Chapter Text
Ryland is going to be astronomically late to work, and it’s all because the guy in front of him can’t decide what to order. He’s gone and changed his drink order over ten times in the last few minutes, and the barista looks seconds away from throwing him out of the shop, which is a completely reasonable reaction to the man terrorising their store at 6:40 in the morning.
“I’ll take an espresso,” the man says, leaning against the counter, his face concealed by a pair of reflective sunglasses and a black face mask, “Or— no. A mocha, but hold the espresso. Put the espresso separately. On the side. And then throw it out.”
The girl behind the counter, who can’t be older than seventeen, levels him with an unimpressed stare, “So you want a hot chocolate?”
“No!” the man hisses, glancing around wildly as if to check if anyone else has heard. But it’s only him, Ryland, and the two poor baristas in the coffee shop, and Ryland is busy messaging his school to ‘apologize for the late notice, but he needs a sub to take over his first period class’. Once the man was certain no one was going to jump out at him, he leaned in closer to the girl, “Fine. Yes. A hot chocolate. But put, like, ‘coffee’ or something on the cup, okay? And add extra whipped cream.”
He didn’t even say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Rude. Finally, the man swipes his card and steps aside to let Ryland through. He double-takes as he does so, and Ryland imagines that if the man had had his drink ready, he’d have spat it out dramatically. But he didn’t, so he just kind of sputtered incomprehensibly.
“Hi,” Ryland greeted, doing his best to ignore the man beside him, “Could I please get a medium vanilla oat latte?”
The girl nods, tapping in his order and getting him to pay in a completely normal and expected amount of time. He steps aside to join can’t-order-coffee-man over by the side of the cafe, who still has yet to stop his strangled noises. Finally, the man seems to get a grip.
“Colt?”
Oh. This must be one of his brother’s friends, or something. That’d explain the— well, actually, it still didn’t explain the reaction. Ryland shakes his head. “No, I’m uh— his brother.”
The man frowns. Or, at least Ryland is pretty sure he’s frowning, but it’s hard to tell behind the mask. “Oh shit? I didn’t know he had any family. You guys are identical, that’s like… crazy.”
He reaches over, lightly punching Ryland in the arm. “Hey, you got some muscle too. You also do stunts?”
“No, I’m a teacher.”
The man nods solemnly, “I respect it. Too bad about your brother’s injury, huh? He was pretty good at his job. Not good enough, clearly, but—”
“He’s really good,” Ryland says somewhat sharply, feeling the need to defend his brother’s honor to this strange man. “His accident was— well, an accident. I don’t know who you think you are—”
“Order for Rom Tyder?”
Ah.
Tom Ryder, celebrity actor and bane of Colt’s existence, breaks away from their conversation to grab his drink. And then, as if he hadn’t ordered his drink under the most inconspicuous pseudonym in the world, he turns to Ryland, pulling down his mask to grin at the other man: “I’m Tom Ryder, by the way.”
Ryland nods politely, waiting for the actor to leave the cafe. But he doesn’t. He just stands there with his hot chocolate, presumably staring at Ryland behind his tinted glasses. Ryland, who’s never been a fan of eye contact to begin with, keeps his gaze down on his phone. It buzzes with a response from Daniel, who runs the front office.
No subs available. Get to your class on time.
As if Ryland had a choice in being late. He’s about to type a response, when the barista calls his name, holding out his drink. He smiles and mutters a thanks, the hot cup of coffee warming his hands, which are practically frozen in the San Francisco winter. And… Tom Ryder is still staring at him. Amazing.
He turns back to his phone, his eyes flickering to the time at the top corner. 6:48. If the traffic was alright, it was a 15 minute bike ride minimum to make it to the middle school. He could call a cab, but he’s certain that would take longer to arrive then just biking would take. He glanced up at Tom, and… oh, what the heck.
“Are you filming in the area?” he asks.
“Oh yeah,” Tom waves a hand vaguely, “Top secret Hollywood stuff, though. Can’t just tell any fans. Even if they’re family of my friends, right? Sorry, man.”
From what Ryland had heard, ‘friends’ was the last thing Colt would consider him and Tom, but he doesn’t voice that, instead just nodding politely.
“I understand,” he says, even though he definitely does not, “But, uh, if it’s not too much to ask— I’m assuming you drove here— do you think you could give me a lift to my work? It’s just a five minute drive, but I bike, so I need—”
“Need me to be your knight in shining armour,” Tom finishes, nodding confidently. That was definitely not what Ryland had meant to say at all, but pointing out otherwise seemed rude. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I didn’t drive here.”
“Oh. That’s fine, tha—”
“But,” Tom cuts him off once again, and Ryland is suddenly hit with the realization that this man somehow has less manners than his entire class full of 12 year olds, “My assistant drove here. So, yeah, we can give you a lift. No need to stress, man. I won’t even charge you.”
The actor grins at Ryland as if he’s just saved the planet, and he realises, horrifyingly, that he’s actually endeared by this guy. He shakes off the feeling, because this is just a one-off interaction, and it’s not like he’s ever going to run into Tom Ryder again, right?
Wrong.