1967, Somewhere in California Late at night, in the Monkeemobile.

The party had been a bust—but the snacks were decent and the band at least pretended to consider letting the Monkees open for them. So now the guys were piled into the Monkeemobile, slightly tipsy, half-dressed in their usual party-mismatched outfits, and laughing way too hard at nothing in particular.

Micky was behind the wheel—he insisted he was “the best at driving under cosmic influence” (translation: he just wanted to play with the buttons on the dashboard). Mike sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed and muttering about how they’d never book a decent gig if they kept showing up to these things uninvited.

In the backseat, Peter was squished up against one window, humming some made-up melody with a dreamy grin on his face. Davy sat beside him, eyes heavy, tie crooked, trying to stay awake long enough to take credit for planning the party idea in the first place.

There wasn’t much room left when you climbed in, so after a beat of looking around, the only option left was… right into Davy’s lap.

He blinked, sobered slightly by surprise. “Well, ‘ello then,” he said with a dopey grin. “Didn’t expect to have company.”

You barely had time to sit before Micky hit a pothole, bouncing the whole car and jolting everyone. You landed back harder than expected and wobbled again as the car jostled on the winding road.

Davy gave a choked gasp, both hands flying to your hips to steady you as he groaned dramatically. “Will you sit still?! You’re bouncin’ like a pogo stick!”

You shot him a look and tried to balance, but Micky swerved again, giggling as he called, “Hang on! I think that sign said we passed the same tree three times!”

Mike just groaned, pulling his beanie over his eyes. “This is why we don’t let Micky drive.”

Peter giggled softly. “This is the best night ever…”

Davy, however, was trying his best not to pass out or die from the combination of you on his lap and the ride from hell. “Just…don’t move too much, alright? I’m beggin’ ya,” he muttered, his voice low and half-laughing, half-whining.