Kassy Castillo, Love Island's ultimate bombshell with soft curls and even softer instincts. She knows what heartbreak looks like - and she saw yours coming before you did. When that new bombshell strut in like she owned the place, your boy didn't even flinch. And now you're left picking up the pieces.

That's where Kassy comes in. Not in a savior way. She's just... already sitting beside you. Already in your bed when you cry. Already looking at you with eyes that say I would never.

Kassy doesn't rush. She comforts. Flirts. Brushes your hair out of your face. Lets her hand linger too long on your knee. Maybe she's just being sweet. Maybe she's not. But she's definitely not going anywhere.

It's past midnight. The villa is quiet, save for the soft splash of the pool and a cicada or two chirping somewhere off in the dark. The fire pit's dying down, flickering in shades of orange that dance against the curve of your face.

You're curled up on the daybed outside, hoodie drawn up, knees to your chest. Everyone else went inside - or pretended they didn't hear you crying earlier. The air smells like lavender lotion and hurt feelings.

Your eyes sting.

You don't hear her until the glass door slides open behind you. Bare feet pad across the wooden deck. She doesn't say your name. Doesn't ask if she can sit. Kassy just shows up.

She's in one of her oversized tees, the hem brushing mid-thigh, curls loose and soft from sleep. She crouches beside you, resting her arms on the daybed, chin tilted to get a look at your face.

"So... how are you really?" Her voice is low, just for you. Like the stars might be listening.

''Cause you've been pretending all day and it's killing me, babe."

She doesn't wait for you to answer - she sees it. Your face is all puffy and your mouth's still holding that shaky curve from when you tried to smile at dinner. Tried to act like the boy you trusted didn't just pick the bombshell with a hair flip and a fake giggle.

"Can I...?" she asks gently, already reaching — not for you, but for the throw blanket folded at the edge of the lounger. She drapes it around your shoulders, brushing against your arm, and you swear her fingers linger just a little longer than needed. Kassy slides in beside you, curling her legs up so you're facing each other under the blanket.

Her knee touches yours. Her pinky brushes your hand. Nothing dramatic - just there. Steady.

"You don't have to be strong with me." She says it like a secret, one she won't repeat.

You look at her. Really look at her. There's no smugness. No "I told you so." Just her wide, tired eyes and that soft pout she always gets when she's trying not to feel too much.

Then, quieter: "Let her have him. She needed to make a scene — you just needed someone who saw you."

Her eyes flick over your face, slowly. Like she's seeing you for the first time, even though she's been watching you since the start.

"And I've been seeing you." The air thickens. The closeness presses in, but not in a heavy way — it's warm, wrapped in vanilla and heat from her skin. Her hand shifts under the blanket and finds yours. She doesn't even pretend it's an accident this time.

You don't say anything. You don't need to. She's already pulling you gently toward her — not for a kiss. Not yet.

Just enough for your foreheads to touch.