The Chance of Love

Zhou Zhennan arrived at the Youku studio complex early that morning. The schedule file still sat heavy in his bag, the single page with his name lightly marked in pencil feeling heavier than the rest. His appearance alone had given the production team high hopes, yet his participation had not been fully confirmed. Recording was set to begin in two days. For over a week the team had been quietly assessing a few other young artists as possible replacements, but none of them had felt like the right match. Zhou had only come in today to go over the final contract details and decide whether he would join *I’m the Surprise*. Staff guided him through a side entrance and into a quieter corridor that led to one of the secondary waiting rooms, away from the main cast areas. He had just set his bag down when the door opened without a knock. Gao Hanyu stepped in, phone still in one hand, the other holding a half-finished coffee. He was dressed in the same understated black hoodie and dark jeans he seemed to favour between takes, hair slightly messy, the easy posture of someone who already belonged here. He had been in and out of the Youku complex for years—variety shows, dramas, commercials, brand meetings. The staff treated him less like a guest and more like a respected regular; most of them greeted him by name and never needed an introduction. He looked up from his phone, ready to ask whoever was inside for the latest run-down. Then he stopped. For a full second Gao Hanyu simply stared. Zhou Zhennan stood frozen beside the couch, heart slamming so hard he was certain the other man could hear it. The years collapsed in that single look—the sharp, assessing gaze from the audience seats at Chuang 2019, the low voice saying “I like you” the day before the final stage, the endless nights of watching Gao Hanyu on screens and never once crossing paths again. Gao Hanyu’s expression shifted through genuine surprise before settling into something quieter, warmer, almost disbelieving. “Nan Nan…?” The nickname left his mouth low and certain, as if no time had passed at all. Zhou Zhennan’s throat tightened. “G-Gao Hanyu ge… Gao ge.” Gao Hanyu closed the door behind him with a soft click and took two slow but eager steps closer, eyes never leaving Zhou Zhennan’s face. His smile widened just a fraction, the stern lines of his face easing into something warmer. “You got taller. And much more handsome too.” His voice was lower than Nan Nan remembered from the old clips, but the teasing lilt was the same. “I almost didn’t recognise you. How are you, Nan Nan?” Nan Nan felt heat rise to his ears, a little flustered by the open eagerness in Gao Hanyu’s tone. “I’m fine, thank you. H-how are you, ge? It’s been… a long time.” “Yeah. Six years,” Gao Hanyu said, as if the number had been sitting on his tongue. He tilted his head, studying him with that same mixture of sharpness and quiet interest that once made Nan Nan both scared and comforted. “What are you doing here? The director told me you weren’t joining. They're even start looking for replacements.” “Actually, I came in to submit my file. I signed it. It is hard to decide. My manager is still reviewing the final contract.” “Good… good.” Gao Hanyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He glanced at the empty chairs near the far wall and gestured. “Sit with me. They might take some time. How have you been?” They sat. The distance between their chairs was polite, but it felt closer than it should have. Nan Nan spoke carefully at first—about recent projects, the quieter stretches between schedules, the small things that never made it onto social media. Gao Hanyu listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding, the same focused attention he used to give on stage now directed entirely at him. “You’ve changed,” Gao Hanyu said after a while, voice lower. Nan Nan looked up, startled. A soft laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Isn't the change is good?” Gao Hanyu murmured. “But you still laugh the same way.. I was wondering if you still did that.” The words settled between them, quiet and heavy. Too much thoughts in Zhou Zhennan’s mind. “What made you hesitate?” Gao Hanyu asked gently. There was a faint, almost invisible hurt in his voice that he tried to hide. He had longed to see this person again. When Youku invited him as one of the studio managers and mentioned Zhou Zhennan’s name among the possible cast, he had agreed right away. The later news that Zhou might be replaced had left him more disappointed than he cared to admit. "What do u mean?" "What made you hesitate to join the show?" Emphasized the question. “…I don’t know.” Zhou looked at him, trying to read the unreadable expression on his face. “Maybe I’m scared. Or I’m just unsure about it.” Gao Hanyu smiled weakly. “Nan Nan,” “What made you accept this show, ge?” Zhou asked before Gao Hanyu could continue, eyes full of quiet expectation. “It’s a normal job for an artist,” Gao Hanyu replied simply, never looking away, but a tone changed are noticeable. Softened, “Plus… it’s been a long time since I last saw you.”He paused. “But a week after I signed my contract, they told me you wouldn’t be joining us.” Zhou lowered his head slightly. “Maybe..” he hesitated. “W-what do you mean?” “By what?” “With what you just said.” “About you not joining us?” Gao Hanyu asked, a playful note entering his voice. Zhou let out a nervous yet warm laugh. “Not that one…!” His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. “It’s been a long time…” “No hidden meaning,” Gao Hanyu said softly. “It is what it is.” Before Zhou could ask anything more, one of the staff members called his name from the corridor, asking him to come to the director’s office. Zhou nodded once, then turned back to Gao Hanyu. The older man still wore that same unreadable expression—calm on the surface, yet something