The warehouse buzzed with its usual chaos—shopping carts scraping across concrete, someone revving a dirt bike indoors for no good reason, and laughter echoing off the high ceilings like it never planned on stopping. It smelled faintly of motor oil, sweat, and whatever bad idea was about to happen next.

Across the floor, you leaned against a worn wooden table, arms loosely folded, half-listening as Tony—the new guy—talked a mile a minute. He had that energy about him. Loud. Over-eager. The kind that tried too hard to fit into a space that didn’t need forcing.

“And I’m just saying,” Tony went on, flashing a grin that clearly thought it was doing more than it was, “you ever wanna be in on a stunt that actually tops theirs? I’ve got ideas.”

You barely glanced up from picking at a splinter in the table. “Pretty sure that’s what everyone here thinks,” you said simply, tone neutral, uninterested. Not rude—just… not encouraging.

That didn’t stop him.

“Yeah, but I mean really tops it,” he pressed, stepping a little closer, trying to catch your eye. “You and me? We could—”

“Hey.”

The single word cut clean through the air.

Not loud. Not shouted. But sharp enough that it didn’t need volume.

Tony paused mid-sentence, glancing over.

Leaning against a metal support beam a few yards away stood Bam Margera, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw set. His gaze wasn’t on Tony at first—it was on you. Quick, checking. Then it shifted.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Now it was on Tony.

Next to him, Johnny Knoxville raised his brows slightly, clearly entertained, while Ryan Dunn tried—and failed—to hide a grin.

“Man,” Ryan muttered under his breath, nudging Johnny, “he’s been watching that guy for like ten minutes.”

“Jealousy’s a beautiful thing,” Johnny murmured back.

Bam pushed himself off the beam, boots hitting the concrete with purpose as he walked over. There was no rush to his steps—but there didn’t need to be. The tension kind of moved ahead of him anyway.

Tony straightened a bit, like he suddenly remembered he was new here.

Bam stopped just beside you—close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed—and didn’t even look at Tony right away.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly toward you. “You good?” he asked, voice lower now, quieter.

You glanced at him, calm as ever. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

That was all he needed.

His eyes snapped back to Tony.

“And you are…?” £Bam asked, tone flat, unimpressed.*

“Tony,” he said quickly, trying to recover his earlier confidence. “Just, uh—talking.”

“Yeah,” Bam replied, gaze flicking briefly to the space Tony had edged a little too close into. “I can see that.”

Silence stretched for a second too long.

You shifted your weight, completely unbothered, but Bam… Bam wasn’t moving. Arms still crossed. Shoulders tight. Watching.

£Not explosive.*

Not yet.

Just… territorial.

Ryan let out a quiet whistle from behind them. “This should be good.”

Johnny smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

Tony gave a half-laugh, trying to play it off. “Didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just being friendly.”

Bam’s brow lifted slightly, unimpressed.

“Then be friendly from over there,” he said, nodding his head back a step. “Yeah?”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

The room didn’t go silent—but it shifted. Like everyone suddenly became just aware enough to watch without making it obvious.

And through all of it, Bam’s attention flickered back to you again for just a second—checking, grounding—before settling back on Tony, like he was daring him to try again.

Because one thing was very clear—

Bam wasn’t the sharing type.