How To Win A Campaign (Jon Ossoff x Reader)

five

Jon and I left the liquor store and straight back to the office. When we went through the glass front doors, the interns, who were getting ready to go home, all gave us strange looks. I would have too, honestly. We were two adults grinning like teenagers who just used their fake IDs for the first time, and carried our victory wine with us. Inevitably, we just ignored them and holed ourselves up in my office. This was where my complaints of the size were going to come back in. There was hardly enough room to host mini celebrations, which hopefully wouldn't dampen the mood.

Jon pulled out the paper coffee cups that were available in the building, and I slowly poured each of our servings, trying my best to not give too much or too little because we still needed to get home that night. I screwed the cap on and shoved the bottle into a drawer. This idea that Jon was previously questioning quickly became one he embraced as he stared down the blood-red liquid with a smile.

"A toast," I raised my cup, "to the little victories."

He, too, raised his cup and tapped it against mine, "to the little victories." We both sipped at the same time as if it were a pact we were making with each other. "Are your candidates generally anxious people?" Jon asked as he brought the cup away from his lips.

I shrugged and sat down in my chair. "More recently, I've had candidates who talk tough at the office, but they get in front of a camera and forget everything," I sighed, while taking another sip from my wine.

He sat as well, crossing his legs in a relaxed manner. "Would that make me your star pupil?" Jon smirked but hid it behind his cup.

"Perhaps," I went with his tone and set my cup down on my desk, "if only you didn't argue so much."

"I'm telling you, this is a progressive party, people like change," trying his best play at defending himself, Jon stirred up another debate.

"What about moderate Democrats who don't want drastic changes? You've got to realize, a large portion of the demographic is moderates. Progressives are your millennials and kids who can't vote yet, but are avidly outspoken," I reminded him, "you need to spend less time on Twitter, Jon."

He scoffed and leaned back in his chair in order to maintain his composure. "Aren't those moderates the very people who want to get rid of Perdue? I'm sure they'll vote anyone to get rid of him."

"Assumptions don't go to the polls."

The cup was brought back to his lips, but when it was placed down, it was empty. Was he mad at me? So infuriated that he had polished off his wine in order to keep some stability? This was odd for Jon. I had only known him a handful of months, but I did not know him to ever get mad. Maybe this was his true stress, having to answer for himself before having time to prepare.

"I'm willing to do anything to get those votes."

"Even comply with my advice?" I shot back. I managed my poise rather gracefully as I stared across at Jon, who was starting to narrow his eyes with tension building in his hands.

"What even is your advice, if you don't mind me asking?" Oh, Jon, you should've thought before you said that, "where did you come up with these specified ideas on how to run a campaign? Shouldn't some control be handed to the candidate?"

"This is what I was taught and I have won every campaign I have managed with this exact blueprint. I have edited it for each candidate, even you, Jon. I understand you have an idea in mind when it comes to how you want to reach your audience, but you have to trust me. I am your anchor. I bring you back down when you're too strung out. This is where you have to trust me," I explained thoughtfully to him, still remaining in that calm tone I always tried to convey with my upset candidates.

Jon looked down at his empty cup and then back up at me, frustration in his eyes with a small sparkle of understanding. Somewhere, in the back of his mind he did know to trust me, but I knew he wanted to be free. Perhaps that's what he always wanted, to be free-range with nothing holding him back, but, I knew he would never win like that. I was the only thing holding together the bridge to Jon's election.

"I'm sorry if that frustrates you, but I am still getting to know you. Soon, I will give you some rein, but this campaign is still in its infancy. I hate to keep this from you, but you still need guidance," I sighed, offering an empathetic tone in hopes to bring down the tension, "at the end of the day, you're stuck with me until November."

It took him a moment to absorb my words and comprehend them. After a few moments, that frustration had eased away and he nodded, easing the tension in his body and relaxing. "I understand," he breathed with a nod.

We sat together in complete silence. No speaking or gestures, I didn't even drink my wine, we just sat still and quiet. Together, we were statues of the residual pressure the both of us had placed in the air, to let it hang there without taking it down. Though our nerves had calmed, that didn't remove the suffocating tension around us that held us in place. Maybe that was the reason we couldn't move, because the agitation had trapped us in that room. I had no way to free us, nothing to say to lift the curse on our souls.

That would be the last day of civility and humor between us. It haunted me, though. I wished it wasn't the end, but perhaps that's what I got for getting too close to my candidates. Jon was so much younger and relatable than my prior candidates; he was the outlier amongst them and could've been what drew me to him. Or it could have been his intense confidence that had only faltered for a moment just that night. I wanted to know this man better, but the only thing that stood in our way was the campaign. Our differing opinions drew ourselves away from each other and I hated it.

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short chapter oopsies. just wait for the next one ;)