𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 * / 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖙

it’s making him a stupid, inexplicable kind of emotional -- sharing a bed with saint. for someone so accustomed to a lavish lifestyle which allows him king beds on his own with room to spare, he kind of likes it, he decides. he thought he could’ve liked it with henry too, though, so he cuddles back closer as if scared it’ll end much too soon. “i hate it, a little,” he giggles, hand dancing along saint’s forearm. it feels good to admit that he’s not liking it as much here as he initially thought he would. it isn’t that he’s letting henry ruin it for him -- roo is too self centered to allow such a thing -- but he didn’t expect to find himself in fights that weren’t staged or self-initiated out of sheer boredom. but henry was mean and said nasty things and that’s not why roo’s at the villa, is it? “you do like me, don’t you?” roo, were he feeling more himself, may have added a ‘sport’ or ‘kiddo’ for entertainment value. roo isn’t feeling very roo.

temperamental on a good day, roo’s accustomed to fighting fire with fire. of course he knows he’s agitating an already tentative situation. maybe he subconsciously wanted a fight, though, now that he’s got one he isn’t sure what to do with it. gone is the gentle, shy henry who blushed when roo got a little filthy. the henry he sees now is as much a stranger as perhaps they should have remained all along. if he gets venom, he’s going to be vile in return. “trust me, we’re all well aware. half the nation spent the last few weeks of season one watching you pine for that something better and get nothing in return. it was sad. sweet, even. well congratu-fucking-lations! you’ve worked it out, somehow! i really don’t care to know the details. all i’m saying is that with the way things happened and with the way you decided we couldn’t have just had a civil conversation about it earlier than this, we’re not going to be ‘okay’ like you asked. end of.” the hard set of his jaw and squaring of his shoulders says otherwise. “i wanted you for a good time! that’s all. i enjoyed spending time with you? is that so fucking complicated? so shame me for being a little thirsty or for going after someone i fancied the look of. go right ahead! at least one of us had the balls and didn’t spend weeks pussyfooting around waiting for fate to show her hand.” he takes a deep breath, bringing his voice down from its dangerous volume where he knows it’ll give way to tremors if he’s not careful. “now, you can take those apologies and shove them up your arse because i don’t want them. i don’t need them. again, i’m not hurt . i’m annoyed. and i’d really appreciate it if you took care to remember that so i don’t have to say it another time, please.”

roo folds, both physically and otherwise, yielding to the embrace despite the relative lack of buildup. his sigh is as heavy as it is involuntary, fluttering from parted lips along with a tight shut of his eyes. contact is as difficult as he thought it might be. it’s far more tempting to let the sting of rejection pierce his heart when he has the physical support of strong arms bracketing around him. very worried he might do something stupid like pout or, worse, cry, roo shifts himself around until he’s not facing saint anymore. it’s much easier to hide, that way. he reaches back for his arm and tugs it around him still, wanting to be properly spooned, back to front. “i’m fine,” he offers to saint in a response to a question he hasn’t exactly been asked. “like, i’m okay?” maybe he isn’t. maybe he really, really, isn’t. but if his voice shakes, saint doesn’t have to know.

“oh, save it,” roo sneers, having no time for what he feels is fake sympathy. apologies are self serving and he’s not about to let henry absolve himself that easily. let him feel bad, let it fester. let his happy coupling come with the edge of roo’s annoyance in the back of his mind. “i don’t want to hear it. the only other option is that you weren’t even interested in me in the first place and i’d much rather consider myself a fleeting fancy than just a physical distraction while you sorted shit out.” having said it out loud, the latter feels more accurate anyways. clearly henry’s interests were wrapped up elsewhere for the duration; they were never roo’s to begin with. his upset truly isn’t coming from a place of feelings or, god forbid, heartbreak. nothing had been given the time nor nourishment for even a crush. attraction, sure. a spark. henry and roo were potential energy with a platform upon which to springboard but, instead, henry knocked the supports out from under them. he meant it when he said he felt like his choice had been useless. for being someone so frivolous and spoiled, he hates to waste. “you can’t paint this to be anything other than what it is, henry. we met, we fucked, and then you found something that you liked better. it is what it is -- i’m not going to cry myself to sleep over it. it’s done.”

i know you were flirting, roo wants to snap. there’s something wound up within him, coiled and not in a way that would lead to a fun release. he much prefers the tension him and saint initially had to this confusing inward reflecting. roo hadn’t expected to get caught up in the game of love island. “i’m not sure what i want,” roo confesses in a moment of bluntness. he backtracks quickly so as not to assign it too much depth. “much as i love sleep, your idea of a wakeup call doesn’t sound awful so it’ll depend on my mood in the morning.” roo’s gaze follows saint downward, locking eyes for a moment. he blinks twice, three times. the expression he finds makes roo think that maybe he’s not the only one putting on a show up on a tightrope. “we can cuddle,” he allows himself to meet saint halfway, to coddle the fluttering nerves he reads on his face. “i haven’t either.” it’s telling -- a hidden explanation for his moodiness. despite having been coupled with someone he was into, in whatever sense he defines it, roo was feeling wholly untouched. he leans a knee onto the bed, as if he means to join saint, to lay on top of him. “did you mean now?”

