Chapter Text
By the time Tom actually approached the man and struck up a conversation, it was far too late to back out. He was currently standing in front of a booth housing a man he thought was his stunt double, but the words had already left his mouth when he realized it was not in fact his stunt double, just a man who looked scarily similar.
“I didn't know someone like you would go to a coffee shop like this.”
It was an artsy, brew focused coffee shop in downtown LA. The kind of place that insisted it was nothing like a coffee shop, but a step higher, a café. The man let out a scoff.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
A moment of panic flashed across his eyes until a flirty comeback popped into the front of his mind, slipping easily into his hotshot actor persona. He smirked and casually replied, “Just that, I didn't know someone so attractive would be interested in a craft coffee place like this. It's usually the hippie wannabes that care about the process their coffee goes through.”
His smirk faltered a little when he realized his line didn't land as well as he hoped. The blond in front of him met his gaze over the top of his glasses, an eyebrow quirked.
“Hippie wannabes? Didn't know this was still the 60's,” he pulled his eyes away from Tom's, looking back at the papers resting in front of him. “Did you maybe mean hipsters?”
He's so entranced by the man's long, fluttering eyelashes that it takes him a moment to pull himself out of the trance to respond, heat creeping up his neck.
“H- yeah hipsters, not hippies, slip of the tongue, you got what I meant though.”
The man chuckled softly, eyes never leaving his papers. Without asking, Tom slipped into the bench across from him, extending his hand.
“Tom Ryder.”
The man meets his eyes again, brilliant blue framed by extraordinary sandy blond lashes, he placed his hand into Tom's, shaking gently.
“I know who you are, Mr. Ryder. Ryland Grace.”
In a bold move even for him, Tom brought Ryland's hand to his lips, brushing his knuckles lightly. A bright blush blooming across Ryland's cheeks, Tom watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows to try and speak. Tom speaking first, not releasing Ryland's hand just yet, “Sorry, it's a habit.”
He lowered their hands to the table, brushing a thumb across the back of his hand as he let go, relaxing into the booth, resting his arm along the back. He was being incredibly forward compared to how he usually flirted, it was making him panic slightly, and he hoped it didn't show on his face. Ryland's mouth hung open slightly, voice wavering.
“You kiss the hands of people you just met often?”
Tom huffs, an easy grin pulling at his lips.
“No, introducing myself. The kiss was just for you.”
He keeps his gaze steady, tracing over every inch of Ryland's face, congratulating himself when Ryland turns to hide his blush in his shoulder. It had been a long time since Tom tried to pursue any sort of relationship during his acting career. Even longer since he tried to pursue one with a dude. He was glad his panicked version of charm was still working. There was something so striking about Ryland's face, he forgave himself for momentarily thinking he was his stunt double. It was like they could have been twins. The same slight bump on his nose as if it had broken then healed wrong, the same apple round cheeks, and sandy blond hair, but Ryland had a different air about him. Not the same boyish charm Colt had. Ryland had this calming visage, a certain grace, if you will. The way he carried himself radiated academia and intelligence, but not in a snobbish way, that was what made him so different from Colt, he realized, not that Colt was dumb, God no, even Colt was more intelligent than Tom, but it was a different kind of intelligence, he just couldn't put his finger on it.
By the time Tom brought himself out of his haze, he realized just how intense his gaze must have been because Ryland was looking back at him with the same steady, analytical eyes. Softly as not to startle him, he asked, “So, Mr. Grace, what do you do for a day job?”
Ryland's eyes snapped away from wherever they were looking on Tom's body, meeting his with a polite smile.
“Ryland, please, only my students call me Mr. Grace.”
“So long as you call me Tom. So a teacher, huh? Where do you teach?”
“Grover Cleveland Middle, up in San Fran.”
Motioning upward with his chin, pointing on an invisible map.
“Pretty long way from home just for a coffee run, what are you doing in LA?”
“Visiting my brother and his partner for a while, I hadn't taken any sick days in so long that the school board was practically begging me to take some time for myself before I keeled over in front of my students. I was worried to see how my students would react until I told them, and someone yelled, 'Finally!'” He raised his hands above his head in mock celebration. “I knew they would be fine. I'll be back before the last couple of weeks of school anyway. I just hope they aren't giving the sub any trouble.”
