Chapter Text
If you’d have told Shane Hollander that he’d be going on television in 2025, he’d have probably called you an idiot.
If you’d told him he’d be going on Love Island, he’d have been incredibly concerned and checked your temperature.
Unfortunately, he’s currently standing in an outrageously expensive villa in Spain with a microphone looped around his neck, making small talk with some of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen, trying to ignore the fact there’s a camera pointed at his ass.
“I’m looking for, well, I don’t know,” one of the girls muses, tapping one manicured nail against her champagne glass. Shane thinks she said her name was Carmen. “I like tall guys, I guess.”
“Same,” the man beside him agrees with a wink. “Like, he’s got to be able to pick me up and throw me around, you know?”
“For sure,” someone else chimes in from across the smooth glass bar table, and Shane knows her name for sure this time because she’d whispered it in his ear when they’d first hugged.
“Don’t sleep on the short kings though,” Daisy pauses to wink directly at him. “Some of them are a lot stronger than they look.”
Shane presses a hand to his chest in mock-offence, despite the fact his heart is doing its best impression of a small animal being hunted for sport. “We’re just compact. Travel sized.”
“Travel sized?” Carmen laughs, and the sound is easy and bright.
“Jet2 compatible,” Shane shoots back. “No extra leg room required, and you know what they say, after all.”
One of the oldest among them - Scott - raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Nothing beats a Jet2 holiday,” Shane grins.
The guy beside him snorts into his drink. “That’s terrible.”
Daisy leans her elbow on the bar, her sharp green eyes dragging slowly over Shane like she’s appraising him. “So what’s your type then, Mr. Jet2?”
Shane shrugs, swirling his champagne like he has any idea what he’s doing. He really, really fucking hopes that it isn’t as obvious as it feels. “I like someone who thinks they’re smarter than me.”
“Oh,” Carmen smiles. “So, delusional?”
“No,” Shane corrects. “Confident. Slightly condescending. Ideally emotionally unavailable as well, but I go for well-adjusted as a treat sometimes too.”
“Specific,” Alastair says, quirking an eyebrow.
“I’m manifesting.” Shane lets himself glance up at the dark haired man, a smile playing around his lips.
They make - still slightly shy - conversation for what feels like an age, the cameras whirling. At one point, a producer steps in to adjust Carmen’s wire, and Shane excuses himself to the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut, he drops his head to the cool porcelain of the sink, and sucks in a trembling breath.
“Get yourself together, dude,” he hisses at his own sweaty reflection, trying and failing to tame the way his hair has spiked in a thousand different directions from the humidity.
He’s not ungrateful - really, he’s not. In fact he’s acutely aware that this is the opportunity of a lifetime, both for himself and - well, it doesn’t really matter right now. What matters is that he’s here, supposedly to find love. And fifty brand deals on top of that would be nice, too.
By the time Shane emerges, plastering an easy smile on his face, he doesn’t notice their numbers have grown again until Carmen jerks her head at him. He toys with the stem of his champagne flute, bewildered until he hears a voice he doesn’t recognise.
“Bisexual.”
Shane’s head swivels, doing his best impression of an owl.
The new man looks like he’s accidentally wandered onto the wrong set and decided to stay out of spite. He’s tall, lithe, like a cat. Lean, with broad shoulders and strategically tousled curls that fall around his Balenciaga shades with very little effort.
Daisy straightens slightly. “And you’re European?”
“Russian.”
His eyes sweep the group once, sharp and assessing.
Shane feels something in his stomach tighten, and he steadfastly ignores it, fiddling with a leaf that’s drifted down onto the bar top.
“That’s everyone now, folks,” their blonde-haired host - Cassidy - calls from just out of shot. “We’ll voice this part over, so if you could just head on across to the fire pit, that would be grand.”
Shane almost doesn’t hear her, allowing himself to be towed gravitationally in the direction of the fire pit with the rest of them.
An abrupt arm wraps around his shoulder, and he peers dazedly up into Alastair’s dark eyes.
