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Swunk, click. Swunk, click. Swunk, click.
Anywhere else that fan would drive someone mad. Only Los Angeles heat could push past the teeth-grinding annoyance of a fan that swunk clicked every rotation for just a bit of reprieve.
Swunk, click.
The coffee machine hissed. Tap, tap of two plastic shaker cups hitting the bench, powder and their shaker ball inside.
Swunk, click.
The milk frother's loud for just a moment, but it's enough. A lethargic groan pulled from the lounge space, the throw-rug of a man draped on the couch covering his eyes with his hands.
"There he is," was the amused follow up, the milk frother stopping. A satisfied sip, and off he went to greet the newly awakened.
"F'ck off."
Or be 'greeted'. That was also a possibility.
The apartment's small. A bachelor pad, one might call it, though a little past the mattress on the floor and cardboard box stage. It's homey, because its occupant likes homely comforts, not to impress guests or keep to a status quo. Old wooden floorboards and a loft that pulled over the kitchenette. One combined room, thankfully with windows.
As the coffee bearer sat across from the rude awakener, one might be forgiven for assuming there's just...two of them. Same dirty blond hair, same height, same strong nose. Differences start to emerge after a longer look; built arms and calloused fingers as coffee drinker takes another sip, a ridge on the sleeper's nose from a badly-healed break.
"You done wallowing, Ry?"
"Which part of fuck off wasn't clear?"
He rolled over to face the back of the couch. His brother stood, leaning one arm on the wall behind the couch so his shadow was very present.
"Well, the first time you kinda left out a vowel. More of a phh-ck noise. We going after linguistics next?"
A hand rose to smack him but he moved away in time. "You're a pain in the ass, Colt."
"And you've been drinking me out of house and home for the last three days. Come on, up."
Finally looking up from the couch, he gave Colt a look that could cleave a lesser man in two.
"I have a hangover. I'm not going anywhere."
Colt shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah you are. Gym run."
Ry let out a hollow laugh. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going anywhere near a gym."
Swunk, click.
*
"You're out of your fucking mind."
The air conditioner was on full-pelt, but most of the equipment was unoccupied. Colt stretched, giving his pre-workout another shake before taking a sip.
"Drink your shake, Ry. It's Sour Patch Kids."
Ry looked at the pink shake in his hands. "Colt, I have a headache the size of Coney Island, I don't--"
"And that," Colt pointed at it, "will help. The working out, well, that's to cool off."
"Cool off," Ry repeated.
"Uh huh."
"It's 107 outside."
"Not the kind of cooling off I'm talking about."
Ry knew that. Colt knew that Ry knew that.
"Yeah, sounds like a great plan. End up with a sweaty ass and then have to go back out in LA heat," he uncapped the pre-workout, finally, and took a sip. "Oh, this is actually pretty good."
"Yeah, s'not bad." Colt preferred the strawberry lemonade one he usually used, but getting his brother into the gym required small sacrifices.
“COLT!”
The two of them looked over as a tall man, dark-skinned and jovial, headed toward them, grin broad and arms open. Colt met him in stride, giving him a hearty hug and a slap on the back.
“Dan! You’re looking good.”
“Yeah, butter me up ‘cause you skipped leg day,” Dan retorted, and Colt grinned back.
“Sorry man. If it helps, I had a good excuse.”
He gestured toward Ry.
Dan’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You cloned yourself?”
Ry rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his pre-workout, and Colt put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
“Ry, this is Dan. He’s studying stunt design, so our classes work together a bunch. Dan, this is my twin— Dr. Ryland Grace, molecular bi—“
“Homeless bum drunk,” Ryland cut off in a hiss.
“My brother, the homeless bum drunk,” Colt amended, feigning an apologetic tone. “Though he’s living with me, so I don’t know where homeless comes into that.”
Dan let out a small chortle, then raised his eyebrows. “Man, you never mentioned a twin. I got so many questions.”
“Yeah, let’s do questions. Love that,” Ryland muttered, and Colt stepped on his foot.
“Let ‘em rip, Dan. We’ve probably heard most of them before,” Colt said with a shrug.
“You’re Seavers, right?”
“Dad’s. Mom’s,” Colt said, pointing to himself then to Ryland.
Dan grimaced. “Ah. ‘Kay, moving on. Who’s older?”
Colt and Ryland looked each other, and then back at Dan with smiles that almost seemed evil.
“Who do you think is older?” they asked in practiced tandem, and Dan took a half step back, looking between them in mild panic.
“Uhh. Am I going to regret answering this?”
Ryland shrugged, taking another sip from his pre-workout. “Just answer honestly.”
Folding his arms, Dan thought about it for a minute, looking between them both.
“Ryland.”
A bark like laugh followed and Colt muttered out a quiet ‘fuck’, getting out his phone and tapping something in while Dan looked on in confusion.
“Did I get it right?” he asked, and Colt let out a breath through his teeth.
“We don’t know,” he admitted. “But whoever people guess is the younger one has to buy the old—other one a drink. We keep a tally.”
“I’m up by…sixteen?” Ryland asked, peering over at Colt’s phone. “I think we should just declare it when it’s at thirty.”
“They think you’re older because your eyebags are the size of dinnerplates,” Colt retorted, making a circular gesture at his face and then poking him. “If they saw you crying in a heap because you tripped—“
“And if they saw you crying because a butterfly had a torn wing?”
"A butterfly, huh?" asked Dan, letting out a chortle as Colt huffed.
"Yeah, yeah, okay," he muttered, chugging the rest of his shake. "I'm gonna get started on my sets."
He clapped Ryland on the back, then looked over the room.
"Hey, Aimie!"
