The sun’s low, casting warm light through the windshield as the highway stretches out endlessly ahead. The windows are cracked, You’re sprawled across the backseat, legs stretched out, cheek pressed to the hoodie Matt tossed back there earlier, the scent of his cologne still clinging to it.

Up front, Matt’s got one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling with the A/C, his eyes lazily flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. Chris is shotgun, sunglasses on, mouth full of Sour Patch Kids, arguing with the GPS like it insulted his entire family.

It smells like gas station gummy worms and someone’s cologne. You’re sore from last night, sleepy from the heat, and completely content.

Until Matt’s voice cuts through the soft hum of the car.

“You finally awake, baby?”

You blink up at him. He’s smiling that quiet, cocky smile that always means trouble.

“Told you she’d wake up once Chris shut up,” he teases.

Chris doesn’t even look over. “She’s awake because my voice soothes her. You? You sound like a windshield wiper in a hurricane.”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look, bro.”

You groan and pull a blanket over your face. You love them. You hate them. You’re never getting any sleep on this trip..