Restless Hearts (Closed to Melia)

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Television was almost completely foreign to Chris. In theory, and because of his dad, he knew how the process worked—the long hours, the five or six scenes shot in a day, the constant fear that came along with renewals and how even highly rated and well received shows never knew whether or not they were on the chopping block. Chris knew that he wouldn't have made it on TV, not early in his career where he had only been able to score bit parts on ER and CSI: Miami. Movies were easier for him, they took more time, and he had longer opportunities to learn a character. Sometimes, Chris didn't know how Zach did it, and on such a popular show. Heroes was actually the first time that Chris had laid eyes on his best friend.

Psycho killer eyebrows, method actor everything else,” Chris grinned, unable to resist teasing Zach a little bit. He was glad to hear that Zach was still happy with how the show was progressing, or rather, the way his character was starting to take shape.

When asked about his own projects, Chris just shrugged. “I'm doing that country music movie,” he said, “shooting starts soon. I get to sing.” His face lit up when it came to that detail because singing and playing the guitar was something that he considered himself decent at. Country music wouldn't have been his first choice, but he'd take what he could get. Harold meowed at him as Chris's hand paused in its petting, but he quickly resumed as he went on, “after that, I might be up for another action movie.”
 
Without lifting his eyes from his script, Zach adapted a southern drawl. "Ah think yew've gotta mighty fine face fer a cowboy. All squer jaw and tan skin. Kin jist about imagine ya sittin round a fire strummin yer geetar an howlin' some cowboy blues. Oh, accents are hard," he said with a laugh, glancing up at Chris, his voice slipping back into it's smooth baritone.

"That's great you get to sing. Are you going to be one of those actor that turns singer? Go all Lindsey Lohan on us? The world discovers your raw talent as a singer/songwriter and you've got a new career out of it."

Noah was back up on the couch, creeping ever closer to laying across Zach's crossed ankles. The brunet wiggled his toes against the shaggy dog's jawline, a long distance scratch under the chin. Noah let out a long happy groan because every pet was the best pet ever, even if it was a toe pet.
 
Zach's interpretation of southerners left much to be desired, but Chris found himself laughing anyway. He couldn't help but picture himself in a ten gallon hat with a guitar while he sat around a camp fire with his friends and sang about his dog that ran away—or whatever the basis of country music was about. “You sound like you can't spell your own name,” Chris continued to laugh and leaned back on the couch with Harold in his lap. The black cat curled up there, tail flicking every so often and Chris continued to pet his hand down the feline's back. For a cat, Harold was incredibly demanding.

Shaking his head, Chris would have liked to forget all about that movie he'd done with Lindsay Lohan. “God, no, never.” His brow furrowed at the very thought of a concert, even if it wasn't all that different from the theater. “You know I only play for friends. And it took me long enough to get this career going,” he pointed out, chuckling. “It's a little too late for me to start over.”

But you,” Chris grinned and gave Zach's leg a nudge with his foot, “have a promising career in voice acting. Give up your spot on Heroes and invite everyone to your one man accent show: Zachary Quinto Insults The World!”
 
"Oh come on, Pine. You could bring a whole new element to Captain Kirk. Space cowboy." By now, it was pretty much set in stone that there would be a second Trek film, which didn't surprise Zach much, with how well the first movie had done. Zach set his script aside and pulled out his air banjo and brought back his terrible drawl, leaning closer to Chris, and resting an elbow on Noah's back as he sang, "Whhhhy, oh whyyy, don't the ladies loooooooove me? Who could resist these big bluuuue eyeeeeeees." Zach's voice dropped to a deep baritone on the last note and he laughed, ending with a flourish of air banjo. "Diiniinewwwniinewwdiiidliidoo." Noah barked, confused by the strange noises his owner was making and even Harold's ears laid back.

"Aaaand next on Zach's grossly stereotyped radio show we have an offensive attempt at being gay." In response to this he put on his most serious face of self and silently stared straight into Chris' eyes. Not that he'd meant anything by it. It was supposed to be funny. Because he was gay and was therefore by any definition of the word "stereo-typically" gay because just as with everywhere else a stereotype existed, there was no one way to be gay.

It didn't even cross his mind that Chris might take Zach's joke to be directed at him, or that he might be implying any kind of romantic intentions. His straight face had a certain smoldering effect that he didn't fully realize. His well groomed but heavy eyebrows cast a mysterious shadow over his eyes and he had a naturally pouty mouth which sometimes proved that less than flirty intentions came across entirely the opposite. Therefore, any less than platonic reactions Chris had to the joke, were completely lost on an oblivious Zach.
 
