Chapter Text
“Hey, Tom! Real quick – I need you to sign this for me.”
Tom turned away from his conversation with Gail, eyebrows rising, as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Apparently, the director had notes on his performance. Seriously. Notes? What was he, some amateur? It was fine – it would be fine. Gail would fix it. She always did.
Colt sipped his coffee, holding out something towards Tom with his other hand.
There was always something uncanny about seeing Colt on set. It wasn’t the face – fuck, no. Sure, technically they looked similar, insofar as they were both bottle blondes with dark stubble right now. And yes, Colt’s cheekbones were okay. Not stunning like Tom’s, but passable. No; it was turning around and seeing Colt from behind that always caught Tom off guard. Like accidentally running into his doppelganger. Colt might be an asshole – not that Tom ever called him out on it; he did have some tact – but he had a damn fine ass. And, Tom supposed, he was kind of good at what he did.
Tom may have had Gail pull the tapes for another couple of potential stunt doubles and, apparently, Colt was good at what he did. Well, good enough that every director in the business seemed more than happy to sign them both up as a package deal, at any rate.
“Now, why would I do that?” Tom asked, his smile wide and bright. To his side, Gail took a deep, rattling pull from her Diet Coke. He could feel the admonishment in her gaze. Right, right. He was supposed to be playing nice with the help. Starting with not calling them – or thinking of them – as the help.
“Take ten. I’ll have my assistant come and find you,” Gail said, giving Tom one last squeeze on the arm. Her gaze flicked briefly to Colt, wide smile reaching nowhere near her eyes, before taking her leave.
Tugging his sunglasses down, Tom looked at the outstretched item. He was used to being asked for autographs on the strangest things; from old receipts and napkins to people’s chests and that one memorable time a fan had flashed his ass so he could get Tom’s signature forever immortalised as the world's sickest tramp stamp. Tom had seen it all. At least, he thought he had.
He let out an incredulous laugh, tugging the box from Colt’s grip. “Is that a fucking DVD? Just how old are–”
Tom’s words cut abruptly short as he took in the cover. He hadn’t seen a copy of Hot Earth in, what, ten, fifteen years? Fuck, that made him feel old.
It had been one of his first leading roles. Gail had scored it for him right after he had signed with his agent at seventeen; she’d seen his shitty self-tape, looked past the still developing four pack Tom had been so proud of back then – fuck, he had been so young and naive – and had put him in front of the right execs for a tiny, shitty, no-budget sci-fi film about a scientist having to save New York from a waterfall of lava threatening to take over Fifth Avenue.
Fingers clenched around the box. They hadn’t even had the right filming permits back then; half the film had to be shot at night, hoping nobody would call them out. They had ended up putting in bad CGI effects for most of the scenes, and the ones that they couldn’t, they had Tom doing his own stunts. He winced at the memory. He had slipped off the top of the steps outside of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, tumbling all the way down to street level. Tom rubbed at his hip, the memory of the slick steps scraping through his shitty Walmart jeans rose to the forefront of his mind. He still had a thin, silvery scar from that shoot. More than one, probably, with the amount of times he landed on his ass and back.
The film was old enough that it hadn’t made it onto streaming services. It was back far enough in Tom’s career that most people hadn’t even heard of it, much less put two and two together, to realise that that Tom Ryder with his noodle-arms and not-there-yet muscle definition, was the same Tom Ryder who would go on to star in blockbusters and become the face of countless designer campaigns. Sure, he had heard that it had somewhat of a cult following, but it wasn’t as if any of those kinds of nerds were the ones queuing up for the chance of a selfie at his latest film premieres, or the ones who thought approaching him in public was a good idea.
“Where the hell did you get this?” Tom asked quietly, turning it over in his hands. God, did he even still have a copy of this? Maybe a poster somewhere? He’d have to have his PA check.
