Chapter Text
“You cannot take any audio recordings with Mister Ryder. There will be no videos or selfies with Mister Ryder unless he explicitly invites you to take one. Do not hand Mister Ryder anything directly. Do not attempt to give Mister Ryder any food or beverages. Mister Ryder will not record any messages for friends or family who cannot be here today. No–”
Ryland’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher as the list of never-ending rules continued. When Colt had handed him off to Sara, Tom’s PA, he had thought the little good luck had been playful, not foreshadowing of what was to come.
He raised his hand slowly, waiting for Sara to stop. Or, at minimum, take a breath. “Ah, quick question?”
“Yes?”
Ryland glanced at the clipboard, then back at her.
“Do people… actually try to do all of that?” Ryland asked. Because that was an impressively specific list. And, presumably, someone had done every single item on said list at least once for Sara to have it memorised.
Sure, Colt hadn’t painted the best picture of Tom over the years. He'd tried not to let too many details slip, but Ryland could read between the lines. Still, nobody deserved to have people assume they were owed his time, or pieces of him, just because he happened to be famous.
Sara’s smile looked thin. She held her clipboard to her chest like a shield. Ryland wasn't sure it would be particularly effective, but given Colt’s description of Tom, he couldn’t exactly blame her for trying.
When Colt invited Ryland to spend the day on set, he’d expected hours of waiting around and, if he was lucky, the chance to watch his brother work. Maybe even getting to see Colt perform a stunt or two. Safe ones, presumably. The sort that didn't involve car chases, jumping off buildings, or fire. Especially fire.
In retrospect, Ryland could see why Colt hadn’t invited him onto set before.
Being handed off to Tom Ryder’s PA hadn’t been anywhere near his list of things that might happen that day.
“...which one is Tom Ryder again?” Ryland had asked Colt, only to receive a blank look, followed by what felt like ten solid minutes of laughter. There had been actual tears streaming down Colt’s face by the time he was done.
And that was how Ryland had discovered that the lead actor – the one that teenage him had been embarrassed to admit that he had a crush on, hanging his poster of Hot Earth inside his wardrobe at home, then at college, then at grad school… - had (apparently) gone on to make a few more movies.
Ryland thought back to the dusty tube propped in the corner of his wardrobe at home. He still hadn’t got around to having it framed. Probably because his landlord didn’t allow anything that might mark the walls, and had a nasty habit of dropping by for surprise inspections. Also, framing a poster of Tom Ryder at thirty-something felt like the sort of thing he should probably be embarrassed about. It wasn’t that he was still carrying a torch for a fictional geologist played by an actor he’d had a crush on as a teenager. Obviously. He was an adult now. A teacher, even. With a PhD.
“How was I supposed to know he changed his stage name?” Just because Colt had done the same, in an effort to avoid the frankly embarrassing number of name-related puns their surname always seemed to attract, didn't mean that Ryland was expected to keep track of every actor who’d ever changed his stage name.
“He’s not just some random actor, though, is he, Ry?” Colt teased him, his grin wide enough to have Ryland rolling his eyes. “How long did it take you to memorise that film again?”
Ryland didn’t dignify him with a response.
“If you could hand your phone over to me, we can get you in to see Mister Ryder for a quick meet and greet before Mister Seavers comes back to collect you.”
Collect him. Like he’s there on a school trip. Which, given that he was a teacher, was somehow even more insulting. Ryland’s grip tightened around the strap of his bag.
“You know, I’m really not sure if I’m comfortable just handing over–”
Before Sara could insist – or Ryland could suggest going home – the trailer door opened with a bang. Eyes widened.
“What the hell’s going on out here, Sara? I thought I told you–” Then he caught sight of Ryland. The frown lines melted away.
Ryland could see it now. Beneath the bleach blonde hair there was that familiar wave of curls; beneath the thick stubble was a hint of those sharp cheekbones. And beneath about fifty extra pounds of muscle was the same man. The one whose depiction of a geologist-turned-hero (with an apparent vendetta against shirts) had once made science seem like something more than just academia. Almost like it could be something thrilling if given the chance and right circumstances.
At fourteen, Ryland had been captivated by the overly complex jargon and winding explanations that somehow led to science saving thousands of people. Well, probably. Hot Earth had never been particularly clear on exactly how many thousands of people in New York were supposed to be in danger from the very slow moving, pixelated lava.
