Chapter Text
March 2017
The first plenary sitting of a new Tweede Kamer after the election is a bit like a cafeteria on the first day of school.
That’s what it’s always struck Jesse as, anyway: parties huddled together in their respective sections, a few loners trying to scope out someone to talk to, everyone gossiping and sizing each other up with judgemental stares, and all the newly-minted MPs roaming around like transfer students trying to get their bearings. Thierry Baudet and the other sad sack from Forum for Democracy seem to be the equivalent of the outcasts who smell and can’t get a seat at any other table, so they resort to sitting with each other even though it’s clear they don’t really enjoy each other’s company.
He tells his second-in-command Kathalijne as much as they make their way down the aisle to their seats in the chamber, then pretends to catch a whiff of something in the air.
“It has a hideous stench,” he remarks, giving Thierry Baudet a death glare as if he could turn him to stone with sheer force of will.
She furrows her brow. “What does?”
“Far-right populism.”
She barks a laugh and sets her purse on her seat. “You’re dramatic. We’ve just had our best election result ever. Can’t you be happy for one day?”
“I’m not dramatic enough. They’re dangerous.” He pauses to take a sweep around the room from their vantage point in the GreenLeft section and spots a young, blonde woman around his age that he thinks he’s seen before. He leans over to Kathalijne. “Isn’t that Jan Marijnissen’s daughter, Lilian?”
She tucks an auburn curl behind her ear and squints to look at her. “Hm. I think so—nothing like a healthy dose of name recognition to help you win a seat in Parliament, huh? You can see she doesn’t get her looks from her father. Do you know who that is over there?”
He follows her eyes across the room, and that’s when he spots him.
He isn’t talking to anyone, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet, either. He’s too focused on roaming around the front of the chamber, taking pictures on his phone in a perfectly pleated and starched navy suit not unlike his own, pausing every so often to take it all in with a glimmer in his eye. He is in a pair of familiar round glasses, and as far as Jesse can tell, doesn’t have a single hair on his head that hasn’t been styled into submission.
He looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s just stepped off the assembly line at the D66 candidate factory, young and photogenic. Attractive, too, he has to admit. He looks different than the last time he’d seen him; older, yes, but more confident and centered in himself too. Political nerd that he is, he’s downright beaming, and Jesse can’t pretend that smile doesn’t still tug at his heartstrings ever so slightly. He’d known he would be here after seeing the election results for D66, but something about laying eyes on him for the first time in so long jumpstarts his heart into motion like a dusty engine sputtering to life.
“Uh, Rob Jetten,” he answers, clearing his throat. “D66. He was twelfth on their candidate list, I think. Came from Nijmegen municipal council.”
“Oh, right. The gay one.”
Jesse huffs. He suspects Rob has no idea yet how that moniker will hang over his head here, but he figures he’ll learn soon enough. His eyes follow him as he makes his way around the room, snapping a picture of the rostrum, then of the Speaker’s chair, and then of the gallery above them. His excitement is palpable, almost contagious. Jesse remembers feeling the same way the first time he came here seven years ago. It’s lost some of its magic to him in the time since, but the look on Rob’s face almost, almost makes him feel it again.
He plasters on his best poker face before speaking again. “We used to know each other, actually.”
“Oh?” she presses, looking up from her phone only for a second before continuing to type out a text message. “Well?”
Too well, he thinks, but tells her, “He chaired Young Democrats at the same time I chaired DWARS. We crossed paths a lot. He’s passionate about the environment.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing in D66 then. They’d sell their own mothers down the river to get ahead. And then they’d sell the river. Or grant someone a permit to dump agricultural runoff in it, or something.” He laughs right as she stops texting long enough to notice Rob scampering around, shaking hands with a few other new members, and working the room like a rope line. “God. It’s like someone let loose a pack of puppies in here.”
“They’re just excited,” he says, eyes lingering on Rob as he reaches up to snap a selfie with the rostrum in the background and flashes a blinding smile.
He can’t seem to stop watching him, and he isn’t certain why - or rather, he is certain why, but he isn’t about to admit it to anyone, least of all himself. Finally, he shakes his head, shaking himself back to reality at the same time and folding his arms.
“It’s nice to have some more young blood in this place,” he mumbles right as Arib calls them to order.
They take their seats and commence with the swearing-in of members shortly after. It drags on for ages, and he spends most of the time zoning in and out until finally, Rob rises to stand in one of the back rows of D66’s section. Jesse perks up at once when he does, then quickly looks around to make sure no one has noticed the change in his demeanor. His voice is strong and clear when he speaks, chin raised, posture flawless, hand held high. He has a familiar, razor-sharp look of focus in his eye. He’ll do well here, Jesse can’t help but think to himself. He seems at home already, and it’s nice to have more young blood in this place, but it’s also equally as nice to have him in this place.
