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Trump’s head slumped against the Oval Office desk. The paperwork beneath his cheek was cold and unforgiving. He was so tired… god, what he wouldn’t give for a sunny afternoon in Mar a Lago, drinking cocktails with Elon Musk and his beautiful partner, y/n.
A cold draft shook the curtains, and he stood hastily to close the window before the steadily falling snow could accumulate on the floor. Since when had it been this cold? Climate change really wasn’t real. He shook his head. Those damn liberals….
One room over, Geert was looking over his papers on international trading bonds and communication. During his time at the white house, he has tried again and again to strengthen America’s bond with The Netherlands. But the United States seem focussed on Denmark, not the lowlands…
Geert sighs and rubs his eyes. It’s late, he wanted to be asleep already. But paperwork waits on no one, and he just had to finish reading this today or suffer the consequenses. Outside, the wind howled and banged against the window.
Geert knocks over his coffee, and with a “godverdomme” that came from the heart he jumped up. The papers he was reading were now reduced to a brown slush, he had the files somewhere on his laptop, but much preffered reading on paper.
“Guess I’ll just have to print it again, huh…” he mumbles to himself. Only to find that the printer had run out of paper, which pulled another curse from Geert’s thin lips.
He knocked on Trump’s door before twisting the knob and letting himself in, not waiting on an anwser. “Do you have any printer paper left, Trump?”
Trump startled. "Kyaaah!" he yelled, his paper-thin hair standing on end. When he realized it was just Geert, he relaxed. Ah yes, the leader of the Netherlands. He knew so little about Geert... that tall, handsome Dutchman who hailed from a country as low as Trump's stomach dropped when he saw him.
"No, I don't have any printer paper left, Mr Geert... but I'll have you know our printer paper is the best printer paper in the world, much better than that Mexican printer paper..."
Geert moved to close the door, but Trump stood quickly. "Wait. I'll show you to the printer room."
“Yes, yes of course mr. President.” Geert said, stepping away to allow the handsome orange coloured man to exit the room. He quickly followed, hands sweatier than usual.
Their walk to the printer is done in silence.
The white house is so massive…
Geert thought, looking around. He was here to conduct business with the USA, strengthen bonds between countries and to befriend the president himself. When Geert first came here, he only planned to get close to Trump for his own personal benefit. Sure, he admired the man, especially his looks, but what else was there? But something changed within Geert recently, something that confused him…
Trump waddled down the hallway, and Geert followed at a brisk pace he couldn't help but notice the President's jiggling backside. He quickly averted his eyes, looking instead at a portrait of George Washington on the wall. The West Wing was full of beautiful American treasures, like more paintings of George Washington.
Trump opened a side door. "Here's more printer paper, Mr. Wilders," he said in his slow old man voice. "Beautiful American printer paper. Do the Dutch have such beautiful printers?" Maybe Geert was just imagining it, but he swore Trump was looking him up and down. Didn't Trump have a secret partner though, Y/N?
"No mister president, we don't have such beautiful printer paper in The Netherlands. It is truly an honor to be using such high quality, excellent printer paper as this!"
The room fell silent, the only sound coming from the printer and Geert's heartbeat. The way the president of the United States of America was looking at him, was indescribable.
"Did I ever tell you about my renovation plans? Such amazing plans, I assure you. Nobody has ever made such amazing plans as I have for the white house." Trump broke the silence, clearly a bit fidgety and nervous, but why? It wasn't the first time they had been alone. But there certainly was something different about today. Something Geert couldn't quite place, or didn't want to...
Geert knew all about Trump's plans for his beautiful three million dollar ballroom. Unbidden, his mind produced an image of Trump and him hand in fat hand, wheeling round the ballroom in beautiful summer gowns. Nee! He could not allow such thoughts to cross his mind, just as he had crossed the sea to reach the White House.
The printer paper wafted warmly through the room. Geert blushed Dutchly. His cornhusk hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His wrinkled hands dripped. Something else did too... yet Geert could not say.
Both men felt the air pressure change. Yet neither moved, sweat dripping down their faces and settling in their deep wrinkles.
Geert couldn’t linger; he had to finish his paperwork. He broke Trump’s gaze and took the paper. “Thank you for the beautiful American printer paper, it is so beautiful,” he said, fingering the warm sheets. Trump nodded, uncharacteristically silent. Geert saw a white, crusty tongue flick over his lips.
The two men made the walk back to their offices in silence, passing paintings of George Washington as they went. Geert couldn’t help but think portraits of his orange faced colleague would look better on the walls of the West Wing, but he knew how humble Trump could be.
The two leaders said their customary goodbyes, and disappeared into their own adjacent offices as if nothing had happened between them. But Geert knew something had shifted.
Had he always felt like this for the president? Whatever it was that was churning inside his stomach, he knew well enough that now that he had acknowledged it, it wouldn't go away...