Chapter Text
Ryland decided that he would rather be shot into space against his will than spend one more minute of his lifetime stuck on an airplane. Currently, he was three-quarters into his fourteen hour flight from San Francisco to Sydney, staring at the flight tracker on the airplane screen like it personally owed him money.
Ryland had hoped to read some new scientific publications on the flight, one really interesting article was about exoplanets roughly the size of Jupiter and their surprisingly consistent enrichment patterns of heavy elements (ie elements heavier than hydrogen and helium), which could suggest—-
Oh wait. There it was again. The two, Ryland counted again, three, reasons why this flight was the worst. Like Ever. The man in front of him had his seat reclined so far back it felt like a personal attack. The kid behind him was kicking his seat like a jackrabbit. And the person next to him had somehow managed to fall asleep while also occupying most of Ryland’s personal space.
Ryland stared at the flight tracker again.
He was not above leaving the plane in a lifeboat if an opportunity presented itself.
At least he had the window seat.
Colt better treat him to something nice for this,
Speaking of Colt, his twin was the entire reason Ryland was on this plane to begin with. The two of them rarely got to see each other in person anymore. Colt was always off filming somewhere, and Ryland was busy teaching, but they kept in constant touch with daily phone calls and texts. A few weeks ago, Colt had finally worn him down and convinced him to come to Sydney for the summer break. Not just for a visit, either. The whole summer.
Ryland was excited to see his brother again, honestly, it had been too long, but if this kid kicked his seat one more time he was going to explode, and oh my goodness did that guy just lean his seat back farther?!?
The plane landing was the most cathartic feeling Ryland had ever felt in his life. The experience trying to get to luggage claim, however, was another story. Ryland tried to pull out his phone, adjust his glasses, and fix the straps of his backpack all at once, which was exactly as graceful as it sounded. His most recent text message came from Colt.
Colt: “Here”
Ryland let out a short huff, slinging his backpack back on his shoulders and unlocking his phone to reply.
Ryland: “Wow so descriptive”
Colt: “Here to pick you up at the airport!”
Ryland: “That doesn't help”
. He finally wrestled his luggage clear and stumbled out through the airport doors. The heat hit him immediately. This was not San Francisco heat. It was thicker, brighter, and more humid, not that Ryland believed that could even happen. His hair was already sticking to his forehead by the time he navigated the chaos of the pickup lane and spotted the car he was looking for.
Colt sat in the driver’s seat of a maroon convertible, sunglasses on, blonde hair pushed back and lightly sun-bleached at the edges. He looked absurdly relaxed for someone who clearly had not just endured fourteen hours of commercial aviation heck.
“Oh wow,” Ryland called out, dragging his suitcase toward the car. “No rush for your own brother or anything."
Colt’s head snapped up. “Ryland!” He was out of the car in seconds, sunglasses forgotten, pulling Ryland into a hug that nearly lifted him off the ground. Colt leaned back, hands still on Ruyland’s shoulders, grinning. “Damn, man. I;m so excited you’re here. You look like you haven’t seen the sun in fifty years!”
Ryland snorted. “Yeah? And you look like you’ve been on a three-week bender.” They laughed, and Colt gave Ryland a light punch on the shoulder before helping him toss his luggage into the trunk.
“How the fudge did you get this car?! Be honest, did you steal it?” Ryland joked as Colt slid back into the driver’s seat, laughing as the engine roared to life. “Production Man! Just wait until you see the apartment they set me up in for this movie. Perks of going over budget I guess. I can only imagine what the actual actors got.”
As Colt merged into traffic, he asked the million dollar question “So how was your flight?” Ryland sank into the seat and rubbed a hand down his face. The motion did very little to fix the fact that his whole body had become one long complaint. “That bad, huh?” Colt laughs as he pushes his sunglasses onto his face. “No, it actually was the best thing ever.” Ryland replied flatly. “My favorite part was when the middle-aged guy next to me used my shoulder as a pillow for half the flight.”
The road opened up as they moved away from the airport, and Ryland let himself look out the window for the first time since landing. Sydney was bright in a way San Francisco never quite was. The sky seemed wider. The light had a strange gold quality to it, bouncing off the cars and pavement and glass buildings as if the whole city had been dipped in sunlight. Every so often, the ocean flashed into view between the buildings, a strip of blue so vivid it almost looked unreal.
The drive followed the coast for a while, and Ryland found himself staring. The water glimmered under the afternoon sun, waves rolling and folding over each other with a kind of casual power. He could smell salt through the open window. For a moment, the flight, the airport, and the hour of misery leading up to this all felt a little more survivable.
Eventually, Colt pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. Ryland opened the car door, stepped out, looked up, and stopped dead. “Oh my goodness,” he said. The building was absurd. It practically sat on top of the beach, with enough glass and concrete to make Ryland feel like he had accidentally wandered into a luxury ad. There was even a private pool!
He shut his mouth before he could embarrass himself any further.
Colt laughed as he came around to grab the bags. “Yeah,” he said. “That was my reaction too.” They rode the elevator up, then walked down a hallway that looked far too expensive for anyone their age to be allowed to live in. When Colt opened the apartment door, Ryland stopped in the doorway and nearly let his backpack slide off his shoulder and hit the floor.
In front of him was a kitchen the size of his entire San Francisco apartment, a couch that looked like it had never seen a speck of dust, and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a view of the ocean so perfect it looked fake. Colt laughed and clapped Ryland on the shoulder “Yeah,” he said. “Production must have high hopes for this movie” Ryland slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in. “This movie has got to be a money laundering scheme or something” Ryland exasperates.
