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Jun Wu had never been much of a romantic. Not since Mei Nianqing, anyway.

With a sigh, he turned on the TV, flicking through channels until he landed on a live feed of a Trump rally in North Carolina. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. There was one person he did find intriguing: Donald Trump. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m back!” Trump yelled into the microphone, the sun highlighting his wrinkled features as he waved energetically at the crowd. The crowd erupted in cheers.

“You know," Trump said, taking a breath, "I met someone interesting today, someone real interesting. Jun Wu, I recall him."

Jun Wu nearly choked on his dried jujube. What the fuck?!

“I’ve heard he’s a real character, folks,” Trump continued, pursing his lips. “A bit of a wildcard. Gotta love the young people these days!” He winked at the camera.

Jun Wu snorted. “Interesting one, indeed,” he muttered.

"I told him, 'I’ll send you important election updates for North Carolina. Make sure you are ready to vote for Donald J. Trump by November 5th.'" Trump paused, coughing, "And he tried to challenge me!"

“He thinks he can outsmart me!” Trump continued, waving his hand around. “Can you believe it? Some random degenerate.”

Jun Wu’s frown deepened, fingers tapping rhythmically against the porcelain of his cup. Who did this orange calamity think he was?

Trump snorted. "Jun Wu," he pointed to the camera and winked, "if you're watching this, don't be a wuss and come debate me!" 

The crowd erupted with laughter and Jun Wu snorted in response. 

“Maybe I should show up,” Jun Wu mumbled. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the notion.

What would happen if he crashed this rally? It would be utterly chaotic and completely ridiculous. It would make Trump look like a complete fool and there was nothing Jun Wu liked more than making selfish, foolish, mortal bastards look like fools.

Why not? If anything went wrong, Jun Wu could just kill them all. No harm in that. 

At the rally, the weather was awfully hot. Trump stood at the podium, his three-piece suit sticking to his skin, the fabric darkening with sweat. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he gulped down another bottle of water. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising temperature.

“Folks, I’ve been working hard for you!” Trump yelled. “But let’s be honest, it’s not just about me. It’s about you; every one of you!”

Suddenly, the air around the stage shimmered, and before the audience could react, Jun Wu stood next to Trump, a flash of energy radiating from him. The crowd gasped in shock, and security guards instinctively reached for their weapons, pointing them at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jun Wu raised his hands and palms outward, a serene smile gracing his lips. “I’m not here to hurt anyone!”

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the guns flying out of the guards’ hands, the weapons clanging harmlessly to the ground.

The crowd had gone dead silent.

"Who are you? Harry Potter?" someone yelled from the crowd.

Jun Wu turned his gaze toward the person, his smirk widening as he replied, “Close! My name is Jun Wu.”

Trump blinked, taking in the sight of the man beside him. Jun Wu was strikingly beautiful, his long black hair cascading down his back, shimmering in the light as if woven with threads of silk. His features seemed almost otherworldly, so beautiful—in fact that it’d drew Trump’s attention away from the rally. Like a god, Trump thought, an extraordinarily beautiful god.

"What the fuck are you?"

Jun Wu smiled. "I told you that I was the better option; I'm proving it."

"Prove it? How exactly do you plan to do that?” Trump asked, crossing his arms, the movement causing his suit to pinch uncomfortably against his damp skin.

"Let's have some tea at my place," Jun Wu said.

“Tea? You think I’m just going to leave all this for a cup of tea? Why not debate here?” Trump gestured at the crowd. 

“Why not? This is the perfect opportunity to explore something new. Besides, I promise it’ll be more refreshing than standing here in this heat," Jun Wu said, pointing at Trump's sweaty, wrinkly forehead. 

"What about these people? The rally?"

Jun Wu’s expression remained stoic. “We could broadcast it.”

“Fine,” Trump said. “Let’s do it. But I want the cameras rolling; full coverage.”

Trump frowned and adjusted his tie, feeling the fabric stick to his neck in the heat. “How do I know that you will not kill me?” he asked.

Jun Wu laughed, "If I wanted to kill you, Trump, I would've done so long ago."

Trump looked around at the beautiful dining area. Delicate cherry blossom motifs adorned the walls, while the soft glow of lanterns cast a warm light over the pristine table set for two, complete with fine china and gleaming silverware.

“So, what do you prefer? Earl Grey? Silver Needle?” Jun Wu asked, gesturing for Trump to take a seat at the arranged table.

Trump frowned in confusion. “What’s Silver Needle?”

Jun Wu chuckled softly. “It’s a type of white tea, one of the finest. Very delicate and subtle in flavour. Personally, I find it refreshing.”

“Sounds fancy,” Trump replied, settling into the chair. He glanced at the tea set. “Is it better than good ol' Earl Grey?”