A built woman with her hair in a bun and a gym-brand jacket turned her head and came over.
"Do you have time to take my brother through a routine today?"
Aimie looked at Ryland, then Colt.
"You're in luck, my 11'o'clock just pulled out because of the weather."
"Smart man," muttered Ryland, giving his drink another shake.
Colt rolled his eyes. "Thanks Aimie. He's more of a cardio guy but anything that'll help him burn some anger would be great."
Aimie smiled, placing a hand on Ryland's shoulder and leading him to the black gym mats and the equipment.
"Man, he looks like he's been through hell. Break up?" asked Dan, and Colt let out a half laugh.
"Kinda. Job related."
Dan nodded knowingly.
"You should get him in on the stunt work," he said, grinning. "Double trouble body double. Studios would go nuts over that."
Colt shook his head, thumbing toward Ryland. "I would if I could, but Ry talks himself out of anything fun. Won't go on coasters, waterpark rides, even elevators. A real prima donna until he's in the thick of it."
"What then?"
"He gives me a run for my money."
*
Ryland had grumbled and complained for about fifteen minutes, before starting to actually take some aggression out on the equipment to Aimie’s surprise and Colt’s relief. Perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn’t have to watch his twin try to drink himself to death another night in a row.
Two hours later, they ducked into a Taco Bell, both ordering burritos (beefy five layer for Colt, and the seven-layer burrito for Ryland), sitting at a window booth looking out into the carpark.
Ryland’s gaze was distant, his chewing slow and deliberate. Every sip of the massive Baja Blast he’d ordered was piercing, and Colt eventually let out a sigh.
“Ry—“
“I heard you and Dan talking,” he said, swirling the ice in the cup, and Colt raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?”
“Something about double trouble body double.”
“Oh, that,” Colt said, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, I told Dan exactly where the idea would go. A big ol’—“
“Could I?”
Colt’s mouth dropped. Suddenly the incandescent buzzing above them and the idle chatter within the building seemed SO loud. The chairs were a little sticky. His singlet clung to his shoulder blades and his back at all the wrong angles.
“Could you what.”
“Do stunt work.”
Colt laughed, disbelief rife in his voice. He tried to form a sentence three times, uselessly pinching his finger in the air trying to find a response before smacking his hand on the table.
“Ry, you get sick on elevators.”
“I get dizzy on elevators,” Ryland said quietly, pushing his glasses off his face. “Not the same.”
“You get dizzy on elevators and you…want to fall out a window?”
He shrugged, and Colt’s jaw clenched, drawing in a breath through his nose and tapping the table one, two, three times before responding.
“Killing yourself doing a stunt is still killing yourself.”
Ryland’s jaw also clenched, and he finally met Colt’s gaze properly.
“I don’t want—“
“Ry, if I genuinely thought you wanted to come do stunt work with me I would be…I dunno! Throwing a table and jumping for joy! Getting some fireworks and making it everyone else’s problem.”
Colt put his elbow on the table and pointed at his brother.
“But you. Would never, ever volunteer for something like stunt work. You talk yourself out of anything even close. So somehow? Probably not genuine. Actually, probably a cry for help.”
Ryland slumped into the back of the chair.
“Listen. I know things are bad right now. If I was gonna peg either of us getting kicked out of our respective fields for inappropriate behaviour, it’d be me.”
“You did. You were doing donuts in a forklift,” Ryland retorted, picking at a bit of tomato in his burrito.
“Well, didn’t think it’d be both of us. But you’ll find something, Ry. You’ve still got a doctorate in molecular biology. You’re still one of the youngest people in the WORLD with a doctorate in molecular biology. UNESCO is a bunch of pompous pricks. There’s a job out there you’ll love. And you’re welcome to stay with me until you get back on your feet.”
Ryland looked at Colt, a mix of emotions on his face as he dug his fingers into the Baja Blast cup. The plastic and the ice crumpled together as Ryland chewed at his lip.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
Colt rolled his eyes.
“If you wanna pay rent, pay rent. But you living with me isn’t making that much of a dent in my finances. Lean Cuisines aren’t exactly fine dining.”
Ryland sighed. “I just…I thought academia was where I was meant to be, yknow? But I got there and it was fucking miserable. All the power dynamics and meandering bullshit. I thought we were…I dunno.”
“Better than that, ‘cause you’re smart?” Colt asked, smirking, and Ryland huffed.
“Way to make it sound pretentious.”
Colt shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about intelligence, Ry. If anything it’s about that other thing you’ve got.”
An eyeroll. “Other thing we’ve got.”
“No diagnosis, no prognosis,” Colt retorted. “I might be able to quote Rocky line for line but until you shove me in a therapist’s chair, I’m as normal as they come.”
“Uh huh,” said Ryland. “Fine. You’re right, anyway. I don’t know what I was even thinking asking about the stunt work.”
“You’re not thinking. Finish your burrito. Your brain runs on glucose.”
Ryland took another bite, but kept up his stare out the window.
*
For the first time in three days, Ryland wasn’t drinking tonight. But for the first time in said three days, Colt kind of wanted a night out himself. It had been four days since his brother had stumbled into his apartment looking for a place to stay. He had already heard about the UNESCO conference, already heard about Ryland losing his job at the university, and at the time of the last call, probably his apartment. He had shown up with nothing but a duffel bag and a promise he’d be staying one night while he shopped for an apartment, but that had gotten the only response that made sense to Colt:
“Sit down, shut up, and make yourself at home.”
So here he was. Sequestered away from the high life of academics and cutting-edge science, being the world’s dumbest smart person.
Colt knew if Ryland really wanted to, he could get a job at pretty much any other university, so long as he kept his head down. But Colt had seen the footage. He had seen the exhaustion that was draped around Ryland’s shoulders even as he raved at his colleague.