He’d been old enough to know better, even then. Or at least, old enough to be embarrassed by how much he’d loved it. But it stayed with him.
It didn’t matter how good the science was if nobody understood it. A perfect theory was useless if you couldn’t explain it to someone who didn’t already know the answer. The same went for methodology, data, all of it. If you couldn’t communicate what you’d done, you might as well have done it in a language nobody spoke. And so he’d spent his career trying to make his own work accessible beyond the people who already knew how to read it. Since becoming a teacher, he’d tried to instil that same sense of responsibility in his kids, too.
“You’re Dr. Cole Steele,” Ryland said, and immediately heard the embarrassing amount of awe in his own voice.
Tom’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was warmer than Ryland had expected from a man who spent so much of his life in front of cameras.
“I prefer just Tom,” Tom said, offering his hand. Ryland took it, momentarily startled by just how much larger Tom’s hand was than his own.
Tom Ryder was, unfortunately, exactly as attractive in person as Ryland remembered. Possibly more so. This was going to be a problem.
“I’ve got this, Sara. Tell Gail to push back my two o’clock.”
Sara took a tentative step forward. “But, isn’t that when you’re due in hair and–”
Tom waved her off, his attention locked on Ryland. “Colt’s told me virtually nothing about you, other than you’re a teacher? I’d love to learn more about my number one fan.”
Sara sent Ryland one last apologetic look before turning away.
“Oh, I wouldn’t really… say…” Ryland’s words trailed off as he followed Tom inside, getting his first glimpse inside of the trailer. “Is that the limited edition green lava variant of the Hot Earth poster? I thought they only made enough of those for competition winners for the tenth anniversary special Blu-ray release.”
Tom stared at him. Ryland cleared his throat. “I… may have done some research.”
That was an understatement. Ryland had still been trying to get his PhD at the time. He hadn’t exactly had the spare money or time to try and get his hands on either the Blu-ray or poster, or the rumoured super-limited-edition pin that had come with pre-orders from one specific store near campus.
Apparently, this was the sort of vital information his brain had decided was worth retaining for twenty years.
“He really wasn’t kidding,” Tom murmured.
Ryland turned towards Tom, one eyebrow arching. Would it be wildly inappropriate to ask Tom to sign something for him? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Ryland winced. Of course it would be. Sara had literally just spent give minutes explaining why he wasn’t allowed to ask Tom for anything. An autograph hadn’t technically been on that list, but Ryland felt fairly confident it was covered by the general spirit of the thing.
“Who wasn’t kidding?”
“Colt. He said you were a fan of…” Tom gestured to the table. Ryland took a cautious step forward. Two posters – the limited edition green variant, and a less-battered version of the one he still had in his room. The legendary pin. A Blu-ray. What looked like an old copy of SciFiNow with a little ‘15th Anniversary: Hot Earth! Dr. Cole Steele Spills All…’ emblazoned in the corner, and looping, scrawled signatures covering the majority of the cover. And next to it all, a worse-for-wear copy of the DVD. The only thing on the table without that looping, scrawled squiggle of a signature.
“...is that…?” He had been wondering where it had gone. Had convinced himself that just because he hadn’t been able to find it since Colt last came over for dinner, didn’t mean that the man had anything to do with its disappearance. Apparently he had been wrong.
“Colt made it sound like you might like an autograph. He also said you like to show that film to your kids, so I didn’t wanna assume,” Tom explained with a shrug.
“I would. Like an autograph, that is.” Ryland cleared his throat. “And I do show it to my kids. Every year, we do a whole project on it.”
“A whole project? Every year?”
“They have to figure out everything Hot Earth gets wrong about geology, then rewrite one scene so that it could actually happen. It’s surprisingly effective.”
Tom’s face went through a complicated series of emotions before finally settling on a wry grin. Soft laughter filled the air between them. Ryland found his own lips twisting into a smile in response.
“Well, at least it was good for something, I guess. D’you still want that thing autographed? You can have anything else on the table if you’d prefer.”
Ryland hesitated. “You can’t just give these to me. They’re collector's items.”
Tom shrugged. “I get a lot of stuff for my movies. Really, you’d be doing me a favour. At least this way, I know they’re going to someone who’s not just gonna put them on eBay.”