Jun Wu raised an eyebrow. “I promise, it’s worth trying. You might just discover a new favourite.”

"Anything is fine, just start the damn broadcast already, I want to get this shit done with so I can go."

Jun Wu arched an eyebrow. "Glad to see you’re up for it, though I'd be lying if I said I expected it from you."

Trump scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I’m here because I'm not afraid of a little parlor trick."

"Parlor trick?” Jun Wu’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’d be wise to avoid underestimating what you don’t understand.”

“Underestimating?” Trump folded his arms. “Kid, I’ve seen more power plays than you could imagine. You’re not the first person to wave their hands around and expect applause.”

Jun Wu chuckled, slow and mocking.

Trump looked around again, his eyes narrowing as he took in details he hadn’t noticed before. Wisps of cloud drifted just beyond the open-air walls, close enough to reach out and touch. It was as if they were suspended high above the world, cocooned in a ethereal expanse. The sky stretched endlessly, a deep, sapphire blue fading into twilight at the horizon, while clusters of stars faintly flickered, just visible through the translucent clouds.

He ran his hand over the fine china on the table, the delicate edges cool beneath his fingers, as if to ground himself in something tangible. 

“First you teleport me here,” he muttered, almost to himself, “and now I’m in some floating, god-knows-where place in the sky…” He glanced at Jun Wu, irritation laced in his voice. “Is this Hogwarts, or some kind of; what is it? Some magical bullshit?”

Jun Wu’s smile widened. “Not quite, though I appreciate the comparison. This is the Heavenly Realm.”

"So, heaven? I'm in heaven? Who are you, then? An angel?" Trump asked. That would explain the beauty, Trump thought.

“Jun Wu,” he replied calmly. “Just as I said.”

“Jun Wu, I got that part,” Trump said, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, I know your name, but what are you?”

“A god,” Jun Wu replied simply.

“Oh, a god,” Trump said, raising his eyebrows. “So I’m dead, and you’re God. That’s what you’re telling me?”

Jun Wu frowned, "No? What? You’re not dead! You’re very much alive, Trump."

Trump squinted, “So, you’re telling me I’m not dead, but I'm with God?"

"Precisely," Jun Wu said, pouring tea into fine china cups, the fragrant steam curling into the air. 

"If I argue with you, technically I'm going against God."

Jun Wu shrugged, "You started this; I simply came to finish it."

"Oh," Trump shifted in his seat. 

"Are we going to start the broadcast now?" Jun Wu asked, looking at Trump's distressed face. 

Jun Wu couldn’t help but find it endearing. When Trump was distressed, his face would scrunch up just so, his brows drawing together in a way that made him look inexplicably soft. He’d glance away, avoiding direct eye contact. It was the little quirks of his expression, the unintentional charm in the way his lips pressed together or the slight tilt of his head, that Jun Wu found himself lingering on.

Trump shifted uncomfortably. “Right. Well... about that broadcast?”

Jun Wu tilted his head. “You’re changing your mind now? I thought you wanted the whole world to see this.”

Trump laughed nervously. "You know," he looked around, "this can be private; I don't mind."

Jun Wu tilted his head. “Private, you say? I suppose we could keep this between us. But what’s the fun in that? This is an opportunity, Trump. A chance for you to connect with your audience on a level they’ve never seen before.”

“Connect?” Trump echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I connect just fine with my rallies. They love me out there.”

“Do they?”

"Y-you know what? Fuck the broadcast; I want to know you."

Jun Wu’s expression softened. “Oh? You’re suddenly interested in me, Trump?”

“Cut the crap,” Trump snapped, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “You’ve just claimed you’re a God, and I’m sitting here wondering why I’m not shitting myself. You teleport me to some fucking 'heavenly' tea party, and now you’re telling me I have to connect? Who are you, and what do you want from me?”

"I told you, I'm Jun Wu, and I want to challenge you. I'm not sure if that is quite hard to understand."

"I don't want to broadcast this, and I don't want to challenge you."

"Fine," Jun Wu gestured for Trump to take the tea.

Trump hesitated, then took a sip. It wasn’t bad. It was... surprisingly good.

“So, Trump,” Jun Wu continued, leaning back slightly. “I’ve heard you like golf.”

Trump raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “What’s that got to do with anything?"

"You told me you wanted to know me; I like golf too, just like you."

Trump’s scoffed, his lips tugging upward in a way that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough to make Jun Wu’s chest tighten. “Golf? Seriously?”

Jun Wu shrugged. "Well, it's the only thing I know about you that isn't about politics."

Trump narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to get in my head.”

“I don’t need to try,” Jun Wu said smoothly. “I’m already there.”

