Chapter Text
Tom flaming Ryder strolled into Grover Cleveland Middle School like he owned the place.
Classes had just been let out, students still trickling out of the halls. Parents were still in the parking lot, a long line of vehicles that were waiting for their children to appear. The school buses had taken off, though, only allowing a few minutes before starting their routes.
He was being stared at. The cap he put on to try to hide his hair and shadow his features helped minisculely. Tom didn't appear to notice any of that, if the way he walked slowly and with a dazed purpose, was saying anything.
He didn't bother to wave at one of the employees of the school district at the front desk. He knew how this school operated, but only because his stuntman would complain about how far back his brother's classroom was in the school. The twisting hallways were annoying.
Tom knew he had the right place when he saw a plaque with 'Mr. Grace' on it, with stickers decorating the wall. A beloved teacher resided inside, someone who students trusted to enlighten them about the world they lived in.
He paused suddenly. His hands weren't clammy—actors didn't feel nervous, they felt excitement and the thrill of trying something new.
Contemplating on whether or not to knock on the door, Tom was given the surprise of it being decided for him.
Ryland was looking down at a folder, holding it in one hand, while his other twisted the handle and opened the door. He tried to walk through, but was stopped when he noticed a figure blocking the light coming from the hall.
"… No."
Tom accused, voice high-pitched and upset, "You didn't even let me say anything!"
Ryland began to back into his classroom one half-step at a time. He tried to close the door, the handle shaking up and down, but Tom quickly pressed forward.
"Don't do that— Hey!" Tom pushed through with the confidence of someone who was not denied anything he wanted. "I just wanna talk!"
The file and its contents were poured onto the floor as Ryland upped his ante. He continued to try to win the fight over the door, but Tom had already entered his classroom. Even if he won the battle, Tom had breached the lines of war.
"You made a mess," Ryland said, gesturing to the papers across the ground.
"I made a mess!? No, you made a mess because you were trying to pull some stunt on me."
Tom pointed at Ryland with a jerky hand, flapping it in the air. Only then did Ryland notice that Tom's hat had been lost in the scuffle. Good. If Tom left it behind, Ryland could torch it. Or sell it on eBay.
"I am not your stuntman, Ryder. No matter what you say, I will never trade jobs with my brother just because I'm 'the better looking one.'" Ryland was going to lose it. "Leave. Now. Before I call him."
"Oi, you haven't even heard me out!" Tom was not above begging. "Do you know how much I had to change my schedule to fly out here? No one comes to San Franny anymore. It's L.A. or nothing, babe."
"First of all, never call San Francisco 'San Franny' ever again." Ryland was losing it, just a little. "And secondly, don't call me babe. I don't care if you're used to calling people that. I do not wish to be referred to in that way—"
"Why would I call anyone else that?" Tom asked, faux innocent. "I'm not in a relationship with them," he continued, "I'm in one with you."
Ryland had one thought. "Are you high?"
He was going to let all of his panic burst out. His hands waved around in the air, his face turning a little red as his voice grew louder.
"You cannot be on drugs at a school! Children go here! This is a school building! Publicly funded! My students cannot be allowed to see you in this state—"
"No one is here," Tom said, putting up a finger. He added another one, making a peace sign. "And I'm not high."
"Drunk, then?"
"What is with you—"
Ryland frowned, suddenly even more concerned than he was mad for a single moment. "Are you injured? Why didn't you just say that? I don't have a bike, but I'll get you a ride, and then you can be treated by medical professionals."
"I am not injured!" Tom's voice was nothing more than a wheeze. They were both yelling.
"Then why are you acting like a lunatic!? Your head must've been hit. Your memories are scrambled and wrong and—"
"I have a proposal!" Tom shouted.
They boggled at each other breathlessly, neither of them used to raising their voices for long periods of time. Well, at least, not without a camera filming it. There were no cameras here, be it as it may.
"Does it involve being checked over by a doctor?" Ryland asked hopefully after a few beats.
"No, why would I? I have— I have a business proposal! An idea that even Gail approves of… in theory."
Uncertain, Ryland asked, "A proposal…?"
Tom stood straighter, smoothing out his clothes. They got ruffled in their door standoff. He was willing to set that aside for the next steps. He coughed into his hand, preparing to announce the greatest idea he's ever had.
Tom clasped his hands together. "Date me."
Ryland flinched, bumping into a desk behind him. "No," he said, keeping his rejection short and precise.
"Please," Tom said, shuffling closer, looking more pathetic by the second. He looked up at Ryland with wide, glassy eyes, begging for a chance.
Ryland's mouth opened. No sound came out. His eyes looked up and around the room, searching for an escape route.
Tom pounced, bracketing Ryland against the desk. "I will pay you."
Ryland tried to wiggle away, but there was nowhere to go. Tom was practically on top of him, not allowing him to flop onto the desk and get away. No, there was no escape. Not unless Ryland suddenly grew muscle and the ability to push a physically stronger man off of him.
