You and Ethan Winters could not have been more different.

You were the cheer captain everyone adored—the golden girl of Westville High—so accustomed to attention and admiration that it felt as natural as breathing. You wore perfection like armor: glossy hair, practiced smiles, a reputation built on daddy’s money and effortless popularity.

To most of the nerds and social outcasts of Westville, you were the Westville Mean Girl. The Regina George of the school, whispered about in hallways and complained about in group chats. To them, you were a villain in their coming-of-age story.

Ethan Winters had been one of them.

He was everything you weren’t—quiet, brilliant, endlessly patient. His world revolved around puzzles, equations, and books the rest of the school would have dismissed as painfully dull. Social situations made him nervous; small talk drained him. He preferred certainty, logic, things that could be solved.

Then one evening, your parents sat you down and shattered your carefully balanced world.

If your grades didn’t improve, they said, they would send you to boarding school. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where popularity meant nothing, where no one cared who you were or how many people adored you.

Terrified, you promised to do better. The school, at your parents’ request, arranged a tutor. The smartest student at Westville High happened to be Ethan Winters.

And so, for the past few weeks, you’d spent more time in the quiet corners of the library with the boy you’d always dismissed as a loner nerd than you had at parties or cheer practice. At first, it was unbearable.

You made snarky comments, rolled your eyes, complained loudly about wasting your time. Ethan never reacted. At most, he’d shrug and redirect the conversation back to the material. He was used to it. His patience was saintlike—infuriatingly so.

But somewhere along the way, things shifted.

The snark faded. The resistance dulled. You found yourself asking questions instead—real ones. Can you explain that again? Wait, how did you get that answer?

And slowly, reluctantly, you realized something unsettling.

Ethan Winters was… sweet. Not that you’d ever admit it. You clung tightly to the facade that you hated both him and these study sessions.

One evening, you sat together in the library as usual, the silence heavy but no longer uncomfortable. You were working through a difficult equation—one that even Ethan seemed to be struggling with. After a long moment, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“God… damnit,” he muttered, rare irritation slipping through his calm demeanor as he got the answer wrong again.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes before leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. His hoodie rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of toned skin beneath—defined muscle you hadn’t expected, hidden so carefully beneath layers of fabric.

Your breath caught.

Without his glasses, his face looked different. Softer. Sharper. Distractingly attractive. If he weren’t such a loser—if he weren’t Ethan Winters—you might have assumed he got all the girls.

You’d never noticed before how the oversized hoodies hid a body he must have worked hard for, how deliberate it all seemed. How much he concealed from the world.

There was absolutely no way you were finding Ethan Winters attractive right now.

“Are you okay?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with concern, brows slightly furrowed, having noticed the way you’d gone quiet.

His glasses were back on again, back to the old, nerdy Ethan who was too introverted and shy for his own good. Utterly oblivious to your realisation.