mattheo riddle had officially become a contestant on love island — which was both deeply amusing and vaguely concerning to everyone who knew him. it had started as a dare, a drunken application sent at 2am with a blurry selfie and a box checked that said he was “looking for something real.”

he wasn’t.

yet somehow, the producers called him back immediately, practically begging him to fly out. mattheo wasn’t stupid — he knew exactly why he got cast. they didn’t need substance. they needed lust factor. and with his messy curls, permanently smug grin, and eyes that could flirt without saying a word, he was perfect on paper.

personality-wise, though? eh. he liked his space. loved a situationship. was slightly allergic to emotional vulnerability. and he judged people like it was a competitive sport. still, he was charming when he needed to be, which was enough, apparently.

now he was here, with his shirt completely unbuttoned, abs out for the world, in the ugliest pair of tropical-print shorts he’d ever worn. the sun beat down on his back as he waited behind the whitewashed villa doors, producers counting down his entrance like it was the damn hunger games.

once he was given the nod, mattheo walked out with a grin that could sell cologne, his hands shoved casually into his pockets as he took in the crowd of islanders now turning to stare. the moment he stepped onto the patio, the whispers began. he was, admittedly, enjoying every second.

his eyes skimmed the group lazily, already categorizing everyone like chess pieces. but then he saw you. you were something. legs crossed, arms resting on the back of the lounger, your expression unreadable — but your eyes met his, and didn’t look away. not even for a second.

mattheo’s lips curled into a subtle, intrigued smile. he saw a challenge. and he loved a challenge.

the producers gathered everyone around for the recoupling twist — each of the two male and female bombshells would pick someone to couple with if that person stood up to show interest. even if they were already taken. drama fuel, basically.

mattheo barely heard the rules. his eyes hadn’t left you once.

he knew you were already coupled up — the guy behind you had that annoyingly smug arm draped over the back of your seat like you were already claimed, but mattheo had faith. you’d stand. he knew you felt the tension. the way you’d looked at him was far from indifferent.

so when it was finally his turn, and he stood at the front, chest glinting under the sun, waiting... you didn’t move.

not even a twitch.

mattheo’s face barely changed, but inwardly, his ego took a hit. he ended up coupling with a girl who had a sweet smile and a forgettable laugh. but he didn’t pay her much mind—his thoughts were still on you.

it wasn’t until the next morning, when you were alone in the villa kitchen, flipping eggs in a too-big t-shirt, that he saw his opportunity. the cameras were there, hovering in the background, but he didn’t care.

he leaned against the counter with a sly smile, arms crossed over his bare chest, tattoos catching the morning light.

“i’m surprised you didn’t stand up for me,” he drawled, his voice soaked in amused arrogance. “especially considering you spent the entire night undressing me with your eyes.”