Behind the President

Chapter Twelve-Two Months Later-Rin

Two months

It had been a little over two months since Rin Tanaka had asked the President of the United States a question that he still occasionally wished he had never asked.

Are you gay?

For several weeks, the question had been everywhere.

Television.

Social media.

Newspapers.

Political commentary.

Online debates.

People had analyzed Gideon’s pause.

His expression.

His answer.

Rin’s expression.

Rin’s question.

Some people had even analyzed the way Gideon had looked at him before answering.

Rin had hated every second of it.

Then, eventually, the country moved on.

Because America always moved on.

There was always another headline.

Another crisis.

Another political battle.

Another announcement.

And, more importantly, Gideon Vance had given the country plenty of things to talk about.

The question had faded.

The presidency had taken over.

And Rin had watched from a distance.

He hadn’t seen Gideon again since that interview.

Not in person.

Not across a studio.

Not across a conference table.

Nothing.

But he had watched.

Very carefully.

And what he had seen surprised him.

⸻

Gideon Vance was actually governing.

Not performing.

Not spending every week giving speeches designed to make people like him.

Governing.

Rin had covered enough presidents to know the difference.

Some politicians were excellent campaigners but terrible administrators.

Some knew how to speak but couldn’t turn promises into policy.

Some announced ambitious plans and disappeared when Congress resisted.

Gideon seemed to be doing something different.

He had taken the first question Rin asked him months ago—

What is the first economic issue you would tackle?

—and apparently decided to prove his answer.

Housing.

That had become one of the central focuses of the new administration.

The first major policy was the American Housing Supply and Affordability Initiative, a federal program designed to increase housing construction by providing incentives to cities and states that removed unnecessary barriers to new housing development.

The administration also expanded federal support for first-time homebuyers, particularly in areas where housing prices had risen far faster than incomes.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It wasn’t the kind of policy that produced dramatic television footage.

But Rin understood why it mattered.

More housing.

Fewer barriers.

More support for people trying to buy their first home.

And then came the second policy.

The First Home Access Credit.

A federal tax credit and assistance program aimed at helping eligible first-time buyers with down payments and closing costs, while tying the program to new housing supply rather than simply pushing more money into an already expensive market.

Rin had spent days reading the details.

It wasn’t perfect.

Nothing in government was.

But it was thoughtful.

It addressed the problem from more than one direction.

Supply.

Affordability.

Access.

Local restrictions.

First-time buyers.

It was exactly what Gideon had said he would do.

During their first interview, Gideon had looked directly at Rin and said:

Presidents should not promise miracles.

Rin had remembered that sentence.

Because two months later, Gideon wasn’t promising miracles.

He was working.

And that impressed Rin more than he wanted to admit.

⸻

That afternoon, Rin sat in a small café in Washington.

He had his laptop open.

His phone was beside it.

And, naturally, there was matcha in front of him.

Rin took a slow sip.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Perfect.

He was a coffee person.

He absolutely was.

Coffee was practically a requirement in journalism.

But he was Japanese.

And there were some things he refused to compromise on.

Matcha was one of them.

His mother would have approved.

His father probably would have called it another example of Rin refusing to behave like everyone else.

Rin smiled at the thought.

He looked back at his laptop.

Another article about the administration was open.

He read the headline again.

Then leaned back.

“You’re actually doing it.”

He murmured.

Gideon had promised to focus on housing.

And he had.

The numbers were still early.

The programs were still developing.

There would be opposition.

There would be congressional battles.

There would be criticism.

But Gideon wasn’t waiting for perfect conditions.

He was moving.

Rin had a strange feeling about him.

A strong one.

He had watched Gideon’s speeches.

Read his policy announcements.

Studied his congressional negotiations.

Followed his international meetings.

And slowly, reluctantly, Rin had come to a conclusion.

Gideon Vance might become one of the best presidents America had ever had.

It was too early to say it publicly.

Much too early.

Rin would never write something like that without years of evidence.

But privately?

He believed it.

The man knew how to work.

He knew how to listen.

He knew when to compromise.

He knew when not to.

And he understood something many politicians didn’t.

