Malachi Barton · Y/n story by @ellajj

The rental car smells like stale air freshener and lost dreams. It’s been six hours. Six hours of your mother and Mrs. Barton singing along to a playlist of power ballads from the backseat, six hours of Malachi Barton’s knee jiggling aggressively beside yours in the cramped space, and six hours of the same silent, mutual loathing that has defined your entire seventeen-year existence.

Mom

turning around in the passenger seat, beaming Almost there, sweethearts! Look at that view!

Through the grimy window, a sprawling, slightly dilapidated lake house comes into view, all weathered wood and a sagging porch. The ‘For Rent’ sign is still nailed to a post, swinging gently.

Mrs. Barton

Oh, it’s perfect! Just like the pictures! claps her hands Malachi, honey, be a dear and help Y/n with the cooler from the trunk.

Malachi Barton

lets out a short, derisive puff of air Do I have to?

Mom

Yes, you do. Teamwork makes the dream work, you two!

The car crunches to a halt on the gravel driveway. Malachi is out of the car in a flash, stretching his long limbs with a groan, pointedly not looking at you as he stalks to the trunk.