It's stories about him. And Zach. Together. Chris grins. Fans are awesome!

Zach sits on the website for two days before he finally looks it up. It's an amusing and terrifying idea, fans writing stories about your life, and Zach can't quite decide if he's horrified or intrigued. He settles somewhere in between.

Zach has an idea. It is sheer genius.

Short of dancing naked around and around Zach until they both get dizzy and fall over, shouting, "Gay, I am gay for you, I am so SO gay for you," he can't see a better way to communicate his non-heterosexuality. Chris Pine, he thinks, you evil genius.

"Chris and I have known each other actually before we did the movie. We have overlapping social circles. We live in the same neighborhood in L.A."

Fucking tease, Zach thinks, fuming.

Chris and Zach are very handsy. Zach thinks they're flirting, but Chris thinks they're playing gay chicken and he wants to win.

The thing is, Zach's not a creepy guy. No, really, he's not. He's just very... specific. He likes certain specific things. He likes the way Chris smells. It’s totally not as creepy as it sounds. Honestly.

"Oh my God, this shit has developed a narrative thread," Chris marvels.

Did they tell you something they didn’t tell me? Because I was told it’s just the flu and I’ll be back to work Monday. But if I’m dying I think I have the right to know.

He fights the snort as Chris says, "Thanks darl', you’re a star," in the most casual of tones despite the surprise Zach can see in his quirked eyebrow. Chris takes a swig of the hot liquid and the girl twirls a strand of hair around one finger, giggling at something he says. Zach rolls his eyes at her obvious flirting, but he can’t help but watch in a mixture of awe and disgust as Chris plugs the girl’s number into his phone four minutes later. Charming bastard.

"Oh, no," Zach deadpans, feigning an exaggerated look of horror, "you found my stash of kinky sex paraphernalia. Whatever will I do.” He rolls his eyes. "Seriously, you read sex into everything; it’s pathological. They’re for shaving." He goes back to what’s probably the New York Times, then looks up again and adds pointedly, "For shaving facial hair."

A few weeks after the promotional whirlwind ended, though, Chris was bored. Everything was always in the same place and nothing could be moved without a joint session of the Gosh, I'm So Tired of This Object Here, Where Should It Go? committee, comprised of Zach, Harold the cat, and Noah the dog, with Chris recently appointed as honorary secretary/mover.

In which Chris likes to touch, and Zach goes through several phases regarding this, including discomfort, apathy, suspicion, acceptance, and obsession to the point of insanity. It's like the stages of depression, except with more erections and about the same amount of drinking.

Zach's had crushes on guys before, both straight and involved, all unavailable, and he figures he'll get over this crush on Chris just like he got over all the others. He's never seen Chris before now, and just because it looks like he'll be using Chris's boyfriend as his personal trainer doesn't mean he'll actually see him. Except that he does.

About three interviews after they mention the word competition, Chris decides it’s time to step things up a notch. Things don't exactly go to plan.

If the fans are reading a little more into their dynamic than what's going on in reality, well then, that's why its called fiction. But he's starting to see glimpses of reality in the fiction.

Zach and him are comfortable enough for Chris to be sure that a bit of body-mimicry will be sufficiently subtle and normal enough a start; and he does just that, arranges his body in a loose echo of Zach’s posture a minute into the interview.

"Chris, works of art are for admiring, humans are for fucking. Which position would you rather have in my life?"

The thing is, Chris knows, logically, emotionally even, that fucking Zach is just about the worst idea in the world.

Standing to the right of the camera, Zoë pulls a silly face. Chris can't help but laugh - queen of the Star Trek set, and she sticks her tongue out and crosses her eyes. The camera goes off immediately to catch his smile, click, click, click.

There's irony in the fact that the word "moribund" is responsible for the shiny new feelings in Zach.

It starts with a text. Zach checks his phone and smiles; it’s Chris. Chris, who’s bored, apparently, and wants to go drinking, or at least bar-hopping.

"Let me guess. He was talking about getting the band back together," he said. Zach nodded. "JJ gets that itch every six months. I have the emails to prove it."

Zach listens to Chris sing off-key and suffers the theft of his glasses.

St. Mary's is just like Chris's last parish.

He wants to touch Chris's teeth, because they're picket-fence-straight and Zach isn't ever going to have one of those.

"Please don't go by C. Pine. I will end you. See also: C., Whitelaw, or Chrissy. Princess Whitelaw's good. Nothing Pine-related either."

Almost immediately, a text in return: "Have you noticed how many times you threaten to kill me per day?" Followed by: "You're the Dread Pirate Roberts to my Westley, aren't you?"

"Dude," Zach replies, shaking his head, "Isn't that masturbatory at some point? DON'T WRITE ABOUT IT IN YOUR PAPER."

Coming together was so, so easy. Chris tries to remember that later, remember what's right when everything else is wrong as hell, but it's harder.

Zach can be kind of a pretentious minimalist sometimes, and he's worst in the early mornings. Chris considers it his civic duty to prevent him from throwing important things away willy-nilly before 11am, and from doing things like, as he did on one particularly memorable occasion, buying an oil painting of a purple square from a sketchy art website for $1600.

In which Chris isn't completely unaware of the implications.

Chris hires a hipster manny for his son Nicky.

George breaks a rule, Chris is kind of slutty, Zach continues to be awesome, and they all live happily ever after.

"Are you and Zoe, y'know..."

The one where Chris has stupid glasses and a lot of paperbacks, Zach knows too much for his own good, there are at least two lap dances, and everybody wants to sleep with Dorothy Parker.

"Quinto Mad Libs," Cho says. "My date was: mean adjective, meaner adjective, devastating five-syllable mean adjective."

Chris finds out that Zach's a lady on the street but a freak in the sheets.

Chris turns around and looks out the window again. It looks straight into someone else's bedroom and, yeah, that's a guy on a bed getting head from another guy.