Obama And Trudeau: A Short Romantic Fan Fic
The room is tense. Trudeau has been sitting patiently at this restaurant for nearly 20 minutes, taking generous sips of water, guiltily ordering an appetizer of chicken pancit, anything to fill the empty space he’s sitting in. The waitress stops by, “Is everything alright? Would you like to order without your friend?”
“No, really, it’s fine. I’m waiting for Obama.” Trudeau smiles warmly at her; she is instantly under his spell.
A few minutes later, just as Trudeau is beginning to have doubts, Obama enters the restaurant: he looks hurried, small beads of sweat grace his elegant forehead.
Obama sits, immediately apologizing. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Michelle and I got caught up reading each other Audre Lorde poems under a tamarind tree.”
Trudeau laughs, coyly clasping Obama’s hand. “It’s just good to see you again, my man.”
Obama smiles in relief as he shifts his weight in his chair, smoothing out his black blazer and skimming Trudeau’s electric blue jacket with his eyes.
“You look good kid, how’s Canada been treating you?” asks Obama.
Trudeau responds, “I think everyone’s dealing with changes pretty well, except the CLIMATE!”
Both men laugh – they love a good climate change zinger.
When the waitress returns, it’s obvious she’s just applied a bold lip. It’s not every day you serve lunch to world leaders who double as Hottt Dads. She clears the pancit and delivers them chicken adobo, steamed clams and ube. They are in culinary heaven.
Trudeau breaks their food-consumed silence: “I love being in the Phillipines. I wish we could just abandon the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit and go surfing and discuss our favorite Common albums.”
Obama beams in agreement, unveiling all of his glorious teeth, and tiny specks of purple ice cream.
Obama muses, “It’s hard to imagine a Common more pure than during his collab with Erykah Badu on ‘Love of My Life’.”
Trudeau snaps back, “I mean, that was great, but it’s SO obvious.”
Obama mocks offense. “Wow, are you really about to challenge my hip-hop knowledge right now? I’ve been handling Biden for YEARS.”
Trudeau winks – he’s always been good with father-figures.
“That’s not the only thing I’ll challenge,” he responds.
Obama blushes. “Is that sexual?”
“It definitely can be!” Trudeau quips.
Both men laugh: they love a good joke about their emerging sexual tension.
Obama laughs a little longer. He’s thought of a good one.
“Hey, you know how people usually say, ‘Get a room?’ Well, with the two of us they could just say, ‘Get a DRONE!'”
Both men laugh: they love a good romantic drone joke.
It’s all too real and yet absurd enough that it keeps them laughing for uncomfortably long, the chicken adobo juice rolls in tiny drops down their elastic faces and for a singular, irreplaceable moment their clear eyes lock into unity. It’s a chemistry beyond brotherhood, sex, or politics. It’s a chemistry explained only by the corresponding quantum vibrations both the charismatic men possess.
Obama reaches across the table and squeezes Trudeau’s well-proportioned shoulder, “You’re good people.”
Both men leave quickly, awkwardly, before matters escalate.
The next day they joke and discuss and embrace each other warmly at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Summit, tricking the public into believing them to be new acquaintances, and not deeply conflicted yet faithful men.