It was a bridge burning. A fuck you farewell. The whole paper seemed like it was.
Colt sometimes tried reading his brother’s papers— Colt’s no science buff, but he always liked it. He just didn’t have the same patience for it that Ryland could muster. Physics was more his thing, anyway, which was a small part of what made stunt work interesting to him.
Ryland’s paper had been rife with insults. Directly naming and shaming the other leaders in the field for narrow viewpoints. “The Goldilocks Zone is for Idiots”?
The Goldilocks Zone was not something that often came into Colt’s head but he did know what it was. If Ryland thought it was for idiots, then it was for idiots, but phrasing it that way in an academic paper?
Burnouts in a forklift indeed.
Ryland came out of the shower, freshly trimmed and looking a little healthier. He seemed thin; he had looked thin in the UNESCO footage, too.
Colt put his legs up on his coffee table, crossing them and looking at his brother.
“I think we need to fatten you up,” he said.
“No thanks,” Ryland said, waving him off. “What for, firstly. Secondly, our builds are one of the only things that make us distinguishable.”
Colt bobbed his head from side to side, somewhat in agreement. “But you liked the gym today, right?”
Ryland shrugged, pulling out a cup and getting the Brita jug from the fridge. “It wasn’t bad. A workout routine wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”
“Definitely. There’s a lot of inanimate objects that’d appreciate it,” Colt said with a nod, and Ryland glared over the rim of his glass.
“I don’t break shit that oft—“
Colt held up Ryland’s phone. A big, arcing group of cracks travelled through the screen. It didn’t seem possible, but he’d seen it happen — Ryland’s alarm going off his second day living at Colt’s, and he’d smacked the phone with his palm.
Ryland’s cheeks coloured and he quickly shuffled over to pull the phone out of Colt’s hands.
“That was an accident.”
“You still slapped it,” Colt said, raising his hands. “I know you didn’t mean to crack it, but you still slapped it with the force of Zeus.”
“Yeah and you nearly choked yourself laughing,” Ryland muttered. “I still have to get it repaired.”
He looked at the phone, a frown forming before he shoved it into his pocket, shaking his head.
“People contacting you?”
“Yeah. Marisa and…uh, Linda.”
Colt raised his eyebrows.
“Linda messaged you? When?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Ryland hissed back, throwing his arms up. “I don’t really want to think about the other recent instance of me fucking up my life right now, if I’m gonna be honest!”
Colt mussed with his hair. Fair enough. He had liked Linda, but Ryland was always spotty. He’d never been much of a dater— Colt was the one chasing skirts in their teens while Ryland studied. Not that any of it lasted very long; Colt had realised when he hit about nineteen or twenty that he wanted something real, not girls who thought he was cool because he drove well.
Colt watched Ryland’s eyes move over to the liquor cabinet and he let out a sigh, standing up.
“Let’s go out tonight,” Colt said, and Ryland raised his eyebrows.
“Not sure I’m up for that,” Ryland said, pursing his lips.
Colt walked over to the liquor cabinet and locked it, causing Ryland’s eyes to narrow.
“You wanna drink? We’re going out. I’ve been here watching your sorry ass for three days. The fuck’s the point in living in LA if you don’t get the nightlife?”
“…You live here for work,” Ryland retorted, folding his arms.
“Yeah, and so do most people. And those same most people make up the best club scene in the country. C’mon, Ry.”
Ryland rolled his eyes, but threw up his arms. “Fine, fine. I’ll get dressed. You owe me a drink anyway.”
Colt hissed a breath through his teeth. “I fuckin’ forgot about that…”
“It’s actually like, three,” Ryland added, giving him a smug grin.
“Don’t push your luck,” Colt muttered. Was it the glasses that made Ryland look like the older one, or was it his crotchety attitude? Who knew.
*
There was a club in downtown LA that a lot of the wannabe film crew hung out at — not the actors, no, those tried to schmooze their way into the same clubs the established actors were hanging out in, which didn’t get them anywhere. The crew, though? There was a sense of camaraderie in playing support. Colt was used to it— preferred it, even. When your brother is a genius, you get accustomed to not being the center of attention.
It was busy, as usual, the floor thumping as they arrived. The air was heavy with scented fog, alcohol, perfume, and human musk. Dark green walls, neon lights, shiny black floor— all the heady intensity of LA and its lustful, lustrous underbelly.
“Colt!” called a voice. It was Yelena, one of the camera crew trainees, and the two of them headed down to the booth she and a group of her friends commandeered.
As they approached, all four of them ‘oooo’d dramatically.
“Double Colt?” one asked, a petit, freckly girl with red hair. “I thought they were only cloning sheep!”
Ryland shuffled in place, wiping his hands on his pants, and Colt clapped him between the shoulders.
“Not quite, though I reckon he could manage human cloning if you gave him a reason to,” Colt said, keeping his volume high over the music.
“We aren’t cloning because we can only copy from existing cells, so we can’t prevent cell decay—“ Ryland protested, and Colt clapped him again, on the shoulder this time.
“Gonna stop you there ‘cause I know where this ends. Anyway, this is my brother, Ryland. Say hi.”
“Uh, hi?”
The girls waved.
“This is Yelena, Max, Dana, and Bea,” Colt said, introducing each of the girls. “They’re all in various film-related studies. Only had the pleasure of working with Yelena— I know the others by proxy.”
They all waved.
“So what do you do, Ryland? You a stuntie, too?" Max asked, and Ryland shook his head rapidly.
“No, I…ugh. I’m between jobs,” he said, the words sounding like he was chewing drywall. “Colt’s the daredevil.”