Air banjo, much more rare than air guitar was something that never failed to make Chris laugh. As Zach crooned a weepy song for that didn't impress Noah or Harold all that much, Chris took it upon himself to break out the world's smallest violin from the case and turn it into the world's smallest imaginary fiddle. He played along for a moment, but was hardly a match for that bad ass, air banjo solo at the end, and quickly packed away his own air instrument. “Damn, I can't believe that show was free,” he said, still laughing softly as Zach moved on to another crazy scenario.

However, Chris's smile faltered when the subject matter changed. He didn't know if Zach was talking about him, or if he was referring to himself. It was hard to tell and Chris shifted uncomfortably on the couch as the other man did his best smolder. It was damn good, and Chris hated that Zach looked so serious. The inner workings of his mind told him that he was being made fun of, baited and that creeping feeling of insecurity that came along with being Zach's friend made yet another appearance. He looked away from Zach, unable to hold that deep gaze any longer and practically bolted from the couch and into the kitchen. Harold seemed upset, but Chris didn't care.

That's a good way to make people wonder about you,” Chris said, hiding the panic in his voice and on his face by looking for a glass in one of the cabinets. Although Zach had never told him if he was gay or not, Chris had assumed. He never mentioned it, not wanting to make his (at the time) co-star uncomfortable. However, Zach seemed to hint at him, insist that he was...that way as well.

And he wasn't.
Not even a little.
Perfectly straight.
Dated models.
Straight as hell.


With much more force than necessary, Chris turned the faucet on and filled his glass with water. He still couldn't look over at Zach, afraid of what he might see, or rather, afraid that Zach was still playing his game. If the other man looked at him that way again, Chris was afraid of what he might do.
 
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In much the same way that Chris had made the presumption that Zach was gay, Zach had made the same presumption that Chris already knew this. Mainly because he had disclosed that tidbit of information to Zoe before they had performed their kissing scenes, where he admitted to the slim woman that he wasn't actually sure if he was 'doing it right' and that she needed to coach him. Bless Zoe and the grace with which she had handled that news. Still, it wasn't exactly the sort of thing most people could keep to themselves, and given how tightly knit the group had been throughout filming and afterwards, Zach assumed it had come up while he hadn't been around and even more likely if drinks were involved, which they often were. He probably shouldn't do that. Everyone knew that phrase about assuming things. He just didn't want people to make a big deal out of the thing when it wasn't. His sexuality didn't define him. His talents and personality did. Sexuality was simply a trait, like brown hair and brown eyes. Unfortunately, a lot of the world didn't see it that way. But Zach liked to think that his friends were more open minded than that.

So naturally, Zach assumed Chris was just suddenly very thirsty, though mildly insulted that the other man didn't seem to think his joke was very funny. He got up and followed Chris to the kitchen and sat on one of the stools that put the island between himself and the smaller blond. "I'm sorry was that offensive? It was pretty offensive. I was trying. Anyway, I get creepy complex roles because I keep people wondering," he said, feigning arrogance by examining his nails down his nose as he missed the implication behind Chris' words.
 
Whatever Zach had disclosed to Zoe, she had never breathed a whisper of it to the cast or anyone else. Chris had his suspicions about Zach's sexuality, or rather, his selfish hopes that many one day, his best friend would look at him the way he just had, but with a more serious tone. On slow, boring days while on set on or on the press tour, Chris would wonder if he was Zach's type, or if it would really be so bad if he were to give the other man an alcohol-soaked and brave kiss one night at a party. Every scenario ended terribly, either with the loss of a close friend, or his career, or both. Fear kept Chris in check, not his desire to please the people in charge of his work.

For a long moment, Chris didn't say anything. He was too busy draining the glass in his hand, forcing down water that he hadn't even wanted. After, he refilled it and took another, smaller drink as he realized that Zach had missed his meaning entirely. There was instant relief in the blond, it was almost indescribable. “It's the eyebrows,” he said, a hint of a smirk behind his glass. “They're complex and creepy, people want to know what they're made of.”

Eyebrows, of course, were just the curtains over the windows to the soul.
 
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If eyebrows were the curtains hung over the windows to the soul, Zach's were hotel weight draperies. Not only because his eyebrows were literally such a prominent feature of his face, but because, metaphorically, he wasn't always the easiest person to read. Unlike Chris, who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve and leaned toward a certain light heartedness, Zach could come off slightly broody at times. His soul windows were dark, literally and figuratively, where as Chris' were light.

"They're just as complex and creepy as everyone believes them to be. A home to the species of eyebrow mites reproducing and dying at alarming rates, my eyebrows hold residency to monsters that thrive on sex, death and cannibalism. Not the kind of forest I'd feel keen on venturing into. And if you are brave enough to venture across the desert of my eyelids, there's a whole different kind of scary living on my eyelashes. Hey can you get me a glass of water too?"
 
