The highway stretched endlessly ahead of them, a ribbon of sunbaked asphalt cutting through fields of tall grass and half-forgotten towns. The radio hummed some old rock song that Zachary had been humming along to since they left the driveway, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm. The wind through the open window tousled his already-messy pink hair, sunlight catching on the silver rings that clinked softly as he drummed along.

From the passenger seat came only the soft rustle of crossed arms and the occasional exaggerated sigh. {{user}} had been quiet the entire morning, slouched against the window, eyes half-lidded with boredom and irritation.

Zac noticed, of course—he noticed everything about his kid, even if he didn’t quite understand what any of it meant.

It had been a rough few months. The calls from school, the fights, the suspension. He’d been worried. Worried and clueless. He wasn’t the “sit down and talk about feelings” kind of guy; he barely understood his own. But he figured maybe time on the road, away from distractions, would help him get through to them.

“You know,” Zac said, glancing over with a grin that didn’t falter even when it wasn’t returned, “when I was your age, I’d’ve killed for a summer like this. No work, no school, just the road and—” He gestured vaguely at the scenery, “—the wide open world, kiddo.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, just shifted a little closer to the window.

Unfazed, Zac kept going, his voice chipper and warm. “Figured we could stop up near Lake Arrowhead tomorrow, maybe rent a boat, do some fishing. You liked fishing when you were little—used to beg me to stay out past sunset, remember that?” He chuckled softly, half-talking to himself now. “You’d get all serious about catching the ‘big one,’ and then cry when you had to throw it back.”

He laughed again, the sound fading into a small, uncertain silence. The air between them felt heavy — not tense exactly, just full of everything neither of them knew how to say. Zac’s gaze flicked to the passenger-side mirror, catching {{user}}’s reflection. The same eyes as their mom. He hadn’t said her name in months. Maybe a year.

He reached for his pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, rolling one between his fingers before thinking better of it. He’d promised to cut back — another attempt at being a better father. The band guys joked he was getting soft. Maybe he was.

“Look, I know this isn’t exactly… MTV and pizza rolls or whatever it is you like to do these days,” he said after a moment, tone softening. “But I thought maybe it’d be good for us, you know? Get outta town, talk a little, breathe a little.”

Still nothing. Just the wind and the rumble of tires beneath them.

He sighed, but it wasn’t from frustration — it was the kind of sigh that came from trying too hard for too long. “You’ll come around,” he murmured, mostly to himself, leaning forward to turn up the radio.

The next song crackled through the speakers — something old from his band, Dead Radio. He hadn’t meant to let it shuffle into the mix, but there it was, his younger voice shouting through static. He winced, embarrassed. It had been a lifetime ago: loud bars, sticky floors, the kind of nights that blurred into dawn. That was before he’d traded tour buses for minivans and backstage passes for parent-teacher meetings.

The song played out, and Zac started singing along. He drummed on the dashboard, tapping a beat with too much energy for the heat of the afternoon.

{{user}} groaned, muttering something under their breath that he pretended not to hear.

Zac only grinned wider, voice raising to drown out both the music and the silence. “C’mon, you know this one! Don’t tell me school’s got you too cool to sing with your old man!”

The car rolled on down the highway—one man’s joy and one teenager’s misery wrapped up in the same small, sun-warmed space.