5AM LIGHT

“ maybe . ” taeyang agrees , wanting to make saint feel somewhat validated . “ or maybe , you just haven’t clicked with the right person yet . did you think of that ? ” he finds a seat next to saint , crossing his legs and placing his hands in his lap . he’s considering himself lucky — for now — but doesn’t want to come across as cocky or conceited . “ the audience only picks couples they think will win . i don’t think it really matters to them if they click , per say . . more so if they look cute together . i personally voted based on chemistry , but i know many others who vote solely on the couples’ attractiveness . ” he smacks his lips together . “ but , i don’t think attractiveness is a trait that you’re lacking in , so you should be set . ”

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.

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.

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?”

there’s a social convention at play here that simply isn’t indigo’s specialty. saint wants to talk and they’ve opened themself up to it. continuing that conversation beyond a few muted responses is where things get difficult. “i’m sorry for that,” indie does their best at sympathy, the irony of being the MIA sleeping partner for ares not lost on them. “i wish you luck with your, uh, annoyingly sexy person.” indigo’s nose scrunches at the prompt. it feels like bait and would ordinarily serve as a cue for them to start to make their retreat. however, isolation doesn’t fare well for reality tv and indie’s intended promotional ploy. they opt to nibble instead. “i feel like you’re going to tell me either way. might as well hear it.” they mentally brace for the worst. not that saint is particularly rude – more like too honest to a fault. some say that’s indie’s own vice.

“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.” 

“you just described reality television,” indie retorts. it’s not that they don’t agree – they’re questioning their own decision to push themself this far out of their comfort zone to partake in such an endeavor. “i take it you aren’t content with your pairing then?” it’d be a nice opportunity to commiserate, to vent about their own frustrations with the act of coupling off strangers all because they look promising or whatnot. however, too preoccupied with their tenuous place at the villa in the first place, indigo refrains from filing their own complaint alongside saint’s. “that’s the audience’s fault, though. they watch all of this like a kid in front of an ant farm and the only power we give them is to shake it.”

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.” 

it isn’t that he’s looking for saint but, as he happens upon him an impulse sweeps over him that he just can’t resist. the other looks comfortable, sitting on his own in the common room. roo wants to change that. it takes only a few feather-light steps to carry him across the room and he barely gives saint time to register his entrance before he’s vaulting over the arm of the chair and landing primly in saint’s lap.  “surprise,” he giggles, a leg on either side and arms looping around his neck. “i haven’t seen you since the coupling so i figured you’d be missing me.” maybe it’s a little forward, presumptuous. and yet, given their interactions thus far, he figures he won’t be dumped to the floor.

they don’t really have a choice. shuffling to drop their bag on a different bed could very well lead to an awkward situation where they’re actually forced to talk to someone else besides this informative stranger. or, worse, they’ll have to confront a couple as to why they’re encroaching upon their space. the noise they make is vaguely grateful and they lift the small piece of luggage to set it upon the mattress. the bed dwarfs their bag and they dare the other to say something about it. when the judgement doesn’t come, the stiffening of their shoulders lessens, though it returns at the brazen compliment. “what did you say?” they blanch, not because they didn’t hear it but, rather, because they did. “i – okay? that’s – even if you’re thinking it, why’d you say it out loud? how do other people usually reply?” indie doesn’t get flirting. maybe they’re overreacting. in fact, a thank you would suffice.

they should have watched the show season one or, at the very least, read the fine print of the casting contract laid crisply in front of them. they should have done their research instead of viewing the entire ordeal as a dramatic and torturous effort to get their music heard. in short, they should have known they’d be sharing a fucking room. suitcase (meager and small, not unlike their own physical stature) stays set outside the doorway as they peer in at the boarding school barrack style queen beds lined against the wall. shock, horror, floods their voice and they scratch their head in confusion. “there’s just no way,” indie mumbles, more to themself than to the footsteps they vaguely hear approaching. “there’s no way this number of young adults all agreed to this hell.” worse than sharing a room is sharing a bed and the thought makes them outwardly shudder. yet they have no doubt that’s what’s in store. maybe they should try to get voted off – clearly, this was a mistake.

bash was slowly getting more used to the environment of love island. while everything did seem a little too luxurious for the humble brunette, he was slowly becoming accustomed to the place and its amenities. he especially liked how spacious the kitchen was – the kitchen in the house where his parents and siblings live was so much smaller and there was normally only room for one person to be cooking. it was nice to have some more space, especially given how he was baking many batches of cookies. ‘ hey, i’m making some cookies. do you wanna take a spoon & eat some of the batter with me ? ’ he asked to the person who walked into the kitchen. ‘ i’m thinking of decorating them with people’s names or something once they’re done. ’