For one reason or another, Chris was always second-guessing himself around Zach, and whole hours had been devoted to figuring out his supposed best friend. There always seemed to be a double meaning hanging around Zach's words and actions, and Chris would come home after a long day of filming and wonder about something the other man had said hours ago, something apparently small or harmless that, in Chris's anxious mind, quickly spiraled into an entirely new entity. Often, Chris came out on the other side of his worries wondering if anyone else was this way about Zach, if Zoe or Karl stayed up late wondering what a simple compliment meant in the grand scheme of things.

Had Chris told anyone this, Zach especially, he would have sounded crazy.

At the very least, he wasn't creating horrific stories about the bugs that called his eyebrows home. So, Zach was more disturbing than him in that respect. “You know I was just going to say that they're made of secrets, right? That's why they're so big.” Reaching for a clean glass from the cupboard, Chris let out a belated laugh. “You're so weird; cannibalistic eyebrow mites—Jesus.” Shaking his head, Chris filled the glass with water from the tap and slid it over to Zach.
 
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"Oh Christopher," Zach's voice and eyes filled with great pity. "You did not just quote Mean Girls to me. You did." As Chris slid the glass of water toward Zach, the brunet reached over and patted Chris' hand in a somewhat demeaning manor. "You can't just do that." He clucked his tongue and shook his head before drinking from the water glass.

As much as Zach bullshitted with the other man though, he actually respected Chris a great deal. As an actor, he was brilliant. Smart. Book smart. And analytical. These were rare traits in actors, and Zach believed that Chris had great potential and could go far in this career, even if Chris felt like he had been somewhat thrown into it out of nowhere. He had the natural talent and additional smarts that put him a level above the rest. For that, Zach couldn't help admiring the other man.

Even if showing it meant picking on him just a little.

"Anyway, you've got eyebrow mites too. Just because you're Captain Kirk doesn't mean that you're above eyebrow mites and common bacteria. That's illogical," He said, putting on his well practiced Spock voice. "If anything, my specific eyebrow ecosystem is still trying to repopulate after the devastating deforestation of the eyebrow shave, suggesting that you have a denser population of eyebrow mites than I do, Captain."
 
He had, and he more than likely would again.

Mean Girls was a very quotable movie, and Chris couldn't help that he had seen it more than a handful of times. Being friends with Lindsay, he had even gone to the premier, and it was genuinely funny, and still good to taunt Zach with years later. It hardly mattered that big hair and big eyebrows had earned him a belittling pat on the hand because Chris could tell when he'd made a good joke. Getting Zach to actually laugh was sometimes the most difficult task that the blond would encounter throughout his entire day, but a few more solid lines like that and he was sure that he would have his friend devolving into a fit of laughter, and showing off that weirdly perfect smile.


Come on now, Mister Spock,” Chris played along, easily falling back into his Kirk-persona. He had to admit, revisiting the bold and brash space captain so soon after getting off the press tour sort of made his head ache. “Your eyebrow mites and my eyebrow mites are two totally different species. Yours are so much more...” he paused for effect and looked dramatically toward a beam of sunlight that was spilling in through the kitchen window, “horny. They'll overpopulate in time for our next mission,” the guaranteed sequel, “and they'll have to be culled. Meanwhile, my eyebrows will remain untouched.” He grinned at the other man, now very much himself once more.
 
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"Oh Vanity, he thinks he's being funny." Zach pursed his lips and his expression became rather flirtatious. "Who can blame the eyebrow mites for being a bit horny considering the repopulation they're faced with. Anyway, what's so wrong with being horny? You say it like it's a bad thing. Anyway, that's bull about your eyebrows being untouched. You know as well as I do that they're going at you with a tweezers." And thank god no one had dared try to tweeze his eyebrows into that godawful vulcan style. Zach had plenty of eyebrow to go around, but once tweezing came around, who knew if they would ever quite grow back the same. "At least I don't have to change the color of my hair. Blondie."

Harold, deciding that he was quite fed up from the lack of attention from either of the men decided to jump up on the counter, something that Zach had taught the cat not to do. The brunet snapped his finger's and gave a vocal warning. Harold gave a displeased mewl and hopped down, not without first knocking the roll of paper towels to the floor first.

"Yeah it's always gotta be about you doesn't it? I swear he's the cattiest of cats."
 
