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Chris didn’t mean for it to happen, he didn’t want to fall in love with his best friend. And just because he was who he was, he fell hard. He was a romantic at heart and there was no way around his feelings. Butterflies were in his stomach and birds seemed to chirp whenever he was around Zach; as if the birds were telling him to make a move, to make Zach his.

It was an accident for Chris to find out that he didn’t just love Zach as a friend or just love him as a person, but that he was in love with Zach, completely and utterly in love.

It was a Saturday when this accident happened.

He had picked up their suits at the dry cleaners and decided to drop Zach’s suit off on his way home.

Chris thought of texting him before stopping by, but decided it wasn’t really necessary. In fact, it wouldn’t even be the first time if either of them decided to step in the other’s house without so much as a knock. It was all very simple, really. They were like that, Zach and Chris. It was easy: their relationship, their friendship, their almost instantaneous bond.

Chris had laughed the first time an interviewer had asked them about their on-screen chemistry. He had laughed because the image that had popped up was of flasks filled with solutions that smelled of rotten eggs and of substances that turned green under flames. He hated chemistry, but his favorite color was green. He was about to say that but realized that in his moment of reflection, Zach had decided to pick up the slack and started talking about not having to manufacture their chemistry. Chris had nodded in agreement, deciding it was a much better answer than talking about rotten eggs.

Zach and Chris had this kind of bond where they were totally comfortable with each other and shared everything from something as mundane as gossip to something as intimate as houses. So, when Chris didn’t get an answer after knocking once he didn’t think twice about stepping in, unannounced.

"Mi casa es su casa," Zach had told him the first time he had invited him in for a drink after a run. Zach had meant it, so Chris took advantage of it.

Chris hung the freshly dry cleaned suits on the coat hook by the door and headed for the kitchen. He was about to call out for Zach but realized something was off: there was a definite lack of noise in the house. Where was Noah, who normally greeted him at the door? Where was Harold, who always appeared out of nowhere and then pointedly ignored him?

And then he saw it: a shirt on the floor and it was most definitely Zach’s. Chris could tell by the color of it and its faded design. He had seen Zach wear it dozens of times. Chris wondered whether the shirt still carried Zach’s scent. He was so caught up in his thoughts that it was only after when he had picked the shirt up and had his face buried in the soft material did he realize what he was doing. Before he could reflect on his bazaar behavior further, his gaze landed on a pair of jeans just outside the bedroom door. By the baggy cut of the jeans, he decided that they were not Zach’s. And the moans he could hear, once he got close enough, were not voiced by Zach either. However, the low, gravelly sounding "fuck" was all Zach.

Chris would have dropped the shirt and turned on his heel to leave if he didn’t feel rooted to the floor. And some kind of paranormal phenomena encouraged or, really, forced him to look into the bedroom and see his best friend in bed with another man. The other man, who moaned like a total porn star and screamed for more.

He couldn't see porn star's face, only his legs which were wrapped around Zach’s back. And Chris could admit that it was only out of curiosity that he didn’t turn away, but rather leaned into the doorway to get a better look. He could admit that because he was definitely not weirded out by the idea of gay sex; he was totally fine by it.

He told himself, however, that the only reason he was aroused was because sex was sex, and it looked like passionate sex, which, in itself, was the turn on.

So, the turn on was not seeing his best friend thrust into another man. seeing the line of Zach’s back arch and bend and noticing muscles shift. No, that wasn’t why his own cock twitched and ached and grew impossibly hard.

Chris swallowed and moved out of sight when he heard the other man make another sound of approval, then make a request for more, which was quickly followed by words of praise. Chris had moved so fast that he almost missed the next word out of his mouth. He was about to turn back in disbelief, but he couldn’t risk being caught.

He stayed by the wall, outside the door, listening if Zach caught what the porn star had called him.


“Why’d you stop?”

“Wait, what did you just say?” Of course, Zach had heard.

Chris pressed closer to the wall.

“I said that you felt good. What--”

“No, after that. You called me something.”

“What are you talking about?” The voice had lost its porn star appeal. It really sounded quite annoying, Chris decided.

“What I’m saying is that you just called me Sylar while I was fucking you.” Chris was surprised at how not angry Zach sounded. He would have been angry, he would have been outraged, actually. But Zach just seemed confused and maybe a little hurt.

Chris’ jaw tightened when he pictured Zach frown. He wondered if he would be pouting as well. Probably not, Zach wouldn’t show himself at a time like this.


Chris wanted to barge in and tell the guy that he had heard it, that it couldn’t be denied, but he decided that wouldn’t be such a good idea.

“You heard me, don’t deny it.”

“Come on, can’t we just finish? I was sooo close.”

Chris could not believe what he just heard. The nerve of that man! He barely realized that he was twisting the shirt in his hands.

“No, we can’t finish! Geez, man, you totally lied to me last night. You made it seem as if you didn’t know who I was. That’s fucked up, man. I think you should leave.” Zach’s voice sounded tight, like he wanted to say more--to tell him off or scream--but the only other word he said was in a whisper: “Now.”

Chris moved out of the hall when he heard the rustling of sheets. And quickly ducked behind a bookcase so he could be out of the line of sight of whoever decided to leave the room.

He watched as a youngish, blondish, lanky-ish looking man stumbled out as he yanked on the jeans that were littered outside the door. The man had muttered to himself as he turned back to look towards Zach’s door before he left. He had looked surprisingly ordinary; very vanilla, very ish-y. Chris frowned at the thought.

Chris had always pictured Zach to be with someone who popped. Someone you looked at and just knew they were amazing. Zach should be with someone intelligent, someone gorgeous, someone who was spectacular in every sense of the word. And that someone had to be perfect to deserve Zach because Zach was perfect. Chris’ eyes widened as the thought crossed his mind. He was up and out the door before he could drop the shirt he was holding.

It really was an accident. He didn't mean to find out that he was in love with his best friend. He didn't want to ruin things. He wanted them to be comfortable with each other. Forever.

And he most definitely did not mean to steal Zach's shirt.