“Ry’s not fun until he’s five shots deep,” Colt said, giving him a squinty-smug look. “So, not great for stunt work. Gotta have your head about you if you’re falling out of windows.”
“I can be fun not drunk,” Ryland muttered. “Being safe doesn’t make me not fun.”
“Ah ah, yes it does,” Colt said. “Let’s go get some fun in you.”
He shuffled him over to the bar, and Ryland leaned against it.
“Two tequila. Extra lime.”
The bartender nodded, pulling out two glasses and a plate with the limes, heading back to the shelf to grab the tequila.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Ryland said, wiping at his hands again, and Colt shook his head.
“Hey, no. If anything, you need the reminder of how much you don’t belong here, so you don’t say anything dumb like ‘could I do stunts?’ again.”
Ryland didn’t reply, waiting until the shots were poured. He drank his, chewing at the lime. In fact, shoving the whole thing, rind and all, into his mouth, chewing for a moment before pulling it out again.
“You really think I couldn’t?”
Colt looked at his brother. Really looked at him, trying to figure out exactly what he was asking. Was he asking if Colt believed in him? Thought him a coward?
Sometimes he did think Ryland was a bit of a coward. Not at his core, no, but he let his anxiety control what he did next. Thinking himself in circles. That’s who Ryland thought he was.
But Colt had seen every side of his brother. He knew the anxiety-riddled version best. But he’d also seen deeper parts of him. The man who could tear strips off someone with just words. The brother whose instinct was to throw himself into a fight to even the odds and come out with bloody knuckles, a broken nose, blood across his face and tears leaking out his eyes, and victorious.
Colt swigged back his shot.
“You could if you wanted to, Ry,” Colt said. “I think you could do anything if you wanted it enough.”
Ryland raised his eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of that.
"Anyway. More liquor," he said, dropping a few bills on the bar. "Another round, please n' thanks."
Ryland stripped the flesh from the lime rind and put the rind on the plate. "We doing tequila all night?" he asked.
Colt raised his eyebrows, then leaned on the bar, catching the bartender's eye.
"Iris, is Eugene in?" he asked, and Iris blinked.
"Yeah, he's in," she said, pouring their shots.
The twins downed them at the same time, Iris giving Colt his change before he shuffled Ryland back into the crowd.
The air was electric, almost thick enough to cut with how much kinetic energy was plowing through it. Ryland looked a little looser with two shots of tequila in him. Hell of a lot better than he looked on six shots of Everclear, at least.
"Who's Eugene?" Ryland asked, and Colt grinned.
"Eugene is a pal. Good rep. Trustworthy."
Ryland looked at him with puffed cheeks. "Uh, okay, why's his rep important?"
They reached Eugene's booth. He had a girl and guy with him, a deck of cards on the table.
"Seavers!" he greeted, then caught a look at Ryland. "Oh. Wow. Yeah, I shouldn't have had that last hit."
"This is my brother," Colt introduced, and Eugene let out a sigh of relief.
"Thank fuck for that. Good to see two," he said, laughing at his own joke.
The twins didn't even offer a pity chuckle.
"What can I do you for, Colt?"
"Two of the usual," he said, going to pull out his wallet, but Ryland grabbed his wrist.
"What the fuck are you buying?"
"Better shit than you took in college," Colt said, giving him a languid grin.
"Give me the chemical composition or I’m not taking anything," Ryland challenged. Colt shrugged and leaned to his ear.
“C11H15NO2.”
"Ecstasy?" Ryland sighed out. "Colt, come on."
"You've taken it before," Colt argued. "The high on this one's perfect. Trust meeee."
Ryland paused, before letting out an exhausted sigh.
"Yeah, okay."
Colt slapped the cash into Eugene's waiting hand and received a little bag with two pills in return. He opened up the bag, taking a close look at both pills and making sure they were the same pill he’d taken last time. Satisfied, he handed one pill to Ryland, and took one for himself.
“We should grab water,” Ryland said, tone a little stern.
“Yeah. But relax,” Colt chided, nudging him with his elbow. “You know how it goes.”
Ryland rolled his eyes. “You know how it goes…”
*
Colt had not lied - it was a dose hitting the right balance between confident and floaty. The twins had settled back in with Yelena’s group, Colt buying a round of shots as Bea (the redhead) cozied up to him. Ryland was at this point was nursing something sweet and sour, glasses pushed back into his hair as Yelena leaned into his side.
“So you’re a molecular biologist?” she asked, tracing a line down his arm, and he caught it.
“Formerly. These days I spend my time being a single-celled organism content on not experiencing mitosis.”
Yelena blinked at him.
“He’s not dating,” Colt added with a chortle, kicking his twin’s knee from across the chair. “Can you speak like a human being?”
“No. I am an amoeba,” Ryland said, putting his hands up into the air and stretching out, before chugging the rest of his drink and puckering his lips. “Leeeeeemon.”
Colt laughed, throwing his head back like it was the funniest thing in the world. “An amoeba?!”
“Floating through the genesis of existence, uncertain of my destination,” Ryland said gesturing as though he was making some kind of encompassing statement. “The only life left for me. Free, unseen, uncontrolled. UNESCO can—“
He made a rather horrible schlock noise and an obscene gesture, earning a laugh from everyone at the table just from the sheer absurdity of it.
“What would you have really said to the carbon guy, if you weren’t in a public sphere?” Colt asked, swirling his glass at him. “We need to get another round over here.”
Max grinned. “I’ll go get them. Another of the same for everyone?”
All five raised their glasses, and Max slid out of the booth and back over to the bar. Ryland scratched at the stubble on his chin, thinking about Colt’s question.
“I don’t think I can top staggering waste of carbon,” Ryland said with a shrug.
