Work Text:
The apartment is dark when Gong Jun finally arrives home, ten hours late. He should have known better than to Make Plans in the middle of filming, but it’s his birthday, and he was only supposed to film a single scene today. And Zhehan had been so excited to arrange a secret birthday surprise, Gong Jun couldn’t help but try.
Whatever the surprise is, he hopes it’ll keep until tomorrow (or, more likely, next month). So much for a whole day together; he’s spent a grand total of seventeen minutes with Zhehan today across six separate phone calls, each one shorter and more apologetic than the last. And a good eleven of those minutes had been spent convincing Zhehan not to wait on him for a late, last-ditch birthday dinner together. Hopefully Zhehan's out right now with any of the dozens of people he knows in Hengdian, eating a delicious meal instead of being hungry and miserable and tired like Gong Jun himself is.
Gong Jun's stomach growls. Honestly, at this point he'd settle for leftovers as a birthday surprise. He'll have to try do something with yesterday’s chicken, probably, nothing that takes too much effort and—
Something is burning.
His shoes clatter across the room as he kicks them off while dashing towards their kitchen, following the scent of smoke, why is there smoke, and he's already bracing for the latest disaster of the day when he flicks the lights on and—
Huh. Everything looks the same as it did this morning. If anything, the countertops look...cleaner.
Gong Jun sniffs the air again. Then he goes to the oven. Yes, the smell is definitely coming from inside, even though it’s empty and, suspiciously, also cleaner than usual.
He takes another deep breath, head halfway inside: something charred and...chocolatey?
His stomach growls again.
He groans, closing the oven door and turning towards the fridge instead. Chicken first, mystery later, he thinks as he opens it. Maybe he can cobble a sauce out of—
There’s a dozen takeout boxes almost overflowing from the shelves. These are definitely not yesterday’s chicken, he thinks faintly.
He picks one out at random and pops the lid. It’s the minced beef noodles he really likes, from the family-run hole in the wall almost an hour away from their apartment.
Slowly, he opens each takeout box and places them on the dining room table, a tightness in his throat and a gnawing in his gut entirely different from hunger. Each box contains a favourite dish of his from restaurants scattered all across the city, a good half of which don’t deliver. And there’s way too much food, even for two. It’s excessive and ridiculous and entirely Zhehan.
And when he gets to the lowest shelf, he sees a whole chocolate cake. It’s lopsided, with an irregularly-shaped crater in the centre. Written almost illegibly on top with icing, are the words ‘Happy 35th Birthday Junjun!!!!’
Gong Jun carefully places the cake onto the table with the rest of the food, before dropping into a chair and letting himself laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Then, just as abruptly, his laugh turns into a harsh sob.
Fuck, this always happens, Zhehan tries so hard—they both try so hard, to make time and to be there for each other, but being in this fucking industry just—
Of course, that’s exactly when he hears the front door opening. “Junjun, you’re home!” Zhehan’s voice is accompanied by his usual homecoming clatter: toeing off his shoes, dropping his keys on the side table, tossing his bag onto the couch. “So, I know I’m banned from the kitchen,” he says, appearing not a moment later with a charming smile on his face, “but—hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gong Jun says, even as Zhehan rushes to his side, “nothing, I—”
“Why are you crying?” Zhehan demands, leaning down to swipe his thumb gently across Gong Jun’s cheek.
“No, I’m okay, I—” Zhehan levels him with a narrow look of worry and disbelief, far too familiar, and Gong Jun decides against completing his sentence. He tugs at Zhehan’s shirt instead, pulling him in for a kiss.
The kiss is soft and just as familiar as Zhehan’s worried looks. Gong Jun briefly considers slipping Zhehan some tongue, but tosses it aside; frankly, it’s stopped working as a distraction after living together for the last six years.
“Welcome home,” he says once they draw apart, and puts on his best puppy-dog eyes instead. “Did you buy all of this for tonight? Don’t you think it’s too much for—oof,” he cuts off when Zhehan drops unceremoniously into his lap.
Zhehan puts both hands on his shoulders and peers into his eyes. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
Gong Jun sighs. Over the years, Zhehan has learned to give him space when he’s upset, but he has an unerring instinct for when there’s a real problem bugging Gong Jun, and then he’ll sink his teeth in and absolutely refuse to let it go.
“It’s really nothing much, I’m just upset we couldn’t spend the day together like I promised. That’s all.”
Zhehan makes a show of looking at their clock. “Not yet midnight. It’s still your birthday, isn’t it? You haven’t broken your promise.”
“Yes, but... You put in so much effort, and I couldn’t even show up for dinner, today of all days—”
Zhehan gives his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I know how things are, it’s alright.”
“Yes, but,” —his eyes dart to the side, catching on the dishes all arrayed on their dining room table: another missed birthday together, another precious moment lost because— “I think I want to quit,” Gong Jun blurts out.
Zhehan’s eyebrows twitch. The words hang in the air between them while Gong Jun finds himself blinking at Zhehan’s calm face, surprised at himself. Eventually, when Zhehan realises Gong Jun doesn’t have more to say, he gives Gong Jun’s shoulders another squeeze. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while now, huh?” he says, very gently.
Gong Jun nods, unable to force words past the sudden tightness of his throat. Zhehan lowers his forehead to Gong Jun’s until they’re leaning against each other, breathing in the same air, full of the scents of love and home. He has been thinking about it, even if he hasn’t let himself realise it until now. Trust Zhehan to know him better than he knows himself.
“Yeah,” he says, when he can finally speak. “I was thinking, with my investments in—”
Zhehan kisses him, warm and easy, a comforting blanket drawn over his thoughts. “That stuff’s not important,” Zhehan says, after pulling back, “think about it tomorrow.”
Gong Jun takes a bracing breath. It’s true, none of that is important. He already has what’s important here in his arms. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Zhehan taps him on the nose, and Gong Jun wrinkles it back at him automatically. “Now, I believe I promised you a birthday surprise.” He stands, picking up the misshapen cake, and holds it out to Gong Jun with a flourish. “Happy birthday!”
Gong Jun bursts out laughing; proper laughter this time, the knot in his heart loosening at the silly, affectionate grin on Zhehan’s face. “Happy birthday to me indeed.”