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“Look, I’m just saying, there’s a bit too much face. Y’know?”
“Here we go again,” Colt muttered under his breath. Ryland blinked, keeping pace with Colt as he skirted around the trio reviewing footage on screen. One of them looked alarmingly like Colt right down to his matching leather outfit, while another seemed to be mainlining a litre of diet coke.
“Colt!”
“Damnit.” Colt hooked his arm through Ryland’s, tugging him along as if picking up his speed would be enough to avoid the blonde doppelganger trailing in their wake. “Look, just – whatever he says, ignore him, okay? I know he can be a bit of an asshole, but… he’s still technically my boss. Kind of. And I need this job.”
Ryland’s eyebrows rose. The last time Colt had preemptively warned him to keep his cool, he might have called someone a staggering waste of carbon. On stage. Livestreamed.
“Noted.” Ryland took a sip of his coffee, the footsteps behind them growing quicker.
“Hey, Colt!”
Colt sighed, the pair coming to a stop. Before Ryland could turn, Colt squeezed his arm, holding him in place. “I’m serious, Ry. This is a tight industry, and if I want to keep getting jobs, I need to keep that asshole happy. If he’s happy, the studio’s happy. If the studio’s happy, I get to keep crashing cars and setting things on fire for a living.”
“...That is a less convincing argument than I think you think it is.”
Colt was already well aware of what Ryland thought of his career choices. While Ryland would never judge him for choosing stuntwork, he knew that Colt could have excelled at almost anything he chose to apply himself to – which made voluntarily throwing himself off buildings for a living particularly baffling.
“Ry–”
“I know you can hear me, Colt! And…" Ryland’s gaze flickered past Colt as the blonde finally caught up with them. “Colt?”
“Ha ha. Very funny, Tom,” Colt said dryly, hand clenching tightly around his coffee. He spoke with the kind of weariness Ryland hadn’t heard from him since they were both still in high school and Ryland wouldn’t let him copy his chemistry homework. Ryland was pretty sure he had been joking back then. Though, judging by the way that Colt avoided any math that wasn’t somehow related to stunt trajectories or the precise engineering of explosions, Ryland couldn’t be certain. “No, you’re not seeing double. This is my baby brother, Ryland. Ryland, this is Tom. You’re probably not familiar with his work.”
He was right. Ryland’s wasn’t.
“Three minutes. Three,” Ryland said pointedly, the familiar disagreement never failing to leave him feeling riled.
“And what a three minutes those were,” Colt said without missing a beat.
Ryland glanced down at Tom’s hands and almost, absently, offered his own, before thinking better of it. This might be the mysterious asshole Colt had been complaining about for years. He had always been so careful not to drop any names, but Ryland couldn’t help but pick up the patterns with shooting dates and release schedules – especially as Colt slipped from general stuntwork and into more exclusive stunt doubling.
“Wait wait wait. Twins?” Tom asked, delighted. His smirk only seemed to widen as he wrapped an arm around Colt’s shoulders, squeezing, his eyes never leaving Ryland. “You’ve been holding out on me. This is the younger, more attractive twin. Let me guess. He totally got the brains and the looks. What is it you do, Ryland?”
“We’re identical, you ja–”
Ryland sent Colt a flat look. And he was the one who was supposed to be watching his language? “I’m a middle school teacher.”
The edges of Tom’s smirk softened, surprise lighting up his eyes. “Shaping the minds of the next generation, huh? Called it. You’re totally the smart one.”
Heat crept up the back of Ryland’s neck. “I wouldn’t say–”
“He really is.” Tom and Ryland blinked, turning towards Colt in sync. A soft smile settled across Colt’s lips.
“Huh.”
Ryland shook his head. “Colt–”
“C’mon, Ry. You know it’s true.” Colt neatly sidestepped Tom’s grasp, wrapping a protective arm around Ryland. “You have a doctorate in molecular biology. You literally specialised in extraterrestrial life.”
“What like, aliens and shit?” Tom asked, wide-eyed.
Ryland braced for the inevitable laughter, followed perhaps by a poorly phrased joke about alien abduction or probing.
“That’s so cool! Why the hell haven't you brought him on set before? We could do with someone like him around here. Authenticity and shit,” Tom reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Gimme your number, and I’ll get Gail to arrange something.”
Colt made a noise somewhere between protest and choking. “Absolutely not. Ry, do not give him anything.”
Tom pressed on. “Gail’s gonna love this. She’s always going on about how authenticity sells. What better way to tell things than to have an actual alien molecular biologist I can tap?”
Ryland blinked.
Colt pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is not on tap. Nobody here is on tap. He’s a teacher. And he is not–”
“Seriously, twins? You’re telling me all this time, Colt here’s been keeping you locked away when we could be getting like, the superior model who can actually explain how the universe works?”
“That is a wildly inaccurate description of both my qualifications and Colt,” Ryland began, only for Tom to start speaking over him.
“I mean, it seems pretty accurate so far.”
Colt neatly stepped between them, shoulders pushing back, chin rising, hand pressed against Tom’s chest. “Okay, no. We are not doing this. You are not dragging Ry into your bullshit. I know how this goes. Somehow, a freaking post-it note about authenticity is gonna end up with me suspended from a crane at three in the morning.”