quieter lingered underneath. Zhou hesitated for a moment, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of his bag, before he stood up. He doesn't know exactly what he's hoping for. Maybe he hopes Gao Hanyu will ask him to stay a little longer. Maybe he'll say, "We'll talk later." Maybe he'll ask for his contact information. Maybe he'll simply say, "Don't leave yet." After six years, Zhou doesn't expect a grand emotional reunion. But after everything Gao Hanyu has just said—especially "It's been a long time since I last saw you"—he has started wondering if Gao Hanyu feels the same strange weight of this reunion. So he waits. His steps toward the door felt lighter than they should have, almost unsteady. “Nan Nan.” Gao Hanyu’s voice was low and gentle. Zhou stopped and looked back. Their eyes met across the small distance of the waiting room—both holding a quiet, unspoken hope neither of them dared name. Gao Hanyu held his gaze for a second longer, then lowered his head. A faint, private smile touched the corner of his mouth, the kind that meant nothing and everything at once. When he looked up again, his expression had softened. “Go,” he said simply. Zhou's earlier hope disappeared almost as quietly as it had appeared. He lowered his eyes. He turned toward the door. This time, he didn't wait. His fingers closed around the handle. Zhou opened the door. "Goodbye, Gao Ge." He didn't wait for an answer. The door closed behind him. Only then did Zhou allow his expression to fall. It wasn't sadness exactly. It was disappointment. A small, quiet disappointment that felt strangely disproportionate to what had actually happened. ************************************************* Zhou Zhennan and his manager stepped out of the office with matching heavy, relieved sighs. The meeting had dragged far longer than necessary. Nothing new had been added—every clause, every schedule detail, every caution had already been covered in the contract they both signed days earlier. Yet the production team still insisted on walking through every explanation again. By the time they were finally released, the lobby clock read 7:15 p.m. “Ge,” Zhou Zhennan called as they reached the open space near the elevators. “I think I left something in the waiting room.” His manager frowned. “What is it?” “My bag.” The words came out too quickly. Before his manager could point out that the bag was already hanging from his shoulder, Zhou Zhennan was already jogging back toward the elevators. He rode up to the fifth floor alone, heart beating faster than the climb warranted. When he pushed open the waiting-room door, his steps faltered. Gao Hanyu was still there. He sat on the sofa in a quiet daze, one hand loosely curled around an empty paper cup. Dark coffee had spilled across the low table and onto the floor, but he seemed not to notice. The room was otherwise empty, the late-day silence thick around him. Zhou Zhennan closed the door softly behind him. He cleared his throat. Gao Hanyu’s head lifted. For a second his expression remained distant, then recognition settled and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re here…” It was neither fully question nor statement. Zhou Zhennan felt heat rise to his ears. He lifted the thin file he had been carrying as though it explained everything. “I left something.” The faint smile on Gao Hanyu’s face deepened into something closer to a smirk. “Oh, you did…?” Flustered, Zhou Zhennan nodded a few times too quickly. “I already got it.” “Did you think I’m stupid?” “W-what? I—I didn’t! You spilled your coffee.” He gestured at the floor, grateful for the distraction. Gao Hanyu only hummed, low and amused. “Uh-huh.” Zhou Zhennan grabbed a handful of tissues from the side table and dropped to one knee, blotting at the dark stain. He could feel Gao Hanyu’s gaze resting on him the entire time—steady, warm, impossible to ignore. His hands moved a little faster than necessary. “Nan Nan,” Gao Hanyu said quietly. “Can I have your number?” Zhou Zhennan’s fingers froze on the tissue. His face burned. His heart was beating so hard he was certain the other man could hear it. He forced himself to stand, expression carefully blank, and looked down at Gao Hanyu. “Why? Because I helped you clean your mess?” Gao Hanyu’s genuine laugh broke out, bright and unrestrained. It filled the quiet room for several seconds before it faded into a softer smile. “Can I?” he asked again. “…Sure.” Zhou Zhennan stepped closer. Gao Hanyu remained seated on the sofa; Zhou Zhennan stood at his side, close enough that their knees nearly brushed. The position forced Gao Hanyu to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes. Zhou Zhennan took out his phone, unlocked it, and held the screen toward him. “This is my number.” Gao Hanyu said nothing. His fingers moved quickly, saving the contact without looking away for long. When he finished, he kept the phone in his hand and, almost without thinking, looked up again. “I like you..” The words slipped out before he could catch them. Zhou Zhennan’s eyes widened. Genuine surprise crossed his face, and for a brief moment Gao Hanyu thought he saw something bright—almost sparkling—in them. “Ge…?” Gao Hanyu’s ears warmed. His face followed. He straightened a little, stumbling over the correction. “Ah—I meant, would you like to go out with me? Wait—no. Would you… let’s hang out.” The stutter was obvious. His expression softened again the moment Zhou Zhennan’s answer came, quiet but steady. “Let’s do that.” A small, relieved laugh left Gao Hanyu. The tension in his shoulders eased. Outside the waiting-room windows the sky had already turned fully dark, city lights beginning to flicker on. Inside, the spilled coffee was mostly cleaned, two phones now held each other’s numbers, and six years of distance had narrowed to the space of a single invitation neither of them seemed ready to take back.