There were plenty of things wrong with being horny. Sexual frustration was the number two cause of poor decisions, with copious amounts of alcohol being the first—the two often went hand in hand. Chris's last relationship had ended just weeks into filming for Star Trek, and he hadn't really cared all that much because by then, he was already infatuated with his co-star. Desire, unfortunately, was a powerful thing and Chris had come very close to ruining his entire life just by spending a few extra hours with Zach over the last few months. The press tour had been even worse with the close quarters, and the other man's eyebrows having grown back, combined with the right kind of suits and hair products—more than a few moments alone had been required. And that look on Zach's face, the one where Chris couldn't tell if he was still acting or not, only made things worse.

I'd rather have my hair dyed and not in a bowl-cut than have my eyebrows shaved off,” Chris decided with a laugh. “Face it, your horny eyebrows are much more unfortunate than me looking like the lost member of N*Sync.”

Chris finished off the water in his glass and licked his lips before he set it aside, and watched as Zach scolded Harold for trying to be part of the conversation. “I told you, it's because he wants to live with me,” he said, mock-seriousness in his tone as he bent to pick up the paper towels from the floor. He set them back up on the counter, but also scooped up Harold in the process. With the cat in his arms, Chris leaned back against the sink and cooed at the very grumpy feline. “My offer to fight you in court still stands.”
 
"You know I don't like it when you pick him in the kitchen," Zach scolded. "It's just asking for hair to get in all of the food. Unsanitary." Zach wrinkled his nose. Zach could be a bit of a neat freak at times and one of his rules was no animals on the counters.

Ignoring the now age old joke of going to court over Harold, Zach finished his water. "So do you have anything else planned today or you just hanging out?" He tipped his head to the side, eying the blond more carefully. There was no mistaking Chris' attractiveness. Zach sometimes wondered if Chris ever swung his way or not but he couldn't be sure. In the same way that Chris never brought up Zach's sexuality, Zach never brought up Chris' and while they had become fast friends through work, it still felt like one of those personal topics that just wasn't ready to be breached yet, in fear of losing some of the chemistry they had as actors and as friends.

Though Zach did like to believe that Chris would be fully accepting of him no matter which way he went, it was another matter entirely that it had crossed his mind on more than one occasion what it might be like to actually be with Chris. Not that that necessarily had to come up in the same conversation. Or at all. For now anyway. No time had ever felt quite appropriate to bring it up. Straight guys could get weird if you came out to them alone. His gaze on Chris became unintentionally intense as he tried to gauge how his friend might feel about that fact.
 
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As Zach scolded him for being nice to Harold, Chris had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The other man was too much of a clean-freak for his liking, and he hardly thought that picking up the cat and giving his ears and belly a few pets would contaminate the whole kitchen. Besides, Chris highly doubted there were many places in Zach's apartment that Harold's black hair hadn't touched. After a few more pets and promises to one day steal the cat away, Chris put him back down on the floor where he gave an uppity meow before slinking back off to the living room with Noah.

This is the only thing I'm doing today,” Chris confirmed with a smile. If Zach hadn't called him for coffee, Chris would probably still have been sleeping—maybe he would have gotten up and migrated to his bedroom, but more sleep would have definitely happened. After a long press tour, Chris had really needed the time off to decompress and relax before he got back into the grind of the business. Most people thought that acting was easy, but it was a pretty stressful job in his opinion and something that he always needed to take a step back from once a film had wrapped or a tour had come to an end. “Why? Do you need me to get out of here?”

It was then that Chris noticed Zach's intense stare. The look was rather sudden, and Chris didn't understand why those dark eyes were being directed at him so strongly. “Is there something on my face?” he asked, rubbing a palm over his cheek a few times. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Chris laughed.
 
Chris had very nice full lips. Shapely. With the upper lip being slightly more full than the bottom, which to Zach's observations was a rather uncommon feature in men. Chris' lips could be described as nothing less than perfectly kissable. And the longer Zach looked at them, the more he wanted to kiss them. Thankfully, Chris was doing some idiot thing with his hands touching his face, which broke Zach's hypnotic gaze at those perfect plump lips. Of course there was something on Chris' face. His face was on his face and it was terribly distracting to Zach in this very moment. This was definitely crossing some personal and professional boundaries. And it was starting to bother Zach very much that he had no clue about what Chris' boundaries were. Damn the professional boundaries, he wanted to know what his personal ones were.

"No..." Zach said after a beat, his eyes slowly dragging away from Chris' lips back up to his eyes. Those beautiful eyes the exact color of the sky. The sort of color you couldn't quite believe was real in the films, and surely they must have done some CGI to get his eyes that blue. But no. They actually were that blue. It was down right unnatural. And a bit unfair. Zach's own brown eyes were nothing spectacular in comparison. He spoke slowly, as if waking up from a dream. "You don't have to get out of here. Actually, I was just wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner. We could cook something up maybe?" As he spoke, Zach found himself coming out of his distracted daze, his tone becoming more natural. "I've got to go to the grocery store though. Being away so long sort of leaves the supplies dwindled."

