark hair tickle her cheeks and she realizes that he must’ve ducked his head under water before he stepped out into the sun. He was certainly going for a look.
Soaked and dangerous.
God, he tastes good. Like cinnamon—did he also snag a pastry from the table? She remembers something that looked like it had cinnamon on it and—It dawns on her.
Coffee cake. Her favorite.
Shit, she thinks, knowing she’s been kissing him for far too long. She pulls away reluctantly, sucking his bottom lip as she does—just to get one more little taste—and everyone claps.
Everyone except Qimir, who licks his lips and looks at her as though she’s the most interesting thing on the planet.
Osha takes a deep breath and steadies herself as he lets go of her. It’s either him or Yord.
Well, she’s allowed to sample the merchandise, so she moves to Yord next. As she zeros in on him, Qimir coughs, loudly, clearing his throat. Osha shoots him a glance and he looks away, pretending he didn’t just do that on purpose.
But Osha’s not stupid.
She leans in, and keeps leaning in because apparently Yord’s not the kind of guy to meet someone halfway. When their lips finally meet, that’s when his lips flex, and it’s a little uncomfortable. Their teeth almost clack, and Osha tries to open her mouth to give herself some more room, but Yord’s lips stay closed.
She pulls away a little, kissing him chastely, then disconnects. She can instantly see how nervous he is. His cheeks are red and his eyes are wide.
“Sorry,” he says. “I can do better, I promise.”
Everyone laughs at that, even Osha. Without looking back at Qimir, she stays where she’s at, planting her feet firmly next to Yord.
“You’ve made your choice?” Sabrina asks.
Osha nods and holds her head high. “Yep.”
“Alright. Now, Tasi. Being the last girl, you have one advantage. You can take any of the guys if you so choose. And whoever is left without a partner becomes a couple by default.”
Tasi looks down the line, barely paying Qimir a glance. She approaches Yord, of all people. Osha gives her a look. She thought Tasi wasn’t going to waste her time on someone from the West Coast.
But when their lips lock, and all Osha can do is stand there, awkwardly, knowing that their kiss is going much, much better than her and Yord’s, Osha realizes her fate.
She looks over to Qimir, who shrugs, as if to say, “I tried to tell ya.”
Tasi mouths, “Sorry,” to Osha, who doesn’t even bother looking at Yord. It’s way too early to draw lines in the sand, so she just smiles and mouths back to Tasi, “It’s fine.”
Sabrina’s voice chimes in, “So sorry, Osha. Looks like you and Qimir will have to pair up for now.” She sounds awfully cheerful about it, as though she was looking forward to the pairing.
A little too early for shipping, don’t ya think?
Osha walks over to Qimir and stands next to him and then, startling her just a little, he puts his hand around her waist and tucks her into his side.
“Welcome back,” he says in her ear.
Osha rolls her eyes. He certainly got his way, at least that's what it seems like, and she's not surprised in the least.
After filming the little game, the contestants get acquainted with the space they’ll be living in for the next month. There’s the shared bedroom, with two queen-sized beds on each side—four beds in total, since they’re meant to share in pairs—the gigantic closet with vanities in the middle, and of course the bathroom with toilets and shower stalls.
It all seems very exposed, with cameras in every corner. Jecki tells Osha that she’ll get used to them in no time, but that makes Osha even more nervous. Because if she gets used to them, who knows what she’ll end up doing in front of them. No, she needs to remember they’re there, or else she’ll surely end up getting a bad cut on one of the most popular reality shows on the planet.
She doesn’t want to be the villain or the manipulator or the one who causes chaos. She doesn’t even want to be presented as the good girl or the one who plays it safe. The former will get her popular but hated, the latter will get her booted off by the first audience vote.
“Checking out the cameras?” a voice asks from behind her. It’s not Qimir, thankfully, and Osha turns to find one of the PAs, this one skinny and tall, with his headset pulled down around his neck.
“I’m just trying to imagine the angle that they’ll catch when I’m getting dressed,” she says, not hiding the annoyance in her voice.
“Oh, you don’t have to actually dress in here. There are stalls over there for privacy.”
Osha repeats the way he says “privacy” in his British accent with a soft “i” and smiles. “So the changing stalls and the toilet stalls are the only places for privacy? We’re exposed everywhere else?”
He bites his lip. “There is a camera in the toilet stalls, but it is only for health and safety reasons.”
Osha's brows perk at that.
“It was in the contract you signed,” Mog continues, “Mr. Sol Lee is very thorough—you should’ve had it all explained to you on the Zoom call?”
Osha nods absently, opening the closet with her name on it. All of her things are already unpacked, folded, and placed in the drawers and on the racks. Well, not really her things. Her sister’s things that she’s borrowing. Tight dresses, two piece swimsuits, cute pajama sets.
“What’s your name?” she asks, turning to the PA.
“Mog. Though—you shouldn’t worry about me. You’re here to date.” He smiles, though he seems nervous, as though he’s trying hard not to step over a line.
“Alright, Mog. So let’s say I turned my mic pack off in the changing stall… How long would it take for one of the PAs to knock on the door to tell me to turn it back on?” She’s read that contract backwards and forwards, knowing that the only place she’s technically allowed to turn off the pack is in the toilet stall, and that's only because there's a camera in there.
24/7 monitoring.
