Perfect Love // Hobama

Something About that Voice

Obama was laying in his one room apartment full sized bed contemplating death. He had nothing else to live for. The only woman who had ever loved him left him and the only man he had ever loved only used him for sex. The truth was he would be happier if he was gone, and no one would miss him.

Ever since the news got out that he had cheated on Michelle, he has been reviving nothing except death threats and hateful comments. He lost everything in the trial, and now was living alone in a New York apartment with rent that was far too high. He supposed he deserved it, but it didn't make him feel any better.

The worst comments of all were the ones who were blatantly homophobic,
"I can't believe I voted for a fag!"
"Disgusting. It goes against nature."
"I'm not homophobic, but he would be better off keeping that side of him private."
I guess it was just more reminder that he would never be excepted anywhere.

The worst part was that it wasn't even a happy affair. Sure, the times when they were together could sometimes be good, but the truth was he was manipulative and cold. All he ever wanted from him was sex, and even when they did do it, even that couldn't put Joe in a good mood.

When the news finally came out about what had gone on between Joe and Obama, Joe took it as an opportunity to seem more noble then he actually was. Joe framed the situation as if Obama was forcing himself on Joe and he was really a victim in the situation, when really it was the complete opposite. Obama could think of countless times when he wasn't in the mood, but Joe still got him drunk and had his way with him. Either way; the only true love he ever had didn't love him back, or at least not enough to stay.

Obama had tried to find other romantic partners to fill the gaping void left in his heart, but alas, he could never love anyone else the way he loved Joe; and even if he could, no one wants to carry the burden of dating an infamous ex-president who can't show his face in public. Obama was cursed, and death was the only way out.

When he finally pulled himself out of bed he put on a hoodie to hide his face and slowly left his apartment building, heading for the Empire State Building.

He walked across the street and when he made it to the building he didn't even look up, he couldn't risk anyone noticing his face. When he walked into the skyscraper and stepped inside of the elevator he immediately felt a wave of panic about what he was about to do, but there was no other choice.

The elevator ride to the roof was long and excruciating, but when he finally made it to the top the blow of wind on his face made it worth the wait. Obama looked around at the rooftop and immediately noticed a man sitting by himself in a corner.

Shit, he thought. I didn't think there would be anyone up here this late.

It didn't really matter though, Obama was going to jump either way; all this changed was that after the fact there would be someone to call the police. Obama slowly crept up to the railing and felt his hands against the cold, hard, surface. He closed
his eyes and prepared himself for what he was going to do, it would all finally be over.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the wind slowly blew through his hoodie. He lifted himself over the railing until he was on the other side—the side facing the street, the side facing the afterlife. He turned around so he wouldn't have to face the floor as he fell, and just as he was about to push off he heard a voice in a British accent.

"There's other options you know."

He shouldn't have stopped. He wouldn't have stopped if that voice wasn't so soft and polite. Obama looked up to see the man that was previously sitting in the corner now staring him straight into his eyes.

Obama shook his head, "I'm sorry, I have no other choice."

He let go of the bar, and just as he began falling backwards the man reached for his hands and pulled him upwards.

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself." There it was again, his soft beautiful British accent that shouldn't have made him feel anything but somehow managed to make him feel everything. The man grabbed Obama by his shoulders and stared into his eyes.

"Please, just get out of there." Why did he start to pull himself over the bar? Why did he want nothing except to follow his request? For whatever reason Obama lifted his legs over the bar, one at a time and let himself fall into the man's arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tears ran down Obamas face as he buried his face in the man's shirt. "Thank you. You saved my life and I don't even know you."

"My names Harry. Harry Styles. Now you know me."
Obama looked up at Harry's face, he could've sworn he recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I'm Obama, but my friends call me Barrack, and your definitely one of my friends." Harry just smiled at him with a somber expression on his face.

"How could someone as perfect as you ever want to commit suicide?" Obama tried to hide his blush when he heard those words.

"Trust me, if you knew who I was you wouldn't think I was perfect." Harry stared into Obamas eyes and responded smirking,

"Well I guess I'm just gonna have to get to know you." To say Obama was confused would be an understatement. This seemed like the first time since  2008 where he wasn't instantly recognized, and the first time since the scandal he wasn't immediately ridiculed. Of course Obama knew that he was British from his strong accent, but even most British people had seen clips of the trial, or read about the deranged president.

"You seriously don't know who I am?" Obama asked,

"Well if I did I don't think you would intrigue me so much." Obama just rolled his eyes,

"What could possibly be so intriguing about me?"

"I can't really describe it." Harrys eyes glanced over Obama and he smiled, his lips parting. "I think it's just more of a gut feeling."

Obama felt a slight sense of something like desire brewing in his body, and he immediately knew he had to leave. He couldn't put himself into another situation like this; all this friendship was or ever could be was just another relationship that would inevitably end in heartbreak and depression. He had to leave before he got attached, for Obama attachment always ends in heartbreak.

"I have to leave, I'm sorry..." As Obama turned to leave Harry put his hand on his shoulder.

"Please stay, I could take you out." Obama smiled, it was something about that voice that made him want to stay.

"You better take me somewhere nice, Harry." Obama smiled as Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him to the elevator.