“F-bomb King Ryland can’t think of a way to slide one in there?”
“Staggering fucking waste of carbon,” Ryland said with a dismissive wave. “Pompous motherfucker came to mind too, but trust me— carbon’s far more devastating to scientists of their caliber.”
“Okay, come up with one for a stuntie,” Yelena said, grinning. “You seem to have a talent for it.”
Ryland frowned thoughtfully, as Max came back with the drinks he picked up another lemon pucker.
“About as useful to stunt work as an overripe avocado, maybe?” Ryland suggested, and Colt choked a little on his drink.
“I think I felt the blast radius of that one from here,” he said. “Jesus.”
“Well it’s not for you,” Ryland said, emphatically gesturing. “You’re gonna kill it, Colt. They’re gonna give you an Oscar. And before you tell me they don’t have one for stunt work, ‘cause I’ve heard that already, they’re gonna instate the Oscar for stunt work because you’re joining the industry.”
“What, I’m gonna be the Ryland Grace to stunt work?” Colt said with a laugh.
“Nope. No going out in a blaze of shame. You’re gonna be a legend,” Ryland said, pointing at Colt. “The kind of moves he was pulling when we were kids? It’s honestly about time. I’m so glad you went for it. Really proud of you.”
Colt flushed, eyes going wide as he rubbed at his heated cheeks. “Man, shut the fuck up. You’re embarrassing me.”
“You guys are so close,” Bea said in awe, leaning over as she took a sip of her Shirley Temple. “Always?”
“Pretty much,” Ryland said, tone nonchalant. “We weren’t living together for a while in college but we were still hanging out.”
“No regular college for me, but I did get all of the college parties. Which is why I know Ryland’s got a party boy spirit at heart.”
Ryland blew a raspberry, waving his hand absently. “Not anymore. Or I thought not anymore. Can’t really party hard when you’re working on a thesis.”
“Didn’t you write half of your first thesis high as a kite?” Colt asked, voice cheeky.
“Shhh. They don’t need to know that. And nobody’s gonna investigate now ‘cause I’m outta thereeee.”
Ryland leaned back, taking a big gulp of his drink and coughing. “I wanna see space,” he said absently, looking at the roof and the strobing lights up there.
“Like a stunt space walk?” Colt asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah like. Space,” Ryland said, gesturing toward the roof. “I mean, I’d throw up. Kinda wanna throw up. But imagine taking samples on Mars.”
“You wanna go to Mars?”
“The gullies, Colt. The gullies. And someday, the Goldilocks Zone will suck my entire ass.”
He raised the drink and finished it, as Colt let out a wet laugh, giving Bea a nudge.
“I think he’s done,” Colt said, waving his hand. “Ry only daydreams about space when he forgets what it actually consists of.”
Colt stood, his legs a little jelly like and the room still very floaty. Yelena pouted at him, but she shuffled away from Ryland as Colt slid his arm underneath Ryland’s floppy form and tottered him to his feet.
“Coooolt,” Ryland whined, latching onto him like a lamprey. “Are we going hooome?”
“Sure are, bud,” Colt said. He was also pretty woozy, but this was far from his first time playing designated Uber coordinator. He tapped in the current location and his apartment and hit as soon as possible.
“Sorry ladies, we’re gonna vamoose,” Colt said, giving them a half wave. “Get home safe, will you?”
“Yeah don’t worry, we have someone picking us up!” Max assured, a big grin on her face. “Bring Ry along again next time, he’s a hoot!”
“Yeaaaaah, bring him along again,” Yelena agreed, and Colt laughed.
“We’ll see how we go. Like I said, he’s only fun if he’s got some shots in him.”
Ryland groaned at him. He literally smelled like a sour candy at this point. “Leave me aloooone. My cognitive function is impaired.”
“Yeah, sure is.”
They shuffled out of the building, the light-polluted sky stretching out above them, the bright lights of LA’s nightlife bearing down on their dilated pupils.
“Houghgh,” was all Ryland managed, dangling off his twin’s shoulders. “Your place…one bathroom,” he mumbled.
“Two sinks,” Colt reassured, stumbling a little.
“That’s gross.”
Not much of a choice, really. Unless someone holed up in the shower.
The Uber pulled up and they shuffled into the back, Ryland trying and failing to put on his seatbelt six times. Colt managed it in four.
Colt didn’t feel too bad, though he was definitely drunk and still high. That said, he was beginning to feel his lips getting dry. He probably hadn’t had enough water over the night, but he didn’t really want to think about chugging water right now.
“You should kick your door in,” Ryland said, spreading out in his chair.
“Why.”
“’Cause you can,” Ryland said, giving him a smile, his eyelids fluttering. “SLAM! And open, probably a hole in the plaster. Very cool.”
“Then I have a broken door and that’d make me sad,” Colt mumbled.
“That is a problem, you’re right,” Ryland said with a nod, yawning widely. “Then we’d have to go in through the windows. Ktssshhh.”
“We’re not doing any stunts in my apartment.”
Ryland blew a raspberry.
The car went quiet for a few minutes.
“Have you tried jumping off your loft?”
Colt looked at him, his eyebrows creasing downward as he thought about it.
“…I haven’t,” he said, a little contemplative. “It wouldn’t be that bad. It’s what, six feet?”
“About 1.83 metres,” Ryland said, holding out his arms and nearly smacking Colt in the process.
“Easy. Easy. You do that in parkour raw,” Colt said, throwing his head back. “Onto a bag? No sweat.”
Their poor Uber driver, who had already been a little concerned when he watched two almost identical people get into his car, was now faced with it being two identical idiots.
*
Swunk, click.
Swunk, click.