They’re old friends, after all.
“I, Rob Arnoldus Adrianus Jetten-”
His phone lights up on the table with text from Kathalijne: Quite a name.
He snorts, meeting her eyes briefly before turning back to look at him.
“-swear that in order to be appointed member of the States-General, I have not promised or given, directly or indirectly, any gifts or presents to any person under any name or pretext whatsoever. I swear that in order to do or refrain from doing anything whatsoever in this office, I have not accepted and will not accept, directly or indirectly, any promises or presents from anyone whomsoever,” he recites without hesitating, voice smooth and enunciation precise. Jesse knows him well enough to know he’s probably rehearsed this enough times to be able to repeat it in his sleep. “I swear allegiance to the King, to the Charter for the Kingdom of the Netherlands, and to the Constitution. I swear that I will faithfully perform all the duties which the office lays upon me. So help me, Almighty God.”
A brief round of applause washes over the chamber, which Jesse joins in on after a moment. Rob catches his eye right before he retakes his seat, and slowly, very slowly, a smile spreads out across his lips, followed by a wink he knows all too well. Although they’re surrounded by a hundred of their peers, it feels for a second as though they’re alone, and that old reflexive desire bubbles up inside him like muscle memory.
All he does is nod back, mouth as dry as a bone.
Jesse approaches him afterward where he stands at his seat, collecting his leather briefcase and the bouquet every MP receives for their swearing-in. He vacillates on how to handle it at first before deciding Fuck it and going in for a hug. That feels familiar too, nothing more than friendly, but then the scent of his cologne hits him, the crisp, heady mint cut through with the faintest smell of cigarettes, and the second time around, he just thinks Fuck.
“Hey,” he greets, breaking out into a smile despite himself and keeping his hands wrapped around his forearms for two seconds too long. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Rob replies earnestly. “It’s good to see you. Congrats on the election result. That was amazing. Even if it probably cost us seats.”
He shrugs the compliment off. “It was a team effort.”
“Well, you’re party leader,” he insists. “You led the team effort. Don’t be so humble.” Jesse doesn’t respond, not quite sure what to say, and as he draws his arms back, Rob muses, “Who would’ve thought that we’d end up here together one day?”
“I always figured you would,” Jesse replies, twisting his face into a look of feigned contemplation. “I kind of always figured I would, too.”
He laughs at that. “Fair enough. You look good, by the way.”
His laugh makes something clench inside of him like a fist, but he plays it off as best he can.
“So do you. Definitely selfie-worthy.” Rob blinks, and he hastens to clarify, “I saw you taking some earlier.”
He cringes. “Oh, God. I was hoping no one would notice. I told Sjoerd I’d send him one.”
“Sjoerd,” he echoes as if he doesn’t already know. “The boyfriend, right?”
“Yeah,” Rob affirms. “Two years this month, actually.”
“Congratulations on that too,” he says, even though he doesn’t mean it.
He spends practically half his life saying things he doesn’t mean, so he figures one more can’t really hurt. He makes no secret of his own perpetual bachelorhood but doesn’t feel inclined to bring it up, though maybe his silence on any significant other of his own does the job for him. He wonders if Rob knows already. Wonders how closely he’s kept track of him over the years, if at all.
They stand there for a moment without speaking, and then Rob reaches for his things.
“I have to go. I have a full day of meetings, but I know some of the new members are going for drinks at five. Everyone’s welcome. You should drop by. I’ll text you the address.”
“Yeah,” Jesse confirms with a nod. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
Rob takes a step into the aisle toward the exit, then turns at the last second, grinning that cheeky little grin that he finds completely irresistible. Abruptly, Jesse remembers the last time he’d turned back to look at him like this, eight years and another lifetime ago.
“I’m excited to work with you,” he tells him, and Jesse feels like he’s holding his breath because all at once he’s flying, and he’s falling, and those eight years between them don’t feel like anything at all.
“Likewise.”
-
He debates on and off throughout the day whether he should go, but once five o’clock rolls around, he’s in need of a drink anyway, so he figures he might as well put in an appearance. Hell, maybe he’ll make a new friend, although no one comes to The Hague hoping to make friends. Not if they know what they’re getting themselves into, at least.
The pub at the address is old but has a dim, homey sort of ambiance, with an unreasonably large beer selection and an extra room in the cellar, which he gathers is probably rented out for private events like this one. It’s relatively crowded when he arrives, and he spends an hour making small talk with old colleagues and introducing himself to new MPs while nursing a beer. They all congratulate him rather gushingly on the election result, except for Thierry Baudet, who seems half-drunk already and doesn’t even try to hide his contempt for him. It’s only fair, he thinks, because the feeling is mutual. He orbits around Rob for a while, feeling too nervous to approach his circle of D66 members and acting a bit unlike himself. Kathalijne comments on it during her ten-minute stint there, always the most perceptive at the worst possible times.