Colt untucked a pen from behind one ear, offering it to Tom. “Does that really matter? Just sign it, then you can get back to whatever the hell it was you were doing before.”
“Y’know, for someone asking for a favour, you seem to be missing some key elements here, Colt, buddy. Like ‘please’ and ‘Tom, you’re the greatest,’” Tom said evenly. Keeping the DVD in hand, he turned away. If Gail was going to send her PA after him, he might as well make it difficult for her. He was overdue for a break, anyway. Maybe there was time to grab something from craft services? He grimaced at the thought.
Maybe not.
Last time, they’d only had pizza. Pizza. The kind with actual carbs. No cauliflower crust in sight. The thought of yet another identical pot of plain chicken and steamed veggies – a wall of identical pots filling his trailer’s fridge, each one dietitian-approved and weighed out to the gram to track his macros and micros – left a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced down at his watch; he could make time to go out for lunch. It wasn’t like he would miss anything important. What were they gonna do, keep shooting without him?
“Jesus Christ.” Tom tamped down the grin threatening to spread across his face as Colt scrambled to follow in his wake. “Are you really gonna be an asshole about this? After all these years of working together, all the memories we’ve shared–”
“Name one non-work-related thing we have ever done together,” Tom interrupted without stopping. Colt had to jog to keep up. He reached for Tom’s arm, grabbing him just long enough to slow him down and get in between him and the exit. Around them, the crew moved without sparing them a second glance. Four weeks into a twelve week shoot, and they were already more than used to Tom’s antics, and the chaos that always seemed to follow.
Colt jabbed a finger at Tom’s chest, eyebrows rising. “–that is besides the point. The point is, you owe me one. After all the times I’ve made your ass look good. You can do me this one favour.”
Tom stared down at him, unblinking. It was at times like these that he was glad for the extra inch in height. Arms crossed in front of his chest.
Head falling back, Colt let out a dramatic groan. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this. The things we do for love.”
Tom perked up, smile widening. “Wait wait wait. All this is for a girl? And here I thought you were gonna pine after that Julie–”
“Jodie. Her name’s Jodie. And I’m not pining–”
“–chick forever. You should have led with that. I’m all for helping a bro out of the misery of the friendzone. What’s the lucky lady’s name?” Tom uncapped the pen with his teeth, spitting the lid to one side. That was a Colt problem now. Silver marker hovering, he paused, waiting. “Well?”
“Look. This isn’t for ‘some chick’. It’s–”
Tom rolled his eyes. They had all been through the same sexual harassment seminars. At least, Gail had assured him everyone had. Something about it being industry standard now? Which was kind of weird if he stopped to think about it for too long, as there really hadn’t been that many other people there to watch the video with him. Other than his assistant – Zara? Sarah? – who he was pretty sure had been playing Candy Crush on her phone the entire time. Or answering emails. It was kind of hard to tell the difference.
“I’m sorry. Your ‘lady friend’.” Tom paused, eyes flicking up to Colt. “Man friend? I’m not here to judge.”
He really wasn’t. People liked to make assumptions, just because he brought his costar on his arm to his film premieres nine times out of ten. But as far as Tom was concerned, hot was hot, no matter what was in someone’s pants.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Colt said dryly. His hand clenched around his coffee cup, the paper starting to buckle beneath the pressure. “And I’m sure he will be too.”
“Right. Boyfriend. Got it. So, na–”
“It’s for my brother, you asshole,” Colt snapped, reaching for the DVD. “Y’know what? Nevermind. This was a stupid idea anyway.”
Tom yanked the DVD back before Colt could pull it away, holding it high out of reach. He blinked. “You. Have a brother. How has this never come up before? Wait, is he a stuntman too? Have I met him before?”
“No, Ry’s not a stuntman. He’s a teacher.”
Tom paused for a moment, tilting his head to one side. Narrowed eyes flicked across Colt before, at last, he shook his head. “Nah. Not buying it.”
“...excuse me?”