A lethargic groan. Colt fumbled around for his phone on his nightstand and ended up rolling right out of bed and onto the floor.
“Fuuuccck,” he hissed. It felt like something was trying to claw out of the back of his eyeballs and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He hurt, too. He’d hit the floor pretty hard, to be fair.
Water. Water.
Stumbling to his feet, he walked over to the loft and frowned. Why did banister across the loft look bent?
Colt rubbed at his face, resisting the urge to tuck and roll down his stairs (the same one he had to fight every day), moving around the couch near the last step and stumbling into his kitchen.
He didn’t feel particularly nauseous, thankfully, though he couldn’t remember everything that had happened so he might’ve already thrown up.
He poured his glass of water and looked out into the lounge, and it was then he realised something was off. His couch (which, importantly, was currently Ryland’s bed) was not in its correct position. It had been shoved, rather clumsily, under the loft, and was definitely broken.
The reason he was sure was Ryland was still sleeping on it and his ass was a foot lower than the rest of him.
Colt half-tripped as he made his way to his brother, shaking his shoulder.
“Ry, wake up!”
“Fffffuckle duckle,” Ryland mumbled, trying to sit up and failing. “Whaaat the fuck.”
He flailed around, finally manage to leverage himself out of the couch and hitting the floor, making a noise like a dying animal.
“Wha’ happen,” he spluttered into the floor. “Couch— uh, concave?”
Colt looked at the banister, then the couch. There was no fucking way that Ryland jumped that. Colt must’ve, at some other point in the evening.
He thumbed up at the loft and Ryland looked up at the banister. “I think I jumped.”
That would explain why he hurt. Not a great move. What the hell had compelled him to jump into his couch? Now he was going to have to replace it.
Ryland looked at him, then the couch.
“Dumb,” he mumbled, wobbling to his feet and heading into the kitchen to get his own glass of water.
“Yeah, som’thin’ like that. Probably your fault,” Colt drawled, nudging the couch with his foot. He’d forgotten that he and Ryland were a bad influence on each other when they partied together. It’d been a while.
Ryland groaned, chugging his glass of water. “You’re a bad influence,” he grumbled.
“Pretty sure it was your idea,” Colt snipped back. “You owe me a couch.”
Ryland shook his head. “I can’t pay for that. You’re the one who jumped.”
Colt waved at him dismissively, heading toward the bathroom. He needed to piss and find his phone.
The phone was on the floor next to his nightstand, thankfully. He caught a glance of a message on his phone and resolved to check it once he was done.
One hearty piss and a splash of water of his face later, Colt came back out. Ryland had made his way up the stairs and nudged past him to get into the bathroom.
A retch followed.
“Don’t get puke on my towel,” Colt said, though his tone was flat as he picked up the phone.
Dan, about ten minutes ago.
Give me a call when you get this.
Colt dialed his number and he picked up on the third ring.
“Hey Dan, what’s up?”
“Yo, Colt. Heard from Yelena you were out late last night,” he said, sounding somewhat amused. “That your idea or your brother’s?”
“Mine, didn’t feel like drinking at home. Why?”
“’Cause you got a prac class today, man.”
Colt froze, looking at his phone and checking the date.
“Isn’t it tomorrow??”
“Nope. Today. You got an hour.”
“Dan, I’m fucked. There’s no fucking way I’m gonna be able to do rolls when I’m like this.”
Dan clicked his tongue. “You know Holly isn’t gonna fuck with that, man.”
Colt gritted his teeth. Holly was a fantastic teacher but a hard taskmaster. Rule-oriented, straight-laced. She would not be forgiving to coming in with a hangover. And she’d probably still throw him around a bit for his folly.
Wait. Unless…
“Yo, Ry, how fucked are you? On a scale of one to ten.”
“Like a four?” Ryland gurgled. “Just a lil’ queasy. My stomach’s always screwed after E.”
Yeah, that’s fair enough. “Well. I need a favour, and I’ll consider it payment for the couch.”
The bathroom swung open, Ryland with his arm up on the door frame, hair wet and flat on his forehead.
“This better not be something stupid.”
Colt grinned at him. “It is something stupid, but it’s safe, sane, and silly. Plus, you might learn a thing or two.”
Ryland’s brow furrowed. “You want to take me to a class?”
Sharp as a tack, as usual. “Kinda. No stunts. Promise.”
Colt crossed his hands over his chest, standing up and heading to his wardrobe. “Don’t shave, by the way. I’ll trim.”
Ryland dragged his hand through his hair. “We really doing this?”
One of Colt’s jackets was thrown to him, followed by a pair of sunglasses with a little red tag on the side.
A half-laugh and a shake of his head followed. “Been a while since we’ve pulled one of these.”
“Yep, well. You make up for my couch, and I get out of tumbling while my head feels like soup. Win-win.”
Ryland shrugged. “Works for me.”
*
Arrving on campus (Uber, at Ryland’s insistence) was immediately met with mixed looks — variants of impressed (the costume and makeup students) and confusion (literally anyone else). Colt caught Dan’s eyes as he arrived at the practical theatre, and he heard a howl of laughter.
Perfect.
This wasn’t a new act for them. It had petered off as they had gotten older, but Colt especially kept essentials at home— a handful of duplicates of his favourite clothes, and a pair of sunglasses with bifocal lenses (half non-script, half Ryland’s prescription.)
So the two that showed up to that stunt practical class were almost utterly indistinguishable from each other. Colt² .
It was usually Colt who was the one being doubled, and Ryland was practiced at mimicking to fit in, so it was usually the Colt gambit that worked. The posture looked natural, the expressions looked natural.
Holly looked up and barely registered it.
“Morning Colt, take a seat.”