The shower stalls are their own sort of hell. You either shower in one of the roomy ones where your bottom half is covered but your head is being captured on camera, or you suffer in the locker-sized stall in the corner so they can guarantee no secretive fraternizing. Space or privacy—it’s your choice!
“Um…” Mog starts, clearly trying to be diplomatic in his response. “Well, I suppose it depends on your mood, or who else is around, or if we think you’re attempting to do something against the rules…”
Osha nods along as he explains, her smile widening. “Uh huh. I guess that’s happened before, then? People hiding out in the changing stalls to, what, have sex?”
Mog’s eyes widen. “Oh, no—No no! I mean…” He swallows, his eyes drifting to the stalls like he's seen some things he wished he wouldn’t have.
“Relax,” Osha says. She’s probably spiked his blood pressure with all her questions by the looks of it. His face twitches and he wrings his hands together nervously.
She explains, “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Just want to make sure I’m following the rules.” A lie, but it’s worth it. He’s instantly relieved.
“Oh, good. Good, I’ll just be going now.” He slips out of the room in a hurry, leaving Osha to check out her vanity. Her name’s on the mirror, her personal toiletry bag sitting neatly on the table.
Is this really what she wants? Hours will be spent here, trying to look good for the cameras, chatting with the girls about their blossoming relationships, and pretending she cares.
Because she doesn’t care, does she? It’s all just for the cameras. It’s all just a stupid show where beautiful, vapid people make out with each other and gossip about each other—people she would never speak to out in the real world.
She runs her fingers over the back of the chair that’s pulled up to the vanity, thinking of how Mae would love this setup, how much her twin would thrive on the drama, the gossip, and the undercurrent of lust.
It’s all set up for love. For sex. For getting to know people.
Isn’t that sort of like a cult?
“Hey.”
Osha jumps, spinning around. It’s Qimir this time, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his naked chest, eyes hooded, observing her.
“How long have you been there?” she asks, her heart beating warmth from being scared then… something else.
“Not long.” He pushes off from the wall, walking towards her. “I snagged us the bed in the corner, by the way. Figured it was prime real estate.”
“They didn’t say we could choose beds already.”
“Well, I rolled around in it, just in case.” He pushes his hair from his face, flashing a smile, like he’s trying to be seductive.
Osha lifts a brow. “You know the cameras aren’t rolling, right?”
He frowns.
Jecki stumbles into the dressing room, frantic. “No, no, you shouldn’t be talking right now. Where’s Mog? He was supposed to be watching you.”
Osha bites her lip, hiding her smile. Of course she would get in trouble on the first day. It’s just her luck.
Jecki speaks into her radio, “Mog, Mog, Jecki. You were supposed to keep them separated for the tour.”
Osha looks back at Qimir, whose hooded eyes are staring at her lips. His tongue slips out ever so slightly, licking his own, and Osha’s eyes flit to them, just for a second.
He’s a whole vanity-length away and yet it feels like they’re sharing breath, the way he looks at her making her clothes feel even tighter.
“Action, action!” Jecki says loudly, relieved. “We’re filming,” she breathes out, smiling at the two of them. “Good. Continue.”
Jecki walks out and Osha looks to the cameras in the corners of the room. Their little red lights tell her that they’re indeed on and filming.
“As I was saying,” Qimir says, falling right back into his charming state. “I can’t wait until bedtime.”
Osha scoffs, shaking her head. “Drop the act,” she says, “You’re being ridiculous.”
His brows raise. “Oh, I’m sorry. Aren’t we on Love Island? I thought this was the whole point of being here.” He takes a step closer, his long stride bringing him so close that Osha can make out one of his tattoos of a scorpion, its tail curled around his nipple. It’s hiding amongst tribal patterns but she can see it as clear as day.
DANGER.
She wants to say to him, “Not all of us are here to sleep around.” But she bites her tongue, remembering that she can’t be completely, authentically herself. She can’t bash the concept of the show. She can’t be mean or unkind to her partner.
“Right… I mean…” She gulps, the cameras feeling so present, like they’re the eyes of millions of people, watching and waiting for what she’s about to say.
Qimir’s brow furrows and he shifts his weight, a little bit of his rough persona falling away to reveal something underneath, something more real. Something that recognizes a piece inside her that she forgot was even there.
She logs that for later.
“Qimir,” she says, saying his name out loud for the first time. He kind of perks up at that, then slips back into his red flag mode, his face contorting into a satisfied smirk.
She laughs a little at that, looks down at her feet, then back at him, finding a bit of confidence.
“Maybe we should go find somewhere to chat? Get to know each other,” she suggests.
Yes, good, Osha. That’s exactly what a contestant on Love Island would say in this very moment.
“Hm.” He nods, then tilts himself down to her level. “I… need…”
Osha’s heart pounds as he gets closer, and it’s becoming clear to her that he’s definitely the most attractive man here. Behind the hair, the attitude, the greasyness—he’s fucking hot.
Did none of the others see it?
It’s not just that he’s attractive. It’s not just that he’s an amazing kisser and she wants to kiss him again, right this very second. No, there’s more to him. He wants something from her. He wants to kiss her too, doesn’t he?
He’s so close, she can smell his natural musk with a hint of peppermint and spice, and his eyes dance over her face, watching, observing, wanting…
“...A drink,” he finishes, before side-stepping around her and out of the dressing room.
Osha exhales, slamming her palm to her chest. “What… the fuck,” she says quietly, forgetting that the mic picks up on everything.