Government wasn’t about making everyone happy.

It was about making decisions.

Rin took another sip of matcha.

He smiled faintly.

“You’re really good at this.”

He said it quietly.

As though Gideon could hear him.

Then—

“Ma’am?”

Rin didn’t react.

“Ma’am?”

He continued looking at his laptop.

“Ma’am, excuse me?”

Rin finally looked up.

A young man stood several feet behind him.

Rin frowned.

“Yes?”

The man looked surprised.

Then embarrassed.

Then horrified.

“Oh.”

Rin blinked.

The man looked at him.

Then at his hair.

Then back at his face.

“I’m so sorry.”

Rin’s eyebrows lifted.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I—I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine.”

The man looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

He bowed slightly.

“I’m really sorry.”

Then he walked away.

Rin watched him go.

For a second, he didn’t understand.

Then he looked at the reflection in the dark café window.

And suddenly—

he understood.

“Oh.”

He touched his hair.

His hair had grown.

A lot.

He had originally planned to cut it weeks ago.

He never got around to it.

Instead, his stylist had shaped it into a softer, layered wolf cut.

The layers framed his face.

The back had grown longer.

Much longer.

It now reached his shoulders.

From the front, it still looked stylish.

From behind?

Apparently, not so much.

Rin looked down at himself.

He was wearing a soft dusty-rose fitted tank top under a light cardigan.

The color was gentle.

Almost pastel.

The shirt fit closely against his slender frame.

He looked at his reflection again.

Then turned slightly.

The longer layers fell around his shoulders.

He stared.

“Okay.”

He tilted his head.

“I see it.”

His features had always been soft.

He knew that.

People had mistaken him for a woman before.

It wasn’t new.

But the longer hair had changed something.

The layers softened the angles of his face even more.

His almond-shaped eyes looked larger.

His jaw looked more delicate.

His neck looked slender.

And from behind—

yes.

He understood the mistake.

Rin laughed quietly.

“Poor guy.”

He wasn’t offended.

He couldn’t be.

The man had apologized immediately.

And honestly, Rin had to admit the whole thing was slightly funny.

He touched the ends of his hair again.

He hadn’t realized it had gotten this long.

He looked back at his laptop.

Then at the matcha.

Then at his reflection.

For some reason, he smiled.

Maybe he should keep it.

⸻

His phone vibrated.

Rin looked down.

A breaking-news notification appeared.

PRESIDENT VANCE TO ADDRESS CONGRESS ON HOUSING IMPLEMENTATION

Rin opened it.

He read the announcement.

Then smiled.

Of course.

Housing again.

The same issue from their first interview.

The same answer.

The same promise.

Except now it wasn’t a promise anymore.

It was policy.

Rin leaned back.

Two months ago, he had been sitting across from Gideon Vance trying to understand the man.

Today, he was sitting in a café watching that same man slowly change the country.

And strangely—

Rin wasn’t thinking about the question he had asked anymore.

He wasn’t thinking about whether Gideon was gay.

He wasn’t thinking about Camille.

He wasn’t thinking about the rumors.

He wasn’t even thinking about the interview.

He was thinking about governance.

About leadership.

About what Gideon might accomplish if he continued at this pace.

Rin opened his notebook.

He wrote one sentence.

President Gideon Vance may be building something much bigger than his campaign promised.

He stared at it.

Then added:

Watch closely.

He closed the notebook.

Another sip of matcha.

Outside, Washington continued moving.

People walked past the café.

Cars filled the streets.

The capital kept going.

And somewhere behind the walls of the White House, Gideon Vance was probably already working on his next decision.

Rin smiled faintly.

They hadn’t spoken in two months.

But somehow, Rin felt as though he was getting to know the president better every day.

Not through interviews.

Not through personal questions.

Through his decisions.

Through his work.

Through the things he chose to do when the cameras weren’t focused on him.

And perhaps that was the better way to understand Gideon.

Because anyone could tell the country who they were.

But what a person actually did—

that was harder to fake.

Rin picked up his matcha.

And quietly said to himself,

“Let’s see what you do next, Mr. President.”