The two sat down in the rafter seat. Pads, frames and various equipment were set up around Holly, and she was busy chatting to one of the female students.
Holly was a well-built brunette, currently wearing a pair of work-out leggings and an electric blue shirt. Her immaculately straightened hair fell around the sides of her face, dark eyes firmly focused on the student she was speaking to.
“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m sure of it. Just get it to me on Tuesday,” she said, shuffling her off and turning to the assembled group before checking her watch.
“Good, lots of faces present today. We’re already three minutes past class start, so let’s begin.”
She opened her mouth again before finally registering Colt(s).
“Very funny,” Holly said. “I do encourage you to engage with the hair and makeup groups, but can we spare it for outside my class?”
“Oh no, this isn’t a prank,” said Colt, grinning.
“This is a riddle,” Ryland added.
Holly’s face paled. One thing about costume and makeup is that it can’t really alter how a person sounds. Even the best make up duping still meant a silent stunt guy.
But they were practiced at this.
“A riddle. In the middle of class,” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Colt pointed between them both. “One of us isn’t part of the class and has no stunt training whatsoever. Kinda of a legal pipe bomb. One of us does.”
“If you can’t pick out which one of us has that stunt training, I don’t have to do tumbles today.”
Holly gripped her microphone like it was Colt’s throat. “You got multiple students in on an attempt to dodge doing the classwork for the day.”
“Nah,” Ryland said with a shrug.
“I cloned myself," said Colt.
“Glasses, off, now,” Holly sneered, and they both shrugged, removing the sunglasses.
Chatter immediately broke out amongst the group, someone laughing, someone else going “THE DEVIL’S WORK,” (Drama kids, seriously.)
Holly held her hand to her mouth. “What…which students…”
“No students, no make up.”
They both grabbed their cheeks and pulled. Someone in the front row went “Holy shit.”
Holly stared, before letting out a long suffering sigh.
“Fine. You got me. The COLTS are exempt from tumbles today. He’ll just have to make it up later.”
She leveled a glare at Ryland and they both had to hold back laughing.
It didn’t always work. But Colt was kinda of glad the opportunity had come up — it was a great distraction. Ryland looked happier than he had in days, and not just because he was emulating Colt.
*
The class was a mix of practical work and technical demonstration. Today was primarily frame falls through stage glass; things like posture, weight distribution, force distribution. Ryland was glued to Holly as she spoke, drinking in all of the new information. Colt even saw him doing some of the physics calculations under his breath and had to nudge him.
As class drew to a close, the twins approached Holly, hands in their jacket pockets.
"You better have a good reason," she said, looking Colt directly in the eyes and poking him. Ryland hid a laugh behind his hand.
"Hey, it was either this or skip class, Colt said, tone sheepish, and she raised an eyebrow.
"We're both, uh, compromised?" Ryland offered.
“Hungover.”
It was a statement of fact rather than a question, and she she let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Colt. You’re talented. Please don’t let this go to waste.”
“And that’s why I’m here and not on the floor of my apartment,” Colt said, giving her a half shrug. “But I will puke if you make me roll today.”
She waved dismissively, finally looking at Ryland. “So, are you going to introduce me? I assume this is your twin brother.”
“Ryland,” he said, shuffling a little. “When’d you work out which one was which?”
“Your scruff is a little lighter,” she said with a small laugh, and Colt blinked.
“It wasn’t him doing math under his breath?”
Holly blinked, and laughed fully, holding her hand to her mouth.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone both sweet and cheeky. “I’ve seen you doing that before.”
Colt’s face dropped and Ryland let out a guffaw, throwing his head back.
Colt’s face twisted into a pout. “I’m being bullied.”
“It’s a good thing. Better than stacking pallets,” Ryland said, patting him on the shoulder, and Holly nodded.
“You know, the industry does like when twins both get involved,” she said, looking thoughtful, and Ryland rapidly shook his head.
“I’m good, actually. Super, even.”
“Guy gets dizzy on elevators,” Colt pipped in.
Ryland nodded. “Actually, I wanted to ask. How’d you get into teaching this?”
Holly’s face fell slightly, but she quickly covered it. “Well, stunt work is pretty dangerous. I made a mistake, got hurt…and you can’t be making mistakes in this biz. So I ended up teaching instead. It’s nice! Every day’s something new, and everyone’s eager to learn. Guess that’s one of the perks of doing this job in LA.”
Colt watched Ryland’s eyes light up with an idea. One would assume that Ryland was the safer one when it came to bright ideas, but no, Ryland was the instigator and Colt had always been the one who thought ‘actually that sounds sick, let’s do it’.
But maybe this time, it was something good. Ryland needed something to work towards.
“Although, not everyone is as nice as your brother,” she added, patting him. “That’s the thing with adult students— adult problems.”
“Hm, good point,” Ryland murmured. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Glad you got something out of it,” Holly said, grinning. “And I do appreciate you making a effort to come to class even while hungover, though I would PREFER you DIDN’T DRINK before a CLASS.”
She punctuated each point by poking Colt, and he held up his hands.
“I’ll chill, I’ll chill. It’s mostly ‘cause he’s around at the moment,” Colt said, leaning his head toward Ryland. “He’s staying with me until he gets back on his feet.”
“Oh?” asked Holly.
“Don’t want to talk about it right now,” Ryland murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Holly gave him a sympathetic look.
“Well, it was nice meeting you both. Any plans?”
“I’m going back to work tomorrow night,” said Colt with a shrug. “Boss let me off to make sure Ry was okay. Free day otherwise.”
Holly folded her arms, tilting her head. “How’d you manage that?”
