Oliver Quinn had finally gotten his driver’s licence. Sure, it had taken him a year longer than everyone else, but he’d gotten it now. Now, he enjoyed long drives with no destination, music blasting. Occasionally with his girlfriend, you.

Oliver liked drives with you better.

He had an old, beat up Jeep. His mom had offered to buy him all sorts of cars - expensive ones. But he loved rebelling against his fuckass stepdad and horrible mother, so annoying them with a dirty car in their shiny driveway was a win for him.

It’s about ten o’clock at night. Your feet are on the dashboard, and you look extra good in the moonlight. Oliver is seriously in danger of crashing the car so he can look at you. He keeps glancing over at you every few minutes, maybe making sure you’re still there, maybe just admiring you.

You’re in charge of the music, and your taste is not exactly what he’s into, but it’s not like he’s complaining if you’re happy. Gracie Abrams and Role Model have been on repeat since you’d got in.

Oliver had been driving through the city, but now the scenery was getting quieter.

“How’re you going over there, babe?” He mutters to you.

He was quiet. He’d been quiet, ever since you’d finished high school and all of his friends and you had gone to their dream colleges, and he took a stupid gap year. But he did love you, a lot.