Trump x Pence

The Encounter

It was Midnight, or maybe even later, Trump didn't bother looking at the clock. He was caught in a state of depression and heated excitement. He couldn't stop replaying the scenes from their dinner over and over and over again. Sifting through every word he could recall, rehearsing once more the details of his witty remarks and political anecdotes. Even after he replayed it in his mind again and again he still couldn't pinpoint the moment that it had happened. Or if it really happened at all. And even if he recalled that one singular moment amidst their late night banter where there eyes had met, he would never be able to say for certain if the feelings existed between the both of them.
If only there were a way to read Pence's mind he wanted so desperately to know how he felt. He ran himself crazy over the words and the emotions that may or may not have been shared that evening. Maybe watching TV would soothe the aching of his bleeding heart. He started his way through the large hall, what was usually gaudy and golden in the daylight, was shadowed into the darkness of the moonless night. He trudged his way through the cold and empty halls, trying to distract himself. If only there were such a thing as peace or even sanity to exist in his mind. There are many things one could say about Trump, but he was always certain in his actions, he never faltered, not once. But this was different, like nothing he had ever experienced. He had cared for someone else, he was worried about what someone else thought of him.
After hours echoing footsteps and tired groans stretching out through the halls he heard a faint static of television broadcasts beginning. Then a flickering artificial light began to engulf the entirety of the halls. And he could now hear the sound of sensationalist news programs, "Trump plans to ban all immigrants from entering the United States!" "Trump is going to start nuclear war with North Korea!" "Trump is going to war!" Trump is building a wall!" "Trump has gone mad!" "Trump has gone too far this time!" "Look here this crazy thing happened!" "Look Donald!" "Trump is declared dead!"
He entered the room, and soon realized he had already been there in that same room just moments before he entered it. He wondered how many times he had cycled back and forth through the halls. He sunk into the couch and stared into the bright heap of moving pixels. In a burning light he watched himself onscreen, people everywhere people he had never met talking about him. But then the voices faded away, and he looked only at himself. He saw a horrible old man, a disgusting creature that somehow caught the world's attention. How did he do it he wondered, how did this man on the screen run for president. He couldn't find the answer.
A glare appeared on the glass of the Tv and first covering his face and then swallowing the whole image. He looked over, the morning light had peered through the curtains. He needed to sleep he thought. He shut of the TV to black and faded into the warmth of the sunlight.
When he woke up it was late afternoon, he was thinking more clearly now. He had work to do, and reality continued without any interruptions. He convinced himself that nothing had happened the previous night. And finally he was calm again.
His phone rang. It was Pence. Suddenly all the feelings he had worked so hard to suppress came back at full force. He stumbled, grabbing his phone swiftly before the final ring. "Hello?" "Good afternoon Trump, last night I left some papers with you. Turns out I need them back, can I come to pick them up? I can make copies if you'd like." Trump inhaled and let out a quick "Yes, come by at 8." What are the odds he thought. As if he wasn't being tormented enough. He truly didn't know if he could survive seeing him again on the very next day.
He had little time to prepare himself. Then he wondered if he should prepare himself at all. He didn't have feelings for Pence so why should he be worried. Then he worried some more, he wanted to send the right message to Pence by sending no message at all. He wanted to look like he had actually slept through the night and not the morning. But in his mind he ridiculed himself for overthinking the whole situation. He knew they were merely acquaintances brought together only by professional circumstances. He decided to fix himself up minimally, to look as neutral as possible even as he was tearing apart at the seams. It was 7:30pm already and waited by the front door anxiously with his concealed frustrations.