Colt coughed behind his hand, a grin forming. “Well, Ry’s uh, whole thing was kind of public. So I just had to get Youtube up, and--”
Ryland nudged Colt’s shin with his foot.
“Anyway! Money’s gotta be made. Gotta feed two idiots now, and I’m gonna get this guy ripped before he moves out so I need dollars for protein.”
Colt threw his arm around Ryland as he groaned. “Colt, c’mon.”
“Hey, if Holly had looked closer she would’ve seen you’re like. Six inches too narrow to be me. We gotta fix that.”
Ryland rolled his eyes. “As long as it isn’t today.”
“Oh no, fuck that. We’re going home and going back to bed.”
The two fist bumped, and Colt gave Holly a wave as they headed out of the building.
They made good on their word — holed up in Colt’s apartment, jerryrigged a fix to the couch and chilled out for the day. Colt ordered Taco Bell delivery for dinner, and pulled out his homework. With someone in the house to go over it, he ended up yapping his way through the whole thing, but Ryland was curious and receptive, as he was with most points of new knowledge. They’d been like this in college, too, just reversed, Ryland explaining some complicated biology concept while Colt listened and did his best to parse it.
It was nice.
Temporary. Transient. But nice.
Colt was sure he’d be sick of having to share a bathroom with his brother in another week or so. But right now? Getting to learn with him, seeing Ryland start to shed the air of despair and misery and start warming back up again? Knowing he’d wake up tomorrow and see his brother hale and healthy in his apartment, without having to worry if he was okay? A small blessing. Worth the cost of a few Lean Cuisines.
“So. Gym tomorrow?” Colt asked, looking up from his work.
Ryland shrugged. “I’ll go if you’re going.”
Colt resisted the urge to do a ‘yesss’ motion but he was definitely doing it internally. Getting Ryland to the gym meant he had an excuse to make sure Ryland wasn’t eating cereal for dinner and he could side step the whole ‘mother hen going cluck cluck’ routine.
*
Dan was at the gym the next morning, too, and he grinned when he saw them.
“Colt! And…Ryland, right?”
Ryland nodded, giving him a thumbs up as he took a big swig of his pink pre-workout.
“Gonna guess that’s not the first time you’ve pulled yesterday’s stunt, huh?” Dan said, nudging Colt.
“’Course not. We’ve only been twins, what…?”
“All our lives.”
“All our lives.”
Dan rolled his eyes, patting Ryland on the shoulder.
“Well, I’m done with my sets for today. Hope to catch you again soon, Ryland. And don’t go drinking before class again, Colt, ‘cause Holly will have your head.”
“I’ll be on my very best behaviour,” Colt said, giving him a grin and a fingergun.
Dan laughed, giving him a dismissive wave and heading out the door.
“You got a routine in mind or do I need to get Aimie?” Colt asked, and Ryland shook his head.
“She gave me a routine, I should be good for a while.”
“What for?”
“Ah, mostly HIT and weights,” Ryland said with a sigh. “I’ve got cardio covered still, I was mostly biking while working at the college.”
Colt nodded, heading over to the bench. “Good to hear. I mean, it doesn’t guarantee whatever you do next will let you bike.”
Ryland leaned over the equipment he was on, giving his brother a grin. “Actually, I think I know what I’m gonna do.”
A look of surprise dawned on Colt’s face. Ryland usually needed more time to think about big life decisions.
“I’m going to teach!”
“What, at a college?” asked Colt, putting the dumbbell down. “I mean, you could, but aren’t you trying to get away from—“
“No, no. Kids. A regular teacher. Maybe middle school?”
“You can’t teach kids,” Colt said, voice flat as a board, and Ryland pouted.
Colt stood and walked over to him as he started yapping.
“I could totally teach kids! It means I get to explore a lot more early science concepts, and I mean, I’m not used to kids, but I c- AWH FUCK! OW!”
Colt had slammed his foot into Ryland’s.
“That’s why. You swear like a sailor.”
“I can learn how to not swear. And maybe you can learn how to not be a prick, fuck…”
He knelt down to rub at his foot, tears in his eyes. “Did you have to do it that hard? I’m gonna bruise.”
“Needed to prove a point,” Colt said, grinning idly.
“Wouldn’t be a great point if you broke my fucking foot.”
If Colt really thought about it, though, teaching would probably be good for Ryland. It’d give him structure, something new to work on day-to-day, and maybe he wouldn’t have to see that air of anger and exhaustion he’d seen in the Denmark footage ever again.
“…You wanna go for it, you should,” Colt said, and Ryland looked up at him with wide eyes.
“You just said—“
“Hey, I’m not about to renege on what I said the other day. You want to teach, you’ll teach. And if you want to give up swearing, you’ll give it up. I’m not giving it up though, fuck that.”
Ryland chuckled, standing up and testing his foot a few times.
“…”
“What?”
“…Do you remember that time you pushed me down that slope and into the sluice gate on Pop’s farm?”
Colt blinked, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh, yeah. You threw up and I think you fractured your foot?”
Ryland gave him an odd look somewhere between smug and murderous. “Well, that’s what my foot feels like, Colt.”
“There’s no fuckin’ way I fractured it,” Colt huffed, but a wave of nerves was coursing down his back. “Just…take it easy, we’ll get it checked out later.”
Ryland rolled his eyes. “Brings me to the gym, breaks my foot. This is why people think you’re the younger brother.”
“Oi, they think I’m younger because you act like a crotchety old man.”
“They think you’re younger because you have the reasoning capacity of a koala.”
“At least koalas are cute.”
“And you don’t even have that.”
Colt growled under his breath and started on his sets, giving Ryland the finger. Ryland gave him both back.
*
He had indeed fractured his foot.
And a rib, at some point.