Colt pointed at him “You say that now, but wait until you see the snack drawer”. Ryland let out a laugh, because of course there was a snack drawer, and the next hour passed by into the familiar rhythm of the two of them bickering while Ryland unpacked and Colt insisted on showing off every absurdly nice thing in the place.
By the time they started making food, Ryland was already losing the war against the time difference. He ate half his meal before giving up against the battle with gravity and collapsing onto the couch. Colt glanced over from where he was inhaling his microwaved ramen, “You good?” Ryland did not move. “I think every molecule in my body hates me.”
“Perfect”
“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?”
“I am.” Colt admitted. “You look ridiculous.”
Ryland cracked one eye open, glaring at Colt upside down from how he was laid over the couch. “Yeah okay, says the one who gets thrown through windows for a living.”
“Jealousy does not suit you brother.”
“Neither does your haircut.”
That got a laugh out of Colt, and for a little while they just stayed like that, talking about nothing important, making fun of each other in a way only twins could. Ryland forgot how much he missed this, sure they called often, but it wasn't the same as being together again. Eventually the sun started to go down, Ryland and Colt parted ways into their designated bedrooms.
Ryland wandered to the balcony in his (new) bedroom. Sydney glittered below him, all salt air and traffic and ocean light. It was impossible not to stare. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Colt: u still alive?
Ryland let out a sound of disbelief, because Colt was texting him when he was literally two doors down.
Ryland: Tragically yes. Also, Are you*
Colt: Okay fuck you* . be ready at 5 tomorrow
Ryland: Waking up that early is an assault to god
Colt: Welcome to Set.
– – –
If the plane had been the worst experience of the trip so far, waking up the next day with jet lag was a very close second. Ryland rolled over with certainty that time zones were a scam, then finally forced himself out of bed and into clothes. He settled on a black graphic tee that read What about this don’t you understand? in the middle of a mess of physics equations, paired with faded blue jeans.
By the time he reached the kitchen, Colt was already there, hovering near the counter with coffee in one hand, sunglasses in the other, and judgment on his face. Ryland squinted at him. “You look offensively functional for this hour.” Colt lifted the coffee slightly. “I got you coffee.”
Ryland’s expression changed instantly. “You are the best brother in the world.”
“Drink it before I change my mind.”
The drive to set was mercifully short, which was the only kind thing about waking up so gosh dang early. Sydney looked different at this hour, not exactly asleep, just softened around the edges by early light. The roads were busier than Ryland expected, the air was already humid, and every once in a while the ocean flashed into view between buildings.
By the time they reached the studio lot, Ryland was awake enough to become deeply aware of how little he belonged there. The place buzzed with motion. Trucks lined the edges of the lot. People in headsets strode by with purpose. Someone was carrying equipment the size of a door. Another person was yelling something into a walkie-talkie way too loud in Ryland’s professional opinion.
Colt parked and killed the engine. “Welcome to the circus.” Ryland squinted through the windshield. “You say that like this is normal.”
“It is normal.”
“That makes this so much worse, I hope you know.”
Colt laughed and got out, “Come on. I’ll show you around.” Ryland stepped out into the heat and immediately regretted every life decision that had led him here.
He pushed his glasses higher on his nose bridge and followed Colt past a row of trailers, pausing every few seconds to avoid getting trampled by people moving heavy equipment. “There is no way that this is safe by the way.” Ryland mutters to Colt, who merely chuckles in response.
Colt led him toward what looked like the main production area, where several massive lights were pointed at part of a constructed street set. One side of the fake buildings had been fixed to look like a sleek city block, all fancy like. Another section was still half-bare, with exposed framework and half-hidden equipment. It was all very convincing until you noticed the giant generator parked out of frame and the person eating toast while leaning on probably hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment.
Colt grinned and waved to someone off to the side. A few crew members stopped and stared at the two, looking back and forth, before greeting Colt and walking away. Colt shook his head and laughed, “I told them you would be here! I don’t know what they expected.”
They moved off to the side while the crew adjusted something on set. Ryland took in the activity around him, it was loud in a very specific way, all overlapping calls and bursts of laughter and the occasional command that sliced cleanly through the noise. It reminded him vaguely of his classroom.
Colt glanced over “You’re looking around like a little kid.” Ryland adjusted his glasses. “I’m trying to figure out how many people here know what they’re doing.” Colt gestured at the set. “Enough, mostly.”
“That is so not a number.”
“We go based on vibes”
Ryland opened his mouth to retort, but the voice of someone who sounded commanding cut across the lot, telling everyone they were almost ready. Ryland shifted his weight and looked to where all the noise was coming from. He couldn't see anything clearly yet just silhouettes moving in and out of the frame while crew members made everything look just right.
“Are they about to start filming?” Ryland asked curiously. Colt followed his gaze and nodded. “Yeah. It looks like they are setting up a scene with Tom.” Ryland glanced sideways at him. “Tom?”
“Tom Ryder.”
Of course he knew who Tom Ryder was. Everybody did. He was on posters, trailers, magazine covers, and every cologne bottle that had ever needed a photo of a handsome man staring off into the distance. But knowing a name and seeing a set built around that name were two very different things.
Before Ryland could ask another question, someone on set called out loudly,
“Seavers!”