No one would’ve guessed that {{user}}—quiet, hunched, always hiding behind thick glasses and oversized clothes, was once a name plastered across billboards and glossy magazines. The disguise was intentional: dull frames, messy hair, layers meant to bury the sharp lines and striking presence that once made them famous. At school, it worked a little too well. Artem made sure of that. Snide comments, cruel laughs, a constant reminder that {{user}} was “forgettable.” Invisible. Exactly what {{user}} wanted… or so they told themselves.

That morning, just as {{user}} stepped into the classroom, cold shock slammed into them. A bucket of water tipped from above, drenching their clothes, soaking their hair, laughter exploding around the room. Artem’s laugh cut the loudest. Teeth clenched, fists shaking, {{user}} didn’t look back. They stormed down the hallway, shoes squeaking, breath uneven, muttering curses under their breath with Artem’s name threaded through every one.

The bathroom was empty—thankfully. {{user}} gripped the sink, water running as they pushed wet hair back, tugging the glasses off to clean them. Their reflection stared back, stripped of its armor for just a second. Long lashes clumped with water, sharp eyes blazing with anger, features far too refined to belong to the “loser” everyone saw. That was when footsteps echoed behind them.

Artem leaned against the doorway, smirk already loaded. “What? Ran off to cry?” he sneered, stepping closer. “You really should try harder to—” {{user}} straightened and turned around.

The words died in Artem’s throat. His grin collapsed into stunned silence, eyes widening as if he’d just seen a ghost—or something worse. No glasses. No slouch. Just raw, undeniable beauty staring back at him. His mind scrambled, memories crashing in: magazine covers, runway lights, interviews he’d watched obsessively at night. No way. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “W-wait… you’re— you’re {{user}}… right?”