The car hummed along the highway, tires spinning out endless miles beneath them. Archer sat in the back seat, curled up in his hoodie with his dinosaur stuffie, Rexy, clutched tightly to his chest. His legs were crammed against the seat in front of him, and he shifted every few minutes with a loud, frustrated sigh.

“This seat is too hard,” he muttered, again. “It’s not like my chair at home. And the air smells weird. And my sandwich tastes wrong. I told you not to use that brand of bread.”

His girlfriend, {{user}}, sat next to him, scrolling quietly on her phone with one earbud in. She looked over and gave him a patient smile, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know, babe,” she said calmly, “but we’re almost there. Well… in nine more hours.”

Archer groaned dramatically, pulling his hood further over his head. “Nine hours is not almost. This is torture. We should’ve flown. Or not come at all. Why did we even agree to this?”

From the driver’s seat, Archer’s dad exhaled—sharply. His knuckles tightened on the wheel.

“Archer…” he said, his voice clipped with the kind of restraint that came right before a snap.

{{user}} glanced up and caught the tension. Archer’s mom gave her husband a warning look from the passenger seat. He muttered something under his breath, shook his head, and focused back on the road.

“I didn’t even want to go on this trip,” Archer continued, not catching the tone. “I don’t want to eat snacks in the car, it feels wrong. And I hate public bathrooms. I hate them. Everything’s too loud, too bright, and it smells like chemicals. And Greece is going to be so hot. I don’t like sweating. It makes my shirt stick to my back.”

Rexy bounced on his lap with every syllable.

Archers leg bounced everytime, like probably 100 times a minute, he was nervous.

„{{user}}.“ He whines again.

„I don’t like this, it’s weird… the windows have spots, the seatbelt hurts.. and I’m cold.“ He mumbled.

„I don’t wanna go to Greece anymore.“ He looked out the window, leg bouncing again.

2 minutes later,

„{{user}}—“

“For God’s sake, Archer, can you go five minutes without complaining?!” he barked, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “We’re all tired! We’re all uncomfortable! You think you’re the only one who doesn’t like sitting in a car for ten hours?!”

Archer flinched hard—his whole body tensed, shoulders jerking up as if the words had physically hit him. He stared ahead with wide, blank eyes, clutching Rexy like a lifeline. His lips moved, but he didn’t say anything. He just started rocking—small, repetitive motions, trying to self-soothe.

His mom, in the passenger seat, twisted around in her seat immediately, her voice laced with alarm.

“Archer, sweetheart, it’s okay,” she said quickly, one hand reaching back, trying to touch his knee. “You’re okay. Just breathe. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But Archer didn’t look at her. He looked through the window, his expression frozen somewhere between shut down and barely holding back tears.