How To Win A Campaign (Jon Ossoff x Reader)

sixteen

In the morning, I woke up with the never-ending discomfort in my stomach. Jon laid at my side, facing me as he slept so peacefully like today was just going to be a normal day. I really should have asked him how he stayed so calm about everything. I spent time watching him, absorbing these last moments I had to see him up close. So at peace, as if he were dreaming of the most blissful things. I laid on my side so I was facing him directly, allowing my eyes to observe every part of him. This was the end. I needed to embrace what was left. His messy, dark hair that had started to gain its curl again laid across his forehead, puffy again because the product in it began to wear. I could see the lines of crow's feet beginning to appear from his constant grinning and cheerfulness, and I studied the details of stubble across his cheeks. I wanted to reach out and feel his skin, but I didn't want to disrupt his peaceful sleep.

Like he could sense me watching him, slowly, his eyes opened, revealing their dark, chocolate color that I had the fortune of seeing in the right light so they appeared hazel. A sleepy smile grew on his lips as his eyes met mine, showing off his dimple and crow's feet.

"Good morning," he murmured with a slight rasp.

I hummed, smiling a little to acknowledge him. "Big day, today, Jon," I reminded him.

"Everything will be fine," he assured for the sake of my anxiety that would grow throughout the day.

Jon, would it really? How could you know if everything would be fine?

We, after staring at each other for what seemed like forever, eventually crawled out of bed and got ready for Jon's interview. He wore a blazer over his dress shirt, accompanied by a dark blue (nearly black) tie, which I insisted on. Once both of us were presentable, we went downstairs to have coffee and tried to salvage whatever peace was left.

We talked, like normal people, besides the fact that nothing in me felt normal. I hurt. I ached from the inside out thinking about how, once the results came out, there was nothing left. There was nothing quite as daunting as knowing when the end was coming. If, spontaneously, there was a circumstance which forced us to split apart, I'd be more content with it, but I had time for think over this. I thought about this for day, weeks, months, only to know that, on January 5th, it will all come to an end.

Was it selfish of me to allow it to continue? Selfish to feed my internal need to know Jon better than myself not only for my campaign, but to fuel my own security? Certainly, that selfishness was set aside when I realized, Jon, too, had become fascinated with knowing who I was. I knew everything about Jon, yet he was oblivious to the outcome of that day. Surely, he had deduced that something had to be done, I hoped. I didn't want to spring this on Jon and have him miserable before my eyes. Surely, he knew. He had to. And, surely, he could see my anguish and pinpoint the exact cause of it. I hoped.

I drove Jon downtown to the where the interview was being held, an upscale hotel just so they could have a pretty background for the 10 minutes. We went up to the room, where we were met with TV producers and Reverend Warnock. All of us took a moment to catch up, like we were old friends, and I made sure to watch my language around him. Yes, he had informed me that he was comfortable with me cursing, but it still felt wrong.

While we watched Warnock talk to the reporter, I whispered to Jon his talking points, things to keep in mind, the usual. This was a normal day, mostly. Before he went out, I made sure his mic-pack wouldn't fall and that he looked presentable. Jon made my job easy, truly, because he took good care of his physical appearance. Since day one, he was always well groomed and well-kept, I never needed to fix anything (besides little things, here and there). I inspected his hair, making sure all of the pressed-down curls weren't stray or out of place. There, I wanted to kiss him, praying it wouldn't be the last one. Hoping, pleading that tomorrow, I'd wake up and be shower in affection again, then the day after, then for months after. I needed to cut it out. This false hope was damaging me more than anything else.