Tom took a sip of his mocha, he had left it for so long it was getting cold.
“What made you want to be a teacher?”
A conflicted look flickered on his face before quickly being replaced with a fond one.
“Ha, probably similar to most teachers. These kids are the future, they'll be running the world when all of us are old and decrepit. The least I can do is try to prepare them as much as possible,” he pauses, leaning back and sighing. “And some of them are so smart, probably too smart for their own good, but I love it when I'm teaching a topic, and I can see that spark in their eyes. That this is the topic they love to learn about, and how fulfilling it is when a student who's been struggling finally gets it, that stereotypical 'ah ha' moment. They all drive me crazy, but I love those kids.”
Tom had rested his cheek on his fist while he was listening, watching a dopey smile form while Ryland talked. It was so easy to see just how passionate he was about teaching, he was glad he asked. Ryland must have noticed Tom's expression because he let out an exasperated, “What?”
Tom grinned. “Nothing. I just like how passionate you are, it's hot.”
Ryland flung a hand over his heart, dropping the pen in his other, a blush flashing on his face again. It was satisfying to see the results of his flirting so quickly. The best part of flirting was knowing it was actually working, at least for him. Ryland recovered quickly, a trembling hand pushing his glasses back in place.
“I can't be the only one getting interrogated here. What made you want to become an actor?”
The ball was in Tom's court now, this is where things usually started to fall apart for Tom, when the object of his affection inevitably asked him why he did what he did, and then promptly became disappointed by the answer. He let out a deep sigh before starting.
“Uh, the usual for most actors, fame, money... that's what gets most people started, but when they learn just how hard the industry is, they just give up. It's the drive that's missing, the love for the craft. Most actors start out in theater, but no one joins theater for the money.” He explained. “I joined theater to feel like I was part of something, a community, but even small time theater is competitive. It's a war zone out there, you only move forward if you know someone, and at some point, you lose the drive you had in the first place. The want to make art, and it turns into high school all over again. It becomes cliques, and if you aren't part of the clique, you're dead meat. I was insanely lucky to get where I am today, but it wasn't because of skill or drive. It was because I knew someone who just so happened to know someone with influence, and before you know it, it's not about the art anymore, it's about what we can push out to make as much money as possible as quickly as possible. It's nothing like what I thought it would be when I was little, but that's why I agreed to be part of my current project. Jody, the director, is doing this for the love of the craft to tell a story that she actually wants to tell.”
He trails off at the end, staring into his cup of long forgotten coffee, he blinks, taking himself out of his stupor. While he was talking, Ryland had folded his arms together and leaned onto the table, brows furrowed. There it was, the disappointed look they all got when he didn't tell them the story they wanted to hear about his giant mansion and piles of money, and how he was an actor just because he always really liked movies. breaking the illusion of Hollywood. They all wanted a superstar, not a person.
“Sorry, that was a lot to just put out into the open, I said more just now than you have the whole time we've been sitting here,” he shifts, getting ready to get up to leave. "I should get back to set. It was great talking to you.”
Before he has the chance to actually move Ryland grabs his wrist, he whips his head back to look at him. Ryland, seemingly surprised at himself, sheepishly lets go.
“Sorry, shouldn't have grabbed you like that. I get it if you actually have to get back, but please don't leave just because you think you said too much. It takes a lot of courage to say how you actually feel, especially in a line of work like yours, where everything you say is policed, especially to a stranger like me. But... thank you for telling me.”
Tom feels like he might start hyperventilating. Recovering as much as he can to say this one last thing before he can convince himself to back out.
Taking a major risk, he leans into Ryland's space, one hand on the table and the other on the back of the booth boxing him in, he's mere inches from his face when he says.
“We don't have to be strangers if you don't want to be. I'll be at Kato on Friday, 7 pm sharp.”
he lingers for a moment longer savoring the shuttered breath he elicits from the other man then before he can fuck the entire thing up he turns to leave he's not able to see Ryland's expression, but he can hear the other man quietly say.
“I'll be there.”
He leaves as quickly as he can so no one can see him vibrate out of his skin. The day had only just started, and already he couldn't wait for it to be over so Friday could come faster.