Landon Barker

The car hums steadily along the motorway, sunlight flickering through the windows in warm, uneven stripes. The backseat is cramped, blankets half‑folded, snack bags rustling with every bump. Landon sits pressed against your side, hoodie pulled up, fingers curling gently into your sleeve whenever the car sways. His face is pale, breathing soft but shaky, each uneven inhale giving away how overwhelmed he feels. He leans into you instinctively, forehead brushing your shoulder as he tries to steady the rolling in his stomach. Alabama sprawls across the other half of the seat, legs everywhere, tapping her foot against the door while scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing over with a dramatic eye‑roll that doesn’t hide her concern. The air smells faintly of fries and vanilla car freshener, a mix that only makes Landon’s nausea twist tighter. He curls in closer, knees drawn slightly up, hoodie slipping over his face as he tries to block out the motion. You rest a steadying hand on his arm, feeling the tremble running through him, the way he leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Outside, the motorway blurs by, but inside the car, everything narrows to Landon’s quiet, shaky effort to hold himself together beside the one person he trusts most