“I’ve met you. There’s no way someone you’re related to is smart enough to be a teacher. Nice try.”
Colt stared at him incredulously.
“You are unbelievable, you know that? Here. Just, wait–” Colt tugged his phone free from his pocket, scrolling quickly to find what he was looking for. He held it up for Tom to see.
There, on the screen, was the unmistakable form of two Colts. Regular, soft-jawed Colt with his wide grin and not-quite-right stubble, had his arm wrapped around what Tom could only describe as one of the most handsome men he had ever seen.
Gold-rimmed glasses and the kind of wide, unabashed smile that left his eyes wrinkling around the edges with crow’s feet the likes of which just weren’t a thing in Tom’s industry. A soft, oversized cardigan hid most of his form – he looked kind of skinnier than Colt, now that Tom peered closer, though it was hard to tell. He looked happy, too, and carefree, like the photographer had caught him at just the right moment to immortalise forever.
Fuck.
“Twins. You’re a twin,” Tom said softly, unable to drag his eyes away from the photo. As he reached for it, Colt pulled his phone back. Tom’s gaze snapped to his. He forced a familiar smirk back onto his lips. “I’d have remembered if he visited you on set. Brains and beauty, huh. Where have you been hiding him?”
Colt sent him a blank look. “You… do realise we’re identical twins, right?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You basically just called me beautiful. Wait, what do you mean, absolutely not?”
“I don’t see it. You guys look nothing alike.”
Colt’s eyebrows rose. “We are literally identical.”
“He wears glasses.”
“I wear contacts.”
“He’s got a cardigan.”
“Our clothing choices aren’t what make us identical?”
“He’s smart enough to be a teacher of some kind.”
“...you do know I am a stunt co-ordinator as well as a stuntman, right? I don’t just let people set me on fire. I actually help calculate the science behind these things?”
“...huh.” Tom tilted his head, squinting at Colt, then shrugged. “I still don’t see it. So, tell me more about this brother of yours with excellent taste in movies and in actors.”
Colt folded his arms in front of his chest, lips pressing into a thin line.
“Don’t flatter yourself. He likes to use your movie as an example of things that are scientifically impossible but can still be a starting point for asking better questions. And for the importance of the scientific process.” Even Colt couldn’t help but roll his eyes just a little bit at that. They were in the eighth grade. Surely they could be a little more relaxed on the details. “Apparently, asking what would actually happen if lava appeared in the middle of New York is a surprisingly effective way to get thirteen-year-olds engaging in geology.”
“Hey! I’m not the one who wrote the script. I just made it into a cult classic.” Tom looked down at the DVD box, pen hovering in place.
“Sure you did.” Colt took another sip of his coffee. “That’s ‘Ryland Grace’. R-y-l–”
“Ryland Grace. And you said he teaches eighth grade?” Tom said, an idea already beginning to form in his mind.
“Yeah, at Grover Cleveland Middle– wait. Why do you need to know that?” Colt took a step forward, the first hints of alarm beginning to set in at the edges of his eyes. Tom tossed him the pen and turned away with a grin. “Tom? You didn’t even sign– at least give me the DVD back! Ry’s going to kill me. It’s his only copy!”
Tom waved a hand over his shoulder. “If you want it back, I’m gonna need to meet the man himself. I’ll keep this safe for him in the meantime.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Invite him on set. It’ll be a blast.”
“...I cannot believe you are being this much of an asshole right now. Do you know how hard that was to get for him in the first place? It’s like, the third copy he’s had since we were fourteen!”
Tom stopped at the door and glanced back, still grinning. “Then you better make sure he gets this one back safe.”
And with that, he disappeared, leaving Colt to stare after him in resigned horror.
Tom had met plenty of scientists on various film sets over the years. None of them had ever made a career of telling thirteen-year-olds exactly how bad his movies were. At least, none as far as he was aware. He really couldn’t wait to meet Ryland Grace.