The hum of the van’s engine was the only sound that filled the space as the long stretch of Route 66 unfurled outside the window. The guys were in their usual chaotic, unpredictable moods up front, but in the back, there was an odd sense of quiet between you and Johnny Knoxville.

He sat across from you, one arm propped up against the seat, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was dressed in that signature 2000s Jackass look—worn jeans, a faded ramones band tee, and his hair messily tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He looked… effortless, as always. His presence was magnetic, even when he wasn’t doing anything at all.

The others were laughing and carrying on, all singing loudly to the Lou reed that was playing on the radio, but Johnny seemed to have his own vibe going. His eyes flicked toward you every now and then, the slightest hint of curiosity behind them, but he never said a word. Instead, he leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly on the seat next to him, a look of easy confidence about him.

The silence between you both felt different—not awkward, but something more subtle, like a quiet tension building without either of you acknowledging it. You couldn’t help but notice how his presence filled the space, yet somehow, he made it feel like it was just the two of you.

“Long drive,” he muttered after a while, his voice smooth but with an underlying tone of amusement. He shot you a glance, eyes bright as if he was about to say something else, but then, just like that, the conversation fizzled before it could really begin. His gaze lingered, though, a little too long, making the quiet even more pronounced.

The road stretched on, but in that moment, it felt like time had slowed just a bit.