"Are you dumb?" Ryland asked after a moment, barely using his voice, whispering as quietly as he could.
"No," Tom said defiantly. "I thought this through."
"I don't think you did. You came here to my school to ask me what? To canoodle with you?"
"There is no canoodling," Tom argued. "I mean," he stumbled over his words, "not unless you want to—"
"No."
"Great, yeah," he said quickly. "That's… great."
Christmas Eve, Ryland had been in an accident. He's the one who hit his head. He was hallucinating right now. He had to be. There was no fudging way that Tom Ryder was in his school asking him to go on a date.
But this felt like reality. The harsh, hot breaths Tom panted across Ryland's nose were mind-numbing. The buzz of the air conditioning vent above them was loud. The squeak of the desk's legs scraping across the floor was too visceral to be fake.
This was all very real.
He couldn't reach his phone. He would have to settle this in a way that made it so that Colt wouldn't kill anyone.
"Tell me the business proposal."
Tom smiled, all giddy like a kid. He didn't move away from Ryland, though. Not completely. He continued to hover, but he did back away a little, like he was straightening his shoulders.
"Okay. So… I don't remember all of what Gail's plan was—"
"Ryder, so help me—"
"Look!" Tom's voice was several decibels higher than it should be. "It's not Gail who decided on who I should ask to date. I chose you, isn't that something?"
"No, not at all. Why the flapjack are you here, Ryder? Is this all some weird prank you're secretly recording?"
"I would never do that to you!"
"We are not close. Why the fu– fudge are you asking me to date you? I've only met you, like, twice. Neither time was good. The first time, you yelled at me because you thought I was Colt. The other time, you offered to pay for me to have plastic surgery so I didn't remind you of my brother, who I share a face with."
Tom swallowed, going pale as he heard what happened from a different perspective. "Alright, I admit that's not a good look."
"No way, wow, big surprise, there," Ryland muttered sarcastically.
"You're not– You're not bad lookin', Ryland. And really, I'd rather not be put into a PR relationship with Iggy again, so do me a solid here, man."
"I will not be doing you any 'solids.' I am not going to have my personal business mixed into your mess."
Ryland finally held some semblance of sanity. He pressed his hands against Tom's shoulders, and the man stood up with no complaints. Ryland stood up too, his back and neck twinging from the awkward angle they were freed from.
"I'm a hot mess, though," was Tom's reply. He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows when Ryland let out a long sigh. "Come on, come on, come on— We can do this! I cannot handle breaking up with Iggy again. She's too loved. I'll be dragged through the mud when we stage our breakup after the gig."
"So you need a relationship for good PR?" Ryland asked quizzically.
Tom snapped his fingers excitedly. "Exactly!" He breathed out, "Fuck, I knew you were smart."
Ryland narrowed his eyes, finding it a bit offensive. He didn't say anything, though, because he knew Tom would not care even if Ryland explained why.
"I need someone new," Tom said, rambling a bit. "Someone… normal. Average. Not known of! Someone who isn't a celebrity and will be ripped apart by the media. I need a nobody! Someone who isn't a somebody."
"This is not hyping me up to agree to whatever deal you have concocted," Ryland said glibly. "Are you aware of that?"
"I am hyping you up!" argued Tom, eyes wild. "I need someone who is, like, a real person! You're the perfect fit."
"At least you admit that celebrities don't behave like real people," Ryland murmured under his breath.
Tom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whateves. Just—" he inhaled sharply, "—will you do it?" He put up his hand, curling it into a fist when he said, "$5k a month, take it or leave it."
Ryland stared, dismissing the way his knees practically shook at how casually Tom was throwing out a life-changing number.
Tom took his silence for something else. "$10k a month," he corrected quickly. "And an additional $5k every time we go out in public. Even if there are no photos taken. The risk alone—"
Ryland interrupted this jackass, feeling more than a little disturbed. "You're willing to give me ten thousand dollars per month for some kind of, what, fake relationship?"
Tom bobbed his head, casually saying, "It's not like I can hire an actor. They'd blab about it. Plus I'd have to make up a fake background story of how we met. That's a mess, isn't it? I can hardly remember my lines, imagine if I had to remember, like, anniversaries or first dates."
Ryland was unsettled. Not because he was being offered money to fake date Tom Ryder. That wasn't wholly shocking, considering how Tom was a literal dumpster fire of stupid ideas.
What was more disturbing was that Ryland was considering the idea.
"You went to me?" Ryland asked, confused and flabbergasted. "We don't talk to each other. We're not even acquaintances."
"Hey," Tom said, "I know you. You're my fall guy's brother! Doesn't that feel like a natural relationship? Meeting each other on set and all? It sounds believable."
God, was he really— "Maybe," Ryland hedged.
"Yes!" Tom raised his fist to the air. "Suck it, Gail! I will not get trashed by Iggy's fans ever again!"
Ryland was dealing with someone who had great influence, but still, he had the need to speak up. "I don't like how you're phrasing things…"
Tom blinked. "Is it 'cause I said suck it?"