Tom’s eyes flicked towards him, lips twisting. “It wouldn’t be a crane this time.”
Neither brother moved.
“That didn’t really happen…?” Ryland asked hopefully. Tom’s gaze immediately honed in on him. “I mean, I am aware that I have a tendency to worry, and I’m sure there were safety harnesses and… mats…”
Ryland did his best not to think about what Colt did for a living. If he did, he had a sinking feeling that the two of them wouldn’t be on speaking terms anymore. Or that Ryland would try and wrap Colt up in bubble wrap until he agreed to a safer career move.
Ryland rubbed the back of his neck his stomach clenching at the thought of it. He reached for Colt, tugging him away from Tom. “Hey, you’re not doing anything like that today, right? When you said you were gonna show me something cool at work, you didn’t mean… I mean, there’s nothing dangerous you’re filming today? Right?”
Behind Colt’s shoulder, Tom’s expression flickered, amusement giving way to something Ryland couldn't quite place. Ryland did his best to remain focused on Colt, his lack of a response causing the tight knot of discomfort in his stomach to only tighten further.
“You do remember what I do for a living, right?” Colt asked gently. He turned back towards the atrium, arm sweeping out towards the towering glass bank of elevators, the cranes and dollies already set up with cameras ready to film his twenty-story fall. His twenty-story backwards fall, thanks to Tom’s notes to improve the scene. The leather of his costume squeaked as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for things to click into place.
Ryland’s head tipped back, and back, and back, and back. His eyes widened as he took in just how high the platform was with cameras and harnesses at the ready, crew waiting for Colt to take his mark.
“No,” Ryland said.
Colt blinked.
“No,” Ryland repeated in precisely the same tone he used when a student informed him they couldn’t possibly study for a big test as Mercury was in retrograde. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s not really up for debate.” Colt laughed, voice tight. “You didn’t hear me objecting when–”
“Yeah, no.” Ryland and Colt turned towards Tom as he neatly cut them both off. “That stunt’s not happening.”
Tom reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. With one hand, he started typing out a quick message, the other, lifting his drink for a long sip.
“What?” Colt blinked, mouth open. “This stunt was your idea. You literally had them write it into the script. Less than a week ago.”
Tom shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket. A lopsided smile ticked at the corner of his mouth as, behind him, Gail’s phone chimed.
“Really? Oh, for the love of…” The sound of heels clicking across the tiled floor soon echoed as Gail called out to the director, the two quickly moving to one side as low discussions broke out.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Tom said. “Anyway. With these last-minute changes, they’re gonna want to rewrite a couple of scenes. Get everything organised. You know the drill. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna want an expert on hand like, today. Probably. Seems irresponsible not to, when Ryland’s right here. You can pretty much name your price.”
Tom neatly sidestepped Colt, arm slipping around Ryland seamlessly as if they were old friends rather than barely acquaintances. “Why don’t I take you to meet a few people? It’s not like Colt’s got anything left to film today; might as well make the most of it.”
“Some of us still have work to do even when the cameras aren’t rolling, Tom,” Colt said, voice strained. Tom’s smile only widened, his arm tightening around Ryland.
“Even better! Let’s get you over to Gail, then we can go grab some lunch, while Colt here is getting on with his very important work. What d’you say?”
Before Ryland could respond, Colt’s voice cut between them.
“Over my dead body.”
Tom’s eyes flicked towards him. “Don’t tempt me.”
Ryland laughed, the sound light, and bright, and loud enough to stop their bickering in its tracks.
“Wow. Okay, that settles it. We’re definitely getting lunch,” Tom said softly.
Ryland’s lips twisted into a faint smile. “I never agreed–”
“You laughed at my joke,” Tom said seriously. “That’s, like, legally binding.”
Colt groaned. “Was that even a joke?”
Ryland glanced at his brother, then back at Tom. He should say no. He had papers he’d planned to grade while Colt was working. Lesson plans to finalise. And yet… one lunch. Maybe a day or two of consulting, if Tom really was serious. Colt had been telling him for years that he was wasting his earning potential in education.
Statistically speaking, the worst-case scenario wasn’t that bad. Or likely. It wasn’t as if agreeing to a lunch date would somehow jinx Colt’s largely unblemished stunt record.
Ryland opened his mouth to refuse. Instead, distantly, he heard himself say, “Lunch sounds great.”
Tom’s grin widened. “Great! See? The smart twin. I called it.”
As Tom steered Ryland towards the doors and away from the crew, Colt lingered reluctantly behind them, his mind running through the dozen people he’d need to check with about the revised schedule. “Have him back by three! I mean it!”
Ryland drained the last of his coffee, trying not to focus on the faint but persistent excitement settling somewhere beneath his ribs. It was only lunch. Maybe a conversation about consulting. Still, the prospect of spending the afternoon talking science with someone who actually seemed interested in hearing about it was… unexpectedly appealing.
Tom held the door open for Ryland, and a pair of riggers hurried past in the opposite direction.
“I’m serious, the secondary line on the tower drop looked off.”
“Jesus. Then call a halt and get someone to check the harness before anyone goes up there.”
The exchange barely registered.
Stunts, harnesses, safety lines – that had always been Colt’s world, not his. And Ryland had a lunch – possibly a date, though the available data remained frustratingly inconclusive – to get through.
