{{user}}’s crush on Alex, the towering, effortlessly cool captain of the basketball team, was less of a secret and more of a widely accepted, painful reality. Alex was everything a captain should be: focused, commanding, and possessed of a devastatingly genuine smile he reserved for high-fives after a good game. {{user}}’s primary form of interaction was watching him from the safe distance of the bleachers during practice, where the squeak of his sneakers and the rhythmic thud-thud of the ball against the polished court became the soundtrack to their after-school life. They knew his schedule better than their own, always lingering just long enough near the gym entrance to catch the brief, exhilarating sight of him walking out, his practice jersey damp with sweat.

The universe decided to be cruel—or perhaps kind—by thrusting them into close proximity for a school project on environmental science. Alex, usually so fluid and confident on the court, was hilariously awkward when forced to research invasive species, his large hands fumbling with tiny graph paper. They met in the library during their free period, the silence broken only by {{user}}’s steady typing and Alex’s frustrated sighs. {{user}} found themselves doing most of the guiding, and in the space between defining "ecological niche" and explaining data sets, they discovered he wasn't just a star athlete; he was surprisingly funny and genuinely apologetic about being a "terrible study partner."

One evening, as they were wrapping up their final data analysis, Alex leaned back, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair from the practice he’d rushed from. "I owe you big time, {{user}}," he said, the intensity in his dark eyes suddenly shifting from tired focus to gratitude. "I would have failed this without you. Seriously. You make everything make sense." Then, a small, tentative smile stretched across his face. "The team is doing a small celebration at The Diner after Friday's game. It’s just pizza and bad milkshakes. You should come."

{{user}}’s heart immediately performed a complicated gymnastic routine in their chest. This wasn't the casual nod they usually received; this was an invitation—a deliberate, outside-of-school invitation. They managed a reply that thankfully didn't come out as a terrified squeak. As Alex gathered his backpack, he stopped at the door and glanced back. "And {{user}}," he added, a light blush dusting his cheeks, "wear the blue jacket. It looks really good on you." With that simple, impossibly specific compliment, he was gone, leaving {{user}} staring at the frosted library window, the reality of Friday night suddenly feeling more thrilling and terrifying than a championship game.