the apology isn’t acknowledged beyond the silent appreciation for the way henry uses his preferred nickname when he next speaks. the semantics of what he’d like to be called aren’t the focus of his ire. “i don’t think intention is particularly relevant. you’ve been avoiding me, whether you meant to or not, and i think i at least deserved to know why.” other things he knows to me other people. while roo’s spent the latter half of this coupling alone, henry’s clearly been all kinds of ‘busy’. “i’m not angry,” roo drawls and there’s a coolness tinting his voice that’s more threatening than if he’d shouted. “i’m annoyed. disappointed, perhaps.” he rolls his neck, pondering his next statement thoroughly. “if i knew my first choice was going to be wasted, i would’ve gone with roy. at least he still seemed interested after he fucked me. maybe he wouldn’t have been voted off if we’d been a pair instead.”

“we don’t exactly have easy access to collars, paddles or harnesses so i can’t imagine we’ll need any of my other rules, no.” the natural and filthy devolution of their conversation comes easily and it brings the curl of a smile to his lips. it’d take someone astute to notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “why don’t you try it? see how it ends up for you?” roo quirks his head to one side but makes no move to join saint on their bed. he knows to do so would likely lead to touching -- he has sat on the other’s lap before, after all -- but roo isn’t sure he wants to be touched right now. he isn’t sure of a lot of things and it shows. he feels bad that it shows. “sorry,” he offers in an uncharacteristic soft lilt. “i haven’t been sleeping well. one good night’s sleep and i’ll be back to trying to get you to rail me, i promise.” 

“roo.” his correction is clipped and lacks all of the musical whimsy typical of his carefree personality. it’s hard to pinpoint the cause for his self-imposed misery. he’s not offended they aren’t paired. he doesn’t even mind how his coupling has ended up. there’s just this nagging feeling that he’s been wronged somehow that permeates his thoughts and leads to him turning up a nose at henry’s questioning. “do you think we’re okay, henry? really?” he’s well aware he sounds like a jilted lover. he doesn’t mean to -- it’s just difficult to rein in his temper when it has every reason to flare and fury. “you’ve been avoiding me since even before the coupling so i was under the impression we weren’t.”

it isn’t that he wouldn’t have picked saint. in that sense, the ‘luck of the draw’ worked in his favor. it’s more that he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be coupled at all. let him risk being voted off; the whole concept seemed more trouble than it was worth if it left him feeling this sulky. it was just a little shitty to have your first choice pick throw it back in your face. roo hadn’t even done anything wrong, yet! still, he’s trying not to seem too stroppy about the whole thing, lest viewers back home get the horribly off impression that roo had something like ‘feelings’ for henry. “i have rules for the bedroom,” he announces to saint as they shift their few things onto the now-shared bed.  “i’m little spoon. i get most of the covers. don’t wake me up unexpectedly unless you want to be kicked. my safe word is lemonade. and if you have plans to go sleep without me on the beach, at least let me know so i can sprawl in the middle of the bed, as i deserve.” 

he’s in a bit of a mood -- it’s a dramatic one and maybe a little self serving but still, a mood, and he feels like he’s entitled to it. he almost pities saint for being the one who is going to have to bear the brunt of roo’s fickle emotions but the emphasis is on almost. it’s a little too selfless to worry about how others are going to perceive him and his antics. as he’s joined in his languid moping by one of his housemates, he withers a sigh that’s a performative notch louder than strictly necessary. “how lucky for me then,” he muses nonetheless, taking in an eyeful of the not-quite-stranger. it’s impossible to live together for as long as they all have and not know of someone and to say the other had a certain look that required a little extra attention would be an understatement. “how would you like to know me? i’m an open book.” roo falls into the purr of flirtation like it’s a second (or third, or fourth, or fifth) language.

there’s a towel slung around his neck, a slathering of suntan oil on his bare chest and designer swim trunks donned for the occasion. it’s a pool kind of day, sunny heat making for the perfect excuse to be rid of his clothes. to say he’s confident in his lithe figure may be an understatement; he likes to show off and there’s no shame in that. thankfully, someone notices. eyelashes flutter down in the direction of the speaker as he lifts a hand to serve as a makeshift visor from the sun (he makes a note to go back and fetch his uselessly expensive aviators). “lucky me,” roo purrs, deeming his company attractive enough to entertain, “i always look this good. think i’m only here because i make for good television, even when i’m doing absolutely nothing.” his smile goes wry, playful. “you’d know what that’s like though, wouldn’t you?”

“the people are my favorite – they’re fun to talk to and easy to look at. least favorite would be the, uh, lack of private bedrooms. i shouldn’t have to finesse my way into a comfortable bed for a lay! that’s part of the game though, i get it.”

“getting my back blown out in the actual bathroom twice in close succession. i definitely don’t regret the act but it’s making a few days of abstinence feel like a drought. i’m too pretty for that!”