It's nearly four-thirty by the time that the parade finally ends, and Blaine is absolutely exhausted.All he really wants to do is to curl up in his bed and sleep, but he knows that he has at least another eight, or, god forbid, nine hours before that will be even a remote possibility.

"You okay?"

He turns to look at his companions. "Yeah," he says after a moment, shrugging slightly. "I'm just tired...and nervous, but mostly just tired. It's been a pretty long day."

"You're going to have to get used to it," Mercedes Evans says softly, reaching out to take her husband's hand. "You're going to have a lot of those from now on, Blaine."

Sam nods in agreement with his wife before turning to look at his best friend. "She's actually right," he says. Mercedes looks entirely unimpressed by this rousing endorsement, and Sam immediately backtracks in a desperate attempt to placate her. "I mean, Mercedes isalwaysright, of course, but still. You should listen to her."

"I know," Blaine replies, trying not to laugh at the annoyed look Mercedes is shooting at Sam. "I knew that when I agreed to take this job, but it's still hard to get used to."

"We'll get through it together," Sam assures him, grinning widely. "Ready to go?"

Blaine feels slightly nauseous. He knows that at this point there is absolutely no turning back, but walking through that door is going to make it all so much more real.

Gathering his courage, Blaine pushes the door open a moment later and walks inside.

-

It takes all of a half-second before Quinn Puckerman, Deputy White House Chief of Staff, is standing next to him.

"Good evening, Mr. President."

President.

There's a part of Blaine that is still half-convinced that this is all some sort of bizarre fever-induced dream. Is he really the President of the United States? Is this evenpossible? He's not only the first gay President in United States history but, at thirty-seven, he is also the youngest. He's one of only a handful of single Presidents in American history. His Vice President, Sam Evans, is only three months older than he is. Sam and Mercedes are the first interracial couple to be elected Vice President and Second Lady.

There is absolutely no way inhellthat they should have won. No one – not even Blaine and Sam themselves – truly thought that they would.

But, somehow, they had.

And now Blaine is President, and he's about five seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.

Quinn pulls him across the room to introduce him to some lower-level staff members, and it takes all of his willpower to keep engaged in the conversation. What Blaine really wants to do is locate the one and only person in the building that can keep him calm and level-headed.

Ironically enough, that person also appears to be the one and only personnot here.

"Quinn," Blaine asks, turning to look at the blonde. "Where is –"

Quinn ignores him. "Now, before you can get ready for the Inaugural Ball, we have to have a very brief meeting with the rest of the Senior staff. If you'll just follow me, Mr. President, they're waiting for you in one of the upstairs conference rooms."

"You can just call me Blaine, you know," he says, brow furrowed. "And, um, can't we just meet in my office?"

"No, sir," Quinn says, ignoring him in favor of making a 'follow me' gesture to Sam. "The Oval Office is temporarily unavailable."

Blaine blinks at her. "How is the Oval Office unavailable? It's pretty much the most important room in this entire building."

"I promise that this will only take about twenty minutes of your time," Quinn responds, ignoring his second question entirely. "You will have more than enough time to get ready for this evening, Mr. President."

Blaine sighs in defeat and lets her drag him upstairs, all the while wondering how he is possibly going to run a country when his own staff refuses to listen to him.

-

The staff meeting takes far longer than Quinn had anticipated, mostly due to a very loud, and verylong,argument between his Communications Director, Santana Lopez, and his Deputy Communications Director, Rachel Hudson. By the time that the two women finish their argument and come to an (tentative) agreement, Blaine honestly doesn't even remember what they were arguing about in the first place.

After that, he has to sit down with the White House Press Secretary, Marley Puckerman, to discuss her first press conference the next morning. Luckily for Blaine, he and Marley have been close friends since college, and it only takes about ten minutes before she lets him go with a warm smile and a soft, "Good luck, Blaine."

By the time that he finally makes it to his new bedroom, exhausted doesn't even begin to describe how Blaine feels. He collapses face-forward onto the bed and sighs loudly into the dark-green comforter, secretly contemplating whether or not he can simply skip his own Inaugural Ball.

"Don't even think about it."

Blaine dry sobbed once into the bed before rolling over onto his back. "Why are you in my bedroom?" he asks after a moment, not taking his eyes from the ceiling. A second later, he sits up and sends the other man a perplexed look. "Scratch that, exactlyhoware you in my bedroom?"

Kurt Hummel, newly-instated White House Chief of Staff, steps out of the far corner, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is my White House," he says conversationally. "I can do whatever, or be wherever, I want in it."

Blaine quirks an eyebrow at that. "I'm sorry, but did you just say that this isyourWhite House?"