“Hi,” he says simply. “Any complaints if I pick you for the couple up? I wouldn’t say I’m emotionally unavailable, but I am pretty confident.”
Shane laughs, because that’s much easier than admitting his pulse just kicked up a notch at the proximity.
“Bold of you to assume you’d get the chance,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t shrug Alastair off. He watches intently as the other man flexes his tattooed fingers, tightening his grip.
“I move fast.”
“Good,” Shane replies lightly. “I get bored.”
It’s easy - flirting is easy. Alastair smells expensive and clean and just a little bit like trouble. He’s tall enough that Shane has to tilt his chin up, which he hates in theory - think of the neck cramps - but is finding workable in practice.
Around them, people are arranging themselves by the fire pit. The seats are plush and violently pink - seemingly the theme this year, considering the colour of Shane’s bedsheets - and he lets himself glance across the semicircle.
The new guy - Russian - is standing slightly off to the left with his clasped behind his back like he’s observing a social experiment.
He’s not smiling. He is, however, looking directly at Shane.
He’s pushed his sunglasses up into his curls now, and Shane watches his eyes flick to where Alastair’s arm had been around him, before back up to catch his own. Shane’s spine straightens instinctively, but he turns back to Alastair with a wicked grin.
“You’re confident, you’re tall, you’ve already claimed shoulder rights. I’m intrigued.”
Alastair’s mouth pulls up at one corner. “So that’s a yes?”
“Depends,” Shane says. “Are you going to embarrass me?”
“Only privately.”
“Oh,” Shane exhales, delighted. “See, that’s the kind of reassurance I need. I’m sensitive under all my bravado.”
Carmen giggles from his other side, very obviously eavesdropping.
Across the fire pit, the other man’s jaw shifts almost imperceptibly.
Cassidy steps forward into partial view, clipboard in hand.
“Right, Islanders. Welcome to Love Island. As you know, this summer is fully open - gender rightfully isn’t a barrier here. You can couple up with whoever you feel most drawn to.”
Some of the girls murmur excitedly.
“Tonight,” she continues, “you’ll choose in random order.”
Shane becomes acutely aware of the fact that Alastair’s just inches away. Scott shifts his weight from the other end of the line.
Cassidy gestures at the pristine wooden flooring. “When your name is called, please step forward and tell us who you’d like to couple up with, and why.”
The order begins.
Scott goes first - he picks a flushed but clearly thrilled man Shane now knows is called Kip.
Daisy is chosen with a wink by a soft spoken, red haired woman called Irina. Shane can tell by her face that she’s trying very hard not to look pleased with herself.
“Alastair,” Cassidy points with her pen.
Alastair moves from his side, but not before his thumb drags slowly across the back of Shane’s neck.
Shane keeps his face neutral, watching the other man look between Carmen, a pretty brunette called Effie, then deliberately back at Shane.
“I’d like to couple up with someone who can keep up with me,” he says smoothly.“Someone sharp. Someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. And I think Shane does.”
Shane lifts his brows, feigning mild surprise - and secretly so fucking relieved he’s cosplaying well enough as relaxed that no one’s caught on yet.
Cassidy turns. “Shane, please step forward.”
His legs carry him forward, and Alastair’s hand finds his lower back as he takes his place beside him.
Cassidy nods, pleased. “Ilya, you’re up.”
Ilya. Noted.
He doesn’t move immediately, but when he does, it’s unhurried.
“I’d like to couple up with…” He pauses, scanning the remaining Islanders. There are options - good ones.
He chooses Carmen in the end, and doesn’t give a reason. Despite that, she beams, and joins him, her heels clicking on the panelling.
The remaining couples fall into place quickly after that.
By the time Cassidy claps her hands and declares them officially coupled, Shane is hyper-aware of the shape of Alastair beside him.
“You look distracted,” Alastair murmurs.
“Just taking it all in,” Shane replies easily. It’s a believable lie, and he hides behind it gratefully.
Across the fire pit, Ilya is listening to Carmen talk - or at least is doing a half-assed impression of pretending to.
His gaze lifts once more, and finds Shane again.
Shane smiles at him, and looks away first.