Ryland looked at the collection again. He wanted them. Obviously he didn’t need them. They were just old movie memorabilia. Objects. Collectible objects that just happened to include the exact poster he’d spent years since grad school trying (and failing) to find at a price that didn’t feel more like his monthly rent payment. But, no matter how badly he wanted them, taking them still felt wrong. Even if Tom said it was okay…
“Do you have a pen?”
Tom produced one from his robe pocket, twirling it between his fingers. “Just tell me where to sign.”
Ryland took the pen, rummaging through his bag to find a scrap of paper. He scribbled something down before he could think better of it, then held it out. He wondered if he looked as nervous as he felt. “I don’t feel right just taking all of this. So, I thought maybe I could…”
He gave the paper a little wiggle. “Say thank you. Properly.”
Tom accepted the paper with a puzzled frown. “Really, you don’t need to…”
There, on the corner of a flyer for the Grover Cleveland Middle School Summer Read-a-Thon, was a number. A mobile number. Tom blinked. “You’re asking me out?”
“Yes. I thought maybe I could take you out to dinner sometime?” Ryland said. “Or cook. I can make more than instant ramen, no matter what Colt says.”
Tom stared at the number in silence. As seconds stretched on, Ryland’s stomach dropped. He’d completely misread things. Of course he had. This wasn’t just the star of some silly little sci-fi film he’d fallen in love with years ago. This man was an A-lister now. He probably had an equally stunning celebrity girlfriend waiting for him at home. Or boyfriend. Or both. There were probably rules about this sort of thing. There were definitely rules about this sort of thing. He just didn’t know what they were.
“You’re asking me out?”
Ryland could feel the heat climbing from the back of his neck up and across his cheeks. “I can take it back.”
“No,” Tom said so quickly, snatching the flyer back that he almost fell over in his haste. “No. Don’t take it back.”
Tom laughed, the sound soft, as he rubbed the back of his neck with an almost bashful expression. This didn’t look like the kind of man who spent half his career on the big screen, and the other half posing for magazine covers. “I’d really like that. On one condition.”
Ryland nodded, waiting to hear what the catch was. There was always a catch. Always.
“You let me give you the memorabilia. All of it. No arguments.”
“That’s not–”
“Nu-huh. I said no arguments,” Tom said teasingly. At least, Ryland thought he was teasing. “Do we have a deal?”
Ryland nodded, holding out his hand again. “We have a deal.”
Instead of shaking his hand, Tom lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss against the back of Ryland’s knuckles. Ryland’s eyes widened. Oh, this was so much better than anything teen-him had ever imagined.
Before either man could say another word, a knock came at the door.
“Please tell me Sara’s in there acting as a chaperone,” Colt called through the door. He let himself in a second later, taking one look around the room. His teasing look morphed closer to something resembling alarm. “You’re alone?”
“We were just talking,” Ryland said.
“Right. Great. Come on, I’m taking you home before Tom convinces you to invest in crypto or come to the wrap party or tries to give you his number or something equally as dangerous.”
“Hey! I would never recommend crypto.” Tom looked offended. “Though, NFTs–”
Colt grabbed Ryland’s arm, dragging him towards the door. “Nope. Say bye to Tom, Ry.”
Ryland sent Tom an exasperated look over his shoulder. “It was nice meeting you. Thank you again–”
Colt neatly closed the door before either man could finish saying their goodbyes. He lowered his voice, arm remaining wrapped around Ryland’s shoulders as he quickly steered him away. “Seriously, are you okay? He didn’t do anything weird? Didn’t hit on you or anything? I thought Sara was gonna stay with you guys…”
Ryland opened his mouth, then closed it again. Technically, Tom had hit on him first. Ryland had merely responded. And then written his phone number down. And then offered to cook him dinner. In his defence, the distinction had seemed much clearer at the time.
In his pocket, Ryland’s phone began to buzz. He pulled it free.
Unknown Number: Hey, this is Tom. How’s Friday? I’ll have my nutritionist fix us something nice.
Ryland looked back towards the trailer where Tom was now standing in the doorway, looking down at his phone with a hopeful smile. Friday. He could wait until Friday. Probably. He had a lesson plan to finish anyway.
Ryland Grace: Friday sounds great. I can’t wait.
“Ry? Earth to Ryland. Seriously, did Tom say anything weird? You can tell me.”
“No,” he said at last, a smile creeping into his voice. “He was a perfect gentleman. Totally normal.”