Trump scoffed. “I guess we could start with that; I like golf. Used to play every Saturday and Sunday with Joey," Trump's expression suddenly turned solemn. "After he dropped out of the election, I don't know... I just stopped? Lost my passion, I suppose."

Jun Wu took a sip of his tea and nodded his head. "Mn, and is this 'Joey' Joe Biden?"

Trump rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Please, don’t even get me started. We dated for 3 years; I even planned to propose to him after the election, but shit happened." Trump waved his hand dismissively. "And we broke up."

Jun Wu’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wait, you were serious? I thought it was all just talk.”

Trump leaned forward, his eyes filled with tears. “Oh, it was very serious. We had a good thing going. Great chemistry, you know? But then politics got in the way, as it always does. His camp freaked out about the optics, and before I knew it, we were just... done.”

“Sounds complicated,” Jun Wu remarked. His eyes stayed on Trump, quietly studying his face. “But what about now? Is there any chance of rekindling that?”

Trump’s expression faltered for just a second before he shook his head. “No, that ship has sailed,” he said, pressing his lips together. He shifted slightly. “Besides, the world’s watching me for other reasons now. Can’t get caught up in the past, right?”

“Right,” Jun Wu agreed, tilting his head thoughtfully. Something was searching in his gaze, though, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. “But it sounds like you still have feelings for him.”

“Sure, maybe a little,” Trump admitted, trying to avoid Jun Wu's gaze. “It’s hard to just forget someone who knows you so well. He got me in a way nobody else could.”

“Then why not reach out?"

Trump’s laugh was louder this time, more forced, as he leaned back in his chair. “You think I should just slide into his DMs? ‘Hey, Joey, miss playing golf together; let’s catch up’?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but the undertone of wistfulness wasn’t hard to detect.

Jun Wu’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Yeah,” he replied simply. “Better than whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

Trump smirked at that. “And what about you?” he asked, changing the subject. His eyes narrowed, intrigued. “You ever have someone?”

Jun Wu’s gaze flickered for a moment, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. “I used to have someone,” he admitted after a pause. “Kind of like you and Biden, except we were close, much closer. His name was Mei Nianqing.”

"What happened?" Trump asked, propping his hand on his head.

Jun Wu’s expression remained unreadable as he shrugged, his voice lowering. “Stuff.”

"Oh, you must've liked him, huh?"

Jun Wu met Trump’s gaze, his dark eyes shimmering like polished onyx. The corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly, hinting at a smile that made Trump’s heart race.

Jun Wu nodded slowly, the words coming out quieter this time. “More than anything, Trump,” he said, his voice betraying an almost imperceptible trace of emotion. “He understood me in ways few ever have.”

Trump’s face softened at that. “Sounds like a real connection,” he mused, his tone softer than before. "How was he as a person, I mean?"

Jun Wu’s eyes seemed to light up. “Brilliant,” he said. “He was the most amazing person you could’ve met. He was just... great.” His gaze grew distant, as though recalling moments from a time long past, a small smile forming on his lips.

Trump’s brow furrowed slightly as he watched Jun Wu. “Ah,” he said, his voice softening in turn. “That sounds wonderful."

“It was,” Jun Wu said, his gaze lingering on Trump’s lips. “And when it's gone... it feels like losing a part of yourself.”

Trump shifted closer, his voice dropping lower, almost to a whisper. “Yeah, it does,” he murmured, his eyes searching Jun Wu’s face.

Jun Wu's breath caught in his throat as he locked eyes with Trump. Without thinking, Jun Wu leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met softly at first, but it quickly deepened.

Trump’s hand found its way to the back of Jun Wu's neck, pulling him closer as if he were afraid to let go. Jun Wu responded instinctively, his fingers tangling in Trump’s hair, deepening the kiss as he poured everything he felt into that single moment.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were slightly breathless. Jun Wu’s eyes were wide, his gaze flicking to Trump’s thin lips, now slightly red and swollen from the kiss, and then back up to meet his gaze.

Trump blinked rapidly as if trying to process what had just happened. "Well," he muttered, wiping his lips, "didn't see that coming." His voice was gruff, though there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Jun Wu chuckled, sitting back in his chair, his eyes lingering on Trump’s for a brief moment longer. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. He wasn’t one for impulsive displays of emotion, but something about this encounter—however bizarre—felt oddly cathartic.

Trump cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “So, uh... where does that leave us?” he asked, his tone awkward.

Jun Wu shrugged. "That depends on you, Trump," he replied. "You came here looking for something. Now you have to decide what it is you really want."

Trump glanced at the tea, then at the beautiful God sitting across from him. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing power, but sitting here with you... it feels like maybe I’ve been missing something. Something real.”

Jun Wu nodded. “Power is fleeting, Trump. But connection? That’s something worth holding onto.”

"Yeah," Trump muttered, "Maybe you're right."