He’s dying to catch him alone so they can talk, really talk, without all the forced pleasantries and pretense. It’s only when he’s stepping out of the bathroom on the ground floor that he spots his opening: Rob standing alone at the end of the long wooden bar, waiting to order another drink. Jesse briefly considers leaving well enough alone, but that’s never been his strong suit - it isn’t how he lives his life or how he wins seats - and so instead, he just saunters over, sliding into the barstool beside him.
“What’re you drinking?” he asks without preamble.
Rob blinks at first, caught off guard, then glances over at the bartender as he approaches. “Uh, another Herfstbock, please.”
“I’ll have the same. You can put it on my tab,” Jesse tells the man, who nods and disappears off to fetch them.
Rob gives him a pointed look. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s your first day. Let me buy you a beer for old time’s sake.” The bartender slides the two bottles toward them along with two glasses, and after they pour, Jesse raises his in a toast, prompting him to do the same. “A toast - to the brightest new star in The Hague firmament. May you have a long and storied political career.”
Rob lowers his eyes a bit shyly after they drink. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. I’ve been here all of twenty-four hours.”
“I know you, though. I know how hard you work, how much you care. You’re here to make a difference. And you have the right intentions; that’s more than can be said for most,” Jesse remarks as he takes a sip. He realizes he’s seated a bit closer to him than he should be, almost brushing up against his sleeve, but he doesn’t draw back. “You should be on your toes at first, just so you know. Arib has a probationary period for all new MPs. One wrong move and she gives out suspensions. We have mandatory hazings, too, but those are after hours.”
He blanches. “What, really?”
“No, that’s complete bullshit. You’ll have to get better at figuring out when someone’s lying to you, you know.”
They both dissolve into laughter, and once they sober up, Rob looks at him closely. “It’s good to see you. Really. I regretted not keeping in touch after uni.”
His breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t let it show and takes a sip of his beer to appear unbothered.
“Well,” he mutters, “most people don’t really stay in touch with summer flings.”
The truth hangs in the air, and Rob seems to mull it over for a while, the elephant in the room finally stampeding out into the open. If Rob is a young star here, he thinks, then whatever they had was a supernova, an uncontained, wild thing that flamed out just as quickly as it began. The memories flash behind his eyes, and Jesse shifts in his seat, wondering if they do the same for him.
Perhaps wisely, Rob settles on deflecting. “What happened to that girlfriend you were with, after me? Jolein, wasn’t it?”
“We broke up after I was elected. She said all I talked about was politics. And I worked too much.”
“Well, I’m sure she wasn’t wrong,” he says. “You’ve done well for yourself, though. What is it they’re calling you? The ‘Jessiah’?”
He hums. “Either that or the Dutch Justin Trudeau. I have to admit, I am jealous of his muscles. Mine don’t quite measure up.”
“You have muscles,” Rob cuts in, and it might be a trick of the light or maybe just the drink, but he swears he can see a flush creeping across his cheeks. “Or used to, at least.”
“See, you’re not a good liar, either. No, I didn’t. Not really,” he chuckles. “That was part of why I wasn’t your usual type.”
“And what is ‘my usual type’?”
“Tall. Athletic. Muscular,” he rattles off with ease, well aware that he doesn’t fit a single criterion.
“You’re not wrong. But,” he undertones, inclining his head to peer at him from over the top of his glasses, “I happen to like men with curls, too, for the record.”
His voice drops slightly when he answers, scraping his throat. Jesse notices that he still hasn’t moved back, although, by all accounts, he probably should have by now. The air feels charged and pressurized. He can feel goosebumps rippling across his forearms, the hairs there standing on end. He’s forgotten over the years what being with him feels like: a wicked thrill, fast and hot and a tiny bit reckless, like cutting class to smoke cigarettes in the school restroom, flying too close to the sun. They had never dated publicly, always hidden themselves away behind closed doors.
They share this secret now, in a place where secrets can be deadly. Suddenly, Jesse feels that wicked thrill overtaking him all over again.
Something in Rob shifts without warning, like a video rewinding. He tenses up and adjusts his suit jacket, settling back into his usual prim and proper self, as if he can tell he’d gone a bit too far. However, before he turns to walk away, he reaches over and rests a hand on his forearm.
“We won’t have a problem keeping it professional, I’m sure,” Rob says as he picks up his glass to leave. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Of course,” Jesse tells him, but what he thinks is Famous last words.