He grabs some flowers and a box of chicken nuggets on his way home.
Jake thinks celebrating their wedding anniversary is kind of a useless endeavour; they have too many anniversaries, frankly, and more important ones, not that Jake is one for celebrating. They met in August, got their first home together in March, started dating in October. They even got their vows renewed a few years ago, in a much more wedding-y ceremony than Amir's original forged marriage certificate afforded them, and that was in June.
Their actual wedding anniversary doesn't really represent much, at least to Jake, but Amir loves it, and Jake loves him. So— flowers. And nuggets.
By the time he gets back to their house, it's on the cusp of getting dark, sun just starting to dip below the horizon, and Amir is sitting on the front porch, grinning at him as he pulls into the driveway.
"Jake!" He's barely stepped out of the car by the time Amir is across the yard and throwing his arms around Jake's neck, knocking him back against the car door. "I missed you."
"I know," he says, because they do this song and dance everyday, "I missed you too."
He only went to work; it's been less than ten hours since he kissed Amir goodbye this morning, promises of a delicious anniversary dinner mumbled against his lips as he climbed into his SUV. He's not been away long enough to miss him, but somehow he still did. Everyday coming home to the sight of him is like a weight lifting off Jake's shoulders,a reminder that this isn't all a dream or something he'd imagined; everyday Amir pulls him into his arms and tell him how much he missed him while he was away, and Jake can't help but admit that he missed him right back.
When Amir releases him, he reaches over and pulls out the bouquet from the passenger seat. Amir gasps like he's surprised, even though he's been texting Jake all day to remind him about their anniversary, and Jake knows he was more or less expecting it. He gets him flowers every year, becauses he's a romantic guy and a great husband, and also because Amir gets so happy every time that he's less antagonistic than normal for the rest of the evening. They might have been married for ten years, and together for even longer (even if they didn't start actually dating until a few years later, they were always together), but they were still them; Amir is still himself, obsessive and brash and rude, even if he has mellowed out a little in the wake of their little domestic little life.
Or maybe Jake has just spent the last sixteen years habituating to his weirdness, and now their life feels something close to normal.
"I made dinner," Amir says, picking through the bouquet and sniffing each flower individually, dropping the ones he doesn't like to the ground, "I hope you're hungray for tay."
"Tay?"
"Thai, I said. Like Thai food. Hope you're hungry for Thai. I cooked Pad Thai."
Jake laughs, shaking his head. "Hungry doesn't rhyme with Thai."
He scoffs like he's offended, but Jake knows he doesn't mean it. "Hungrai. Hungrai for Thai. That rhymes. That's a good rhyme."
It's not, obviously, but Jake kisses him anyway, and he pulls Jake away from the car and towards the house, shaking with excitement and crushing the remainder of the bouquet in his fists.
"Pad Thai" ends up actually being "a pizza" that Amir definitely didn't make, but Jake is happy enough that they have something edible to eat that he barely even complains. He just eats, and watches Amir enjoy his nuggets, and thinks about how lucky he is to have this, and to have it for ten years (kind of). A life he’d never even let himself imagine ten years ago, and now it’s his. It feels like a miracle, almost, or something close to it. He never imagined himself being happy with mundane domesticity; he had big dreams when he was younger, of fashion and movies and writing, even if he didn't have the work ethic to back them up. He never thought he'd be happy settled down, but he is. He's happy, and he's in love, and watching Amir across the table he can't believe he ever thought he could do anything but this.