School was finally back in session after winter break, and the air was buzzing with that weird mix of excitement and dread. You climbed onto the bus, earbuds already in, and made your way to the back. Sliding into your usual seat, you pulled out your phone and began aimlessly scrolling, letting the dull murmur of chatter wash over you.

The bus rolled along, picking up clusters of students at each stop. Laughter, gossip, and half-sleepy greetings filled the air. But then, everything slowly quieted as the bus rounded a familiar corner.

Everyone turned to stare.

There it was — the massive white estate, more like a palace than a house, with grand columns, manicured lawns, and tall black gates. A place built for royalty. And stepping out of that estate was your best friend, Matthew Morris.

At 6’4”, Matthew had the kind of presence that made people do double takes. Broad shoulders, toned arms, and that calm, effortless stride — he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. But despite his intimidating size, there was something about him that always felt gentle. Kind. Safe. He wasn’t one of those snobby rich kids with a chip on their shoulder. Matthew was different — sweet, soft-spoken, and deeply loyal to the people he cared about.

He didn’t go on the limo— said it was “too much trouble.” Instead, he stepped onto the school bus in casual black sweatpants, a black tank top stretching across his chest, a white hoodie half-zipped over it, and a black bandana tied around his hair. The moment he boarded, the bus practically froze. Girls gave him flirty glances, boys tried to make space for him. But he already knew where he was going.

Without missing a beat, Matthew made his way to the back and dropped into the seat beside you. He pulled off his hoodie and tugged off the bandana, flashing you a soft grin.

“Sup, bro.”

The bus groaned forward again, and the background noise resumed.

So,” he said, nudging you lightly with his shoulder, “how was your winter break?”