Shameful | Congressman!Kylo x Reader

Chapter 23: Tossup

WHY HELLO THERE 

COMING IN AT OVER 7.5K WORDS....... CHAPTER 23 BABIESSSSS

The first half of this one was so hard for me to get out and you'll see why lols. Hope you enjoy. Pls blow up my notifs so I can wake up before work tomorrow and forget about capitalism for a bit

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Nothing that I'd been hoping for happened during— or after— our post-debate celebration.

While the sense of camaraderie after a successful debate was nice, I was left wondering why Ren had been begging me to stick around in the first place. When we arrived at the first cocktail bar, he bought us a round of whatever cocktail we wanted off the menu. We picked at olives and canapés and talked lightly about strategy and upcoming campaign events.

Sure, Ren cast these tractably sultry glances over at me from across the table.

And sure, he laughed at every joke I made, listening intently and swallowing up every word that came out of my mouth.

And sure, he made sure I was watching as he shucked off his blazer when we hit the next bar, sweeping it in a pile over one broad shoulder.

What matters, though, is that I still went home tipsy and alone. He called us all Ubers and shuttled us all off to our respective homes— everyone else buzzing from excitement and a bit of booze, while I was left frustrated, tepid, and touch-starved.

Little did I know that that would foreshadow what the remaining months of the campaign would be like: frustrated, tepid, and touch-starved.

At the beginning, I'd show up to the office rosy and expectant—perhaps a bit over-eager— but my expectations began to lower bit by bit, huddling deeper and deeper into a dark corner.

I'd watch him through the glass partition, twirling strands of my hair. I sent him latent signals— he, the untouchable twinkling green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock, and I, a desperate, listless Jay Gatsby. I wore the perfumes I knew he liked, I wore the clothes he'd bought me, I wore an optimistic smile on my face, hoping against hope that our dulcet flirtation would return.

It never really did— not like before.

When the deep-red roses on the side table started to wither, I'd finally replaced them with hydrangeas.

Vanessa started coming by the office more frequently. I didn't have the energy to even look up and find out why.

The gifts started to slow down noticeably as time passed, and the Sundays on Ren's couch had come to a complete stop.

I'd converted the box with a clear lid into a brown paper bag that I could reach into with ease, grabbing at our little moments and holding them up in front of me in a vain attempt to remember what it all felt like. I rubbed the memory of our almost-kiss into my skin until it started to hurt.

And hurt, it did.

Our tacit agreement to keep it purely professional had its nuance. It felt sneaky and subversive. Now, it felt genuine. This didn't feel like the sudden coldness after our heated moments— nothing like the intentional withdrawal he'd threaten me with. This was outright rejection.

I laid awake at night, picking apart our interactions and dumping everything out of the brown paper bag to organize it obsessively, searching frantically for clues.

Ren was still friendly, of course, but markedly more withdrawn. He looked worse for wear— his hair a bit more disheveled than usual, stubble creeping up on his jaw and upper lip. Always deep in thought, scribbling away in that damn notebook he always had on his desk, occasionally tearing out sheets of paper and hurling them into the wastebasket, then starting on a fresh page. He'd peek at me through my doorway as he passed on the way to his office, but he wouldn't stop to chat. He'd just glance in to make sure I was still there or something, then go about his day.