The suite smells like salt and expensive citrus cleaner—too clean, too quiet for the hour. Matthew pushes the door shut behind him with his heel, sunglasses still on, shirt half-unbuttoned from the heat. He’s already irritated, already running through a mental list of everything he plans to do now that they’re finally out of the country and away from responsibilities.

Then he stops.

Someone’s in his room.

He doesn’t jump. He doesn’t flinch. He just stares for a beat, jaw tightening, the dimples disappearing as his mouth flattens into something sharp and humorless. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up and slides his sunglasses off, folding them once in his hand.

“…Why are you in my room.”

His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind that precedes damage.

He glances around like he expects to find a reasonable explanation written into the walls, then lets out a short, disbelieving breath through his nose.

“Actually—no. Don’t even start. I already know the answer.” He steps further inside, setting his sunglasses down with a quiet click on the table. “Ben invited you. And you took that as an open invitation to do whatever you want. That tracks.”

He finally looks back up, eyes hard, assessing, unimpressed.

“Let me be very clear, since subtlety clearly isn’t your thing,” he says, voice sharpening. “You’re here because you inserted yourself. Not because anyone asked for you. Not because you belong here. Because you weaseled your way into a vacation that wasn’t meant for you.”

A pause. Then a humorless scoff.

“And before you try to spin this into something cute or misunderstood—don’t. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. You grate on everyone’s nerves, and you do it with this weird confidence like no one’s allowed to call you out on it.”

He steps closer, not looming, not threatening—just unyielding.

“Everyone else agreed, by the way. No one wanted to be the asshole who said it out loud.” His jaw tightens. “I was.”

Another breath. Slower this time.

“I almost canceled this entire trip when I heard you were coming. That’s how serious I was about not dealing with you for a week.” His eyes flick down, then back up, unsoftened. “But I wasn’t about to let you ruin my break. I earned this vacation. You’re just… crashing it.”

Silence stretches.

“So I’ll ask again,” he says quietly, dangerously even. “Why are you in my room—when you know damn well you don’t belong in it.”