"Obviously," Kurt replies smoothly, not bothering to look at the President. He instead walks over to the closet and begins rummaging around. "You asked me to be your Chief of Staff. That automatically makes this my White House,sir."

Blaine grins.

Kurt is, without a doubt, the most interesting man that Blaine has ever met. Although they had interacted on a professional – yet rather distant – capacity for about ten years, it had only been during the past three years that they had become close.

During the primaries, Kurt had served as Sam's campaign manager. Professionally, he had a rather widespread reputation for being cold, distant, and entirely unapproachable. There was even a rumor that Kurt had once made a political reporter – Jacob Ben Israel, if Blaine remembered correctly – cry in two minutes flat.

They had been friends for three years, and Blainestillhadn't gathered up enough courage to actually ask Kurt whether or not the rumor was true.

All things considered, Blaine had been a bit more than nervous when he had finally asked Sam to consider running as his Vice Presidential candidate. While Blaine had known exactly what to expect with Rachel Hudson joining his team, he hadn't been quite as sure about how he and Kurt would get along.

And at first, Blaine had been completely convinced that his original assessment of Kurt Hummel was correct; when it came to his job, Kurt was vindictive and manipulative. He was also utterly ruthless, disturbingly organized, and knewexactlyhow to get things done.

Later, though, Blaine came to realize that there was much more to Kurt than he had originally thought. With those that he liked and trusted, Kurt was sarcastic, kind, and very generous. Over the course of three years, Blaine learned that Kurt enjoyed spending his free time listening to Broadway music, reading Vogue, watchingFriends, and jokingly tormenting his brother and sister-in-law. He loved Chinese food and hated Mexican. He was highly afraid of dogs, but was still willing to play with Bojangles ("I can't believe that you named your dogBojangles, Blaine! It's an absolutely terrible name."), Blaine's beloved golden retriever, because he knew it made Blaine happy.

He was perfect.

"–what about this?"

Blaine shakes himself from his thoughts and looks towards the closet, where Kurt is standing impatiently, a suit in one hand and an emerald-green cloth in the other.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Kurt scowls. "Have you been listening to anything I've said in the past five minutes?"

"No?"

"Isaidthat you can't wear that suit anymore because you've wrinkled it," Kurt replies, walking over and handing Blaine the non-wrinkled suit. "You shouldn't have rolled around in your bed like a barbarian. You'll have to wear this instead."

Blaine doesn't argue – after three years of working together, he knows better – and obediently walks to the bathroom. He changes quickly, and by the time he emerges, Kurt has placed a small array of items across the bed.

"You don't have to dress me," Blaine says softly. "Or do any of this, really. It's far below your pay grade."

Kurt rolls his eyes and smiles fondly at the new President. "The last time that I let you dress yourself, you came out wearing a sweater that even Bill Cosby would have rejected."

"I liked that sweater," Blaine replies defensively.

"It was neon yellow," Kurt says dryly, "and it had bright red fire trucks on it. I'm still half convinced that you bought it in the children's section."

"WellIliked it," Blaine pouts. Then, "I haven't been able to find it since then, though."

"That's because I threw it in the fireplace," Kurt replies without missing a beat.

"What?" Blaine asks, whirling around. "You burnt my sweater? Youliterallyburnt my sweater? I feel like it's somehow illegal to burn the President's clothing."

Kurt shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. "You weren't President then. Besides, I like to think of it as performing my patriotic duty."

Blaine pouts again and, as expected, Kurt simply ignores him.

"Now, this is everything that you need to have on you tonight at the Inaugural Ball," Kurt explains, motioning towards the items spread across the bed. "We've already discussed what you'll need to talk about. If anything comes up that you're unsure about, Quinn and I will be in there for as long as you are. Santana, Marley, and Rachel will also be floating around and can probably jump in if you need them for anything."

Blaine sighs.

"Don't worry," Kurt says cheerfully, moving closer. "If you get nervous, or someone asks you something you don't know, just get Rachel involved in the conversation. Believe me, she'll talk enough for the both of you, and you can make your escape while she's rambling."

He can't help but laugh because it's sotrue.

"Now, one last thing," Kurt continues, moving closer still.

A second later there is something wrapped around Blaine's neck, and it takes him a moment to realize what it is. As soon as he does, though, he grins widely.

"I'm letting you wear this bowtie because the color looks good on you," Kurt warns. "Don't think that this means you can wear them all the time. Tonight is a special occasion. Tomorrow you're wearing a tie to the office."

"Understood."

