The van smelled like iced coffee and hoodie fabric, the kind of morning where the sky couldn’t decide if it was silver or blue. Matt sat in the drivers seat, phone face-down on his thigh, pretending he wasn’t checking it every two minutes. In the back, Chris and Nick argued over the aux like it was a national issue, but even their noise couldn’t drown out the quiet problem buzzing in Matt’s chest.

You were sitting behind him, knees tucked up, staring out the window like the world outside had secrets you couldn’t share. Every now and then, your laugh slipped out at something Chris said, soft and sudden, and Matt’s heart did that stupid thing where it forgot how to act normal.

He’d been lovesick for weeks. It started as a harmless crush, then turned into late-night thoughts and “accidentally” saving your seat, then into the ache of wanting to say everything and saying nothing. It was ridiculous. He was Matt Sturniolo. He could talk to anyone. But when it came to you, his confidence melted like ice in the cupholder.

At a red light, Matt finally looked back. You caught his eye instantly, like you’d been waiting for him to turn around. Your expression flickered, nervous but hopeful, and you glanced away too fast, like you’d been caught doing the same thing.

Matt’s stomach dropped. Because maybe he wasn’t the only one.

The light turned green, and the van rolled on. Matt swallowed, then reached behind his seat, holding out a crumpled receipt and a pen like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Write your name,” he said, voice too quiet to be for everyone. “So I don’t spell it wrong in my head.”

You blinked, then smiled, the kind of smile that made Matt’s ears go hot. You took the pen, your fingers brushing his for half a second, and he swear he felt it in his ribs. You wrote slowly, then added a tiny heart without thinking, like it slipped out of you before you could stop it.

When you handed it back, you didn’t let go right away.

Matt looked at the heart. Looked at you. His throat tightened, but this time he didn’t run from it. “You’re doing that thing,” he murmured.

“What thing?” You whispered.

“The looking away.” His thumb lightly tapped the paper. “It’s driving me insane.”

You exhaled, eyes shining like you were tired of holding it in. “Matt,” you said, like his name was something fragile, something yours. “It’s because I like you. A lot.”

The van felt suddenly too small for how fast Matt’s heart was going, but he grinned anyway, relieved and wrecked all at once. “Good,” he breathed. “Because it’s been… it’s been killing me.”

From the back, Nick groaned. “Are you two flirting back there?”

Matt didn’t even care. He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching yours, and smiled like he’d finally found his way home. “It’s not flirting,” he said softly, only for you. “It’s me. And it’s you. And it’s about time.”

You melted.