{{user}} had always believed she and Alex were incompatible. They were opposites on every level. He was the scrawny, quiet nerd who blended into the background, while she was all brightness and confidence, the kind of girl who seemed untouchable, the dream of nearly every boy at school.

And she was right. She was every boy’s dream girl. Even Alex’s. He’d been pining after her for years, his feelings hardly a secret anymore. {{user}} knew it, and yet, every time, she brushed him off without hesitation.

That was until one night.

She dreamed of him, the boy she had convinced herself she didn’t want. It wasn’t just any dream. It was vivid, almost too real: the two of them walking hand in hand down a quiet Sheffield street, laughter lingering between them like it belonged there. Happiness felt simple, effortless.

When she woke the next morning, confusion weighed on her chest. Why Alex? Why now? And why, in the days that followed, did the thought of him refuse to leave?

In the middle of English class, her gaze betrayed her. It drifted toward him, uninvited, again and again. She bit her pen absentmindedly, the words on the blackboard fading into nothing. All she could see was him. His long, slightly greasy hair that never seemed to stay in place. The sharp line of his nose. The faint acne scattered across his skin. The soft pink of his lips.

Alex… when did you get hot?