It takes only about a minute for Kurt to finish up the bowtie, but he doesn't move away immediately. Instead he inches closer, fingers moving slowly from the bowtie to grip at the edges of Blaine's suit jacket. They stand there for a long moment, silent.

"Congratulations," Kurt murmurs finally, "Mr. President."

They're close, soclose, and Blaine thinks that maybe if he just leans forward just a bit –

"Mr. President?"

The two jump apart immediately, and Blaine turns to see Santana standing in the doorway, an eyebrow quirked at them in obvious amusement.

"Y-yes?" Blaine stutters, trying desperately to clear his throat. He refuses to to make eye contact with the woman, knowing full well that his face is probably bright red.

Santana looks entirely unperturbed. "You have exactly eight minutes to make your own Inaugural Ball on time."

Kurt's eyes widen at this news.

"I need to go," he says, frantically moving around the room to gather his things. "I've spent so long trying to get you ready that I forgot thatIneed to get ready, too. I'll meet you both down there!"

A second later Kurt is gone, leaving Blaine alone in his bedroom with Santana.

-

"Thanks for that, Santana."

"Well, maybe if you had picked a better time, I wouldn't have accidentally cockbloc–"

"Please,pleasedon't finish that sentence," Blaine interrupts, horrified. He then casts a wary look towards Ryder, the Secret Service Agent standing in the doorway. He isn't entirely positive, but he thinks that the man might be smirking. "I wasn't – I – nothing was going to happen!"

"Please," Santana replies, moving quickly towards the hallway, "don't act like I'm stupid."

"I'm not!" Blaine hisses, following her into the hall and down the stairs. "You simply misinterpreted the entire scenario."

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

Santana stops abruptly and whirls around on the staircase, a frustrated look on her face. "Look, Mr. President –"

"Kurt is my Chief of Staff," Blaine says, cutting her off in a desperate attempt to explain. "He is –"

"–the only person in thisentireadministration who doesn't realize that you want him to be your First Husband instead," Santana says dryly, making Blaine flush. "Please, sir, we all have eyes. You two spend all day, every single day, acting like an old married couple. Hell, he missed his own staff meeting earlier today because he was busy shouting at people in the Oval Office because they brought you the wrong desk."

"We do not act like an old married couple!" Blaine says defensively. As the rest of her sentence sinks in, Blaine turns to her in confusion. "Wait, I don't have a desk?"

"You will as soon as the man who messed up stops crying," Santana says flippantly. "And, for the record, I can now personally assure you that the Kurt-making-Jacob Ben Israel-cry rumor is one-hundred percent true."

While Blaine is secretly pleased to finally have an answer to that burning question, he has more pressing issues to address. "We are not an old married couple," he repeats for what feels like the tenth time.

"He just dressed you for your Inaugural Ball," Santana points out, raising an eyebrow. "Hell, he dresses you daily because if he let you choose you would run around in bright-pink pants and no socks. Kurt is totally your husband."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Santana just rolls her eyes. "Please, we all know that you want to marry him, which is entirely possible now since same-sex marriage has been legalized in our country for the past ten years –"

"No, I don't!"

"– and that you want him to be the other daddy to your ridiculously named dog–"

"Bojangles isnota ridiculous name," Blaine hisses, annoyed.

"–and that you want to adopt fifty kids with him and play house–"

"I do not want fifty kids!"

Santana raises an eyebrow at that. "I notice you're only denying the number of children, and not the statement itself."

"None of that is true," Blaine says, brushing her comment aside. "I am in love with Kurt Hummel, okay?"

"...you do realize that you just said that you're in love with him, right?"

Blaine freezes at that, suddenly realizing exactly what just came out of his mouth. "I meant to say that I–that I'mnotin love with him."

"Except that you actually just said that you're really in love with him," Santana shoots back immediately, refusing to let Blaine simply brush the slip-up aside. "You do realize this shocks absolutely no one, right? Like I said, we're not blind. Hell, even your bodyguard knows that you two are in love."

This time, Blaine is absolutely positive that Ryder is smirking.

He really,reallyjust wants to go back to bed.

-

It takes another five minutes of arguing before Blaine and Santana make it downstairs, Ryder trailing just behind them and looking more amused than ever.

Kurt, who has by some bizarre twist of fate made it downstairs before Blaine, does not look half as pleased.

"You are late," he hisses, storming over to them and looking suspiciously like he wants to strangle someone. "You're late for your own Inaugural Ball!"

"It's Santana's fault," Blaine says immediately.

