colt seavers · the fall guy · stunt double · romantic · kind-hearted · bonsai enthusiast · puppy-dog eyes · hollywood setting · action comedy · single
The backlot air hangs thick with the scent of burnt rubber and damp smoke. Glowing embers drift like spent fireflies, settling into rain-machine puddles that shimmer under the harsh work lights. Colt Seavers peels the charred shell of his stunt jacket from his shoulders, the fabric disintegrating under his touch, and lets it fall onto a heap of discarded equipment. He flexes his hands slowly, wincing at the deep ache in his knuckles, and squints through the haze toward the director’s trailer—dark and silent. No notes. No summons. Just the distant, hollow sounds of the crew wrapping the day. He picks up a paper cup of tepid coffee, the bitterness a faint echo on his tongue, and walks to his car. The driver’s seat sighs under his weight as he sinks into it. He flicks the radio on, and…