He pulled out his phone now, trying to look up some recipes that they might want to try. "Have you got anything in mind? Ready for some home cooked goodness after months of eating out?"
 
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but do u want to make out, zach??


Apparently, there was nothing on his face, and Zach was staring because he could. Chris felt uncomfortable, scrutinized, and anxious. There were times when he didn't quite trust himself around Zach, and those times usually cropped up after a few drinks and some very loud music, but both of those things were currently absent. This was a sober urge, the need to lean across the island and kiss his best friend just to see what it would be like, and again, Chris was really starting to understand why he was lectured all the time. In retrospect, each reprimand was justified and Chris really did want to have a long career. He wasn't willing to give up roles or be completely honest with himself or those around him just because he sometimes wanted to make out with his best friend. Zach was a lot of things to Chris, but he wasn't worth losing work.

However, it was incredibly hard to turn down a home-cooked meal after living on take out and restaurants for the last month. Chris suddenly remembered that all he had in his fridge was a decaying lime, and Zach's offer became that much sweeter. On top of that, he liked he cook and he was pretty handy around the kitchen. Of course, going out into public, grocery shopping with another man was bound to draw the attention of paparazzi if they were lurking about. Chris thought about it for all of two seconds, and his growling stomach won the battle.

Oh well.

Something with chicken,” the blond decided. Although, he truly wasn't picky. Whatever Zach wanted to make was fine by him. Dinner gave him a reason to stick around, and as a plus, he wouldn't have to order in.
 
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Zach was generally fairly conscious with his diet, making sure to put the healthiest foods into his body. But tonight, home cooked felt like it needed to just be the very epitome of home cooked. "How about some good old fashioned fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy?" Truly nothing sounded better in that moment though Zach might find himself regretting the decision later after witnessing his friend licking his lips and fingers from the hands on food. Still, that currently wasn't at the forefront of his mind at the moment. Though, it might become a problem. Later. Hopefully his stomach didn't regret the choice later, either.

Zach hopped up from his seat, ready to get going. He hoped at least the grocery shopping bit would get his mind off of Chris' very sweet looking lips. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, no longer needing recipe ideas. Fried chicken was just one of those things that you just knew how to make because it could be made so many ways and generally always came out delicious. It was a recipe made to taste, not measurements. His stomach growled in anticipation of such a delicious meal.
 
You want fried chicken?” Chris asked, one eyebrow raised rather skeptically. Zach was the type who constantly talked about healthy foods, and the bragged about the benefits of green smoothies while everyone nursed a killer hangover after a long night of drinking, topped off with something greasy at around three in the morning. Chris had suffered through lecture after lecture on the myths of hair of the dog, and how a burger didn't qualify as breakfast just because it had an egg on it. Knowing the close to flawless way that Zach treated his body, it was hard for Chris to imagine that his friend wanted something so seriously unhealthy after they had spent the last month filter feeding on take out, room service, or hors d'oeuvres served at parties.

However, when Zach got up from his seat at the island, the decision seemed to be final. “You mean actual fried chicken, right?” he asked, ready to leave the apartment in exchange for the grocery store. “With oil and skin, not 'oven-fried' lies?” Growing up in California, fried chicken wasn't something that Chris had been raised on, but he was generally a fan of anything crispy or bad for him. Luckily, his vices were rather easy to control.

Back out in the living room, Chris gave Noah a pet as the mutt wandered over, probably thinking that it was time for a walk, or a game of fetch. “And please tell me you're driving. I don't want to carry bags all the way back here.” Laziness was also something of a vice, but who was really keeping count of bad habits?

Zach, probably.
 
"Oven-fried lies," Zach replied in all seriousness. " If we were doing actual fried chicken we might as well be getting take out." There had to be some healthy benefit to cooking at home. Chicken with the skins on it was already fatty enough. The least they could do was oven bake it. "It's still crispy in the oven," Zach protested, knowing full well that Chris would want the real thing. "Alright, how about we fry half and bake half."

Zach had a feeling he was going to regret making that compromise. Frying oil just made the kitchen smell so...fried. "And we have to have a kale salad first." And Zach's mashed potatoes were bound to be boring to Chris. He shied away from much butter and made sure to only use lactose free milk. Or soy. Or almond. Though shopping with Chris, there was always a chance he would get swayed to the dark side.
 
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