"You are thePresident," Kurt continues, ignoring Blaine completely. "You are the President of the United States, Blaine. You can't be late for your own party! It's completely unprofessional, sir, and as your Chief of Staff, I absolutely refuse to tolerate such blatant–"

Blaine tunes out the rest of Kurt's angry rant, knowing that it's really not directed at him so much as it is towards Ryder and Santana. Instead, he looks at Santana out of the corner of his eye and realizes that she has just pocketed her phone. A second later, Rachel's phone beeps and when the dark-haired woman lets out a loud, happy squeal, Blaine knows that he is completely and utterly done for.

"Do you have something you'd like to add, Rachel?" Kurt snaps, immediately rounding on the brunette. "Clearly, my missing the staff meeting earlier this evening was a mistake. You can all rest assured, however, that we will be meeting in my office bright and early tomorrow morning to discuss the importance of being prompt and the proper protocol for–"

"Mr. Hummel?"

"What?" Kurt hisses, whirling around to glare at whoever dared to interrupt his lecture. It's some poor, nameless lower-level staff member who clearly pulled the unlucky draw that day.

"They, uh–they want to know if the President is ready, sir?"

Kurt lets out a long breath. "Tell them that I will be there in just a moment."

"Of course, sir," the man mumbles before fleeing as fast as he possibly can.

"I want all of you in my office tomorrow at six," Kurt says to the group, moving forward to straighten Blaine's bowtie. "If you're late, you'll regret it."

Marley sighs and Quinn sends an icy glare at Rachel, Santana, and Ryder.

Blaine smirks at them all, an action that Kurt catches immediately.

"Don't look so smug," Kurt says, "because that included you."

"I'm the President of the United States! You can't tell me what to do," Blaine sputters, ignoring the smirks that the women – minus Marley, who just looks as though she can't decide whether she should pity Blaine or be amused by the entire situation – send towards him.

"You're right, of course," Kurt says conversationally. "I can't force you. I can, however, assure you that if you don't come to my office at six in the morning, I will seek you out later in the day for a three-hour lecture on not being late to events; a lecture thatwillhappen, Mr. President, even if I am forced to follow you around all afternoon."

"I'll be there," Blaine concedes, sulking slightly.

"That's what I thought." Kurt smirks at him and then turns his attention to a few people standing awkwardly nearby. "You three, follow me. The rest of you, get ready to go in. They'll be announcing you in a moment."

Kurt disappears into the hall, leaving Blaine alone with four very amused looking women.

Rachel latches onto him almost immediately, beaming. "I'm so happy for you," she says cheerfully. "You two will be so happy together and when you get married, you'll be my brother-in-law, you know!"

"Because thattotallymakes him want to marry Kurt," Quinn says dryly from behind her.

"I'm not marrying Kurt," Blaine says loudly.

Rachel rolls her eyes at him. "Well, obviously not yet. You have to date him first."

"We'll take care of everything," Santana says, and there's a gleam in her eye that suddenly makes Blaine very, very nervous.

"Come on," Quinn says suddenly, glancing at the clock. "We need to get in there before they announce him."

Santana and Rachel cast Blaine one final speculative look, and then follow after Quinn. Marley, however, lingers behind.

"Are you all right?" she asks, moving closer.

"No," Blaine mumbles, burying his face in his hands. "My life is over."

"You're being a bit dramatic," Marley says, a small smile spreading across her face. "I think that Kurt likes you, too."

"Idonthtshindoes," Blaine says through his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Marley says pleasantly, "but I'm not fluent in mumbling. Please move your hands away from your face."

Blaine sighs, but drops his hands anyway. "Isaidthat I don't think he does."

"I think you're wrong," Marley says after a moment of contemplation. "The way he looks at you is the way that I look at Jake. It's the way you look athim. Believe me when I say that Kurt likes you just as much as you like him. You just need to have some courage."

"Maybe."

"No, not maybe," she chastises. "You just need to ask him out. I guarantee you that he would say yes. Now, I need to go find the others and keep them from concocting some bizarre, but well-meaning, plan that will likely destroy your chances with Kurt entirely."

"Please," Blaine says, giving her a desperate look.

"You, however, need to get inside that before your husband comes looking for you again," she says, winking at him. "I don't think anyone wants to get another lecture tomorrow."

Blaine just shakes his head. "Are you guys going to keep calling him that?"

"Probably," Marley admits, grinning. "Don't tell me that you don't secretly like the way it sounds when people call him your husband."

Blaine can feel himself blushing, and that's all the confirmation his best friend needs.

A moment later, Marley is gone and Blaine is fidgeting nervously in the hallway.

"–ladies and gentleman, I present to you the forty-ninth President of the United States, Blaine Devon Anderson!"

Blaine takes a deep breath and, with a smile on his face, walks into the ballroom.