"No, it's—" Ryland sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Never mind."
"Phew." Tom wiped at his forehead. "Good. I say it a lot. Mostly to your brother. He's too full of himself, y'know. I'm worried for him sometimes, because he's like— He talks a lot of shit. He has no brains, guess I shouldn't fault him for that."
Ryland wasn't even going to attempt to poke that bag. He would not interfere with Colt's work by yelling at his boss. He'd likely make their working relationship worse completely by accident. It was better not to say anything, even if he was angrily stewing on the inside.
Instead, Ryland got back on point. "Send me the contract. I'll review it. I don't care if the language is general and vague, just something that guarantees that I'll receive payment for putting up with you. I won't be scammed by a bottle blond."
"I would never do that to my fall guy's precious baby brother!"
Ryland squinted at Tom, not believing it for a single second. He heard enough of Colt's long-winded vents to know that Tom was not someone that Ryland should trust with a popsicle stick, let alone something more important.
Tom deflated. "Well, I might, but never to you, gorgeous. I know better than to cross my sweetheart unless I want to see claws."
"Gorgeous? Sweetheart?" Ryland was going to find a way to spin fast enough to drill a hole into the floor so he could disappear.
"We need pet names," Tom said simply, leaning closer once more. "I'm great at coming up with them. They slide right off my tongue!"
"Don't."
"Honey bun," Tom said, goading him. "Fruity licious. Hot stuff."
"No." Ryland put a hand up, but it was useless. "Never say those words again—"
"Rylie," Tom continued, his voice both falling quieter and more precise with every syllable. "Gracie. Candyland—"
"What the fudge are you saying?" Ryland batted away Tom's hand that was reaching for him—almost like it was reaching for his hand, like he was trying to grab it and hold it. "You will never call me any of those names."
"Do you have a favorite yet?" Tom asked, bulldozing over all of Ryland's complaints.
"Just use my name. It's Ryland, in case you forgot."
Honestly, knowing Tom, that wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.
Ryland needed a drink. His headache was debilitating at this point. He looked around for his water bottle, but of course, he couldn't get far. Tom was eyeing him up.
"Pshwa, I knew that." Tom shrugged his shoulders.
Ryland was stressed out. Being around Tom Ryder stressed him out more than Colt jumping off tall heights as kids ever did. Colt would probably be upset that Tom amanged to take place as the number one stressor in Ryland's life.
He was going to set boundaries, or try to. "I'm not going to call you anything… weird." Ryland would not call Tom by any sort of pet name, ever.
"Why not?" Tom tilted his head. "Couples say all sorts of things in private."
"We aren't actually in a relationship, Ryder."
"But we need to act like we are," he argued. "You have to have a nickname for me, Ryles. It's part of the deal, the whole of this shebang."
"Jesus fucking Christ—"
"Whoa, there, slow down," Tom said. "Did I get the face wrong? Am I speaking with Colt Seavers? Where is his well-behaved brother?"
"… Shut it."
Tom was a walking disaster. Nothing he said ever made sense. Ryland must be crazy for considering this. He had to be raving mad to last so long in a conversation with Tom Ryder. He had become contaminated with the nonsensical thoughts bouncing around in Tom's head.
"I want that contract," Ryland said. "I'll only consider things after I see it on paper."
"I'll send it to you as soon as it's drafted," Tom promised. His eyes locked onto Ryland, and that's when he shifted, standing awkwardly. "I, uh. One problem, though."
"… What is it?" A migraine was incoming.
"I don't have your phone number. Or your address. Those are pretty normal things to know in a relationship."
That was… fair. Ryland would hand both items of information over if it meant supplementing his income. He wouldn't change his lifestyle—he didn't trust this to last long—but he might splurge on new supplies for the classroom.
Tom then rushed out, cheeks tinted pink, "I also don't have a place to stay for the night."
Ryland stilled.
Every good thing he thought of Tom had been erased from existence, not that there was much to start with. Tom withered under Ryland's assessing look, gauging how truthful the actor was being.
"You have loads of money," Ryland pointed out sensibly. "You are a millionaire. You pay tons of people to work for you. You can afford a hotel room. Heck, you could rent a house or buy it—"
"Let's kill two birds with one stone." Tom smiled sheepishly. It didn't look right on his face. "We can create our cover! I'll take some things from your place, in return, I'll leave some behind. There! Believable boyfriends!"
"Do you expect people to break into my home—"
"I'm being cautious." Tom's lip jutted out. What the fresh hell was Ryland witnessing today? "I can't afford to screw this up. And neither can you."
Ryland didn't like how Tom sounded knowledgeable all of a sudden. "In what way?" he asked.
"Your brother. My stuntman. We're all going to be filming that movie out in Sydney next week. You wouldn't want to ruin your brother's chance of reconciling with Jody, would you? If I have a scandal, your brother's job as my stuntman disappears, doesn't it?"
He plays dirty, Ryland thought. Then, why am I only just now realizing something so obvious?