Like many other children, Alexander was always giddy when thinking about his future soulmate: how they might look like, how they act, what they like, etc. In kindergarten, it was not an uncommon topic – since children that young didn’t feel same emotions as their soulmate, or only fractions of them, they’d often draw or even write about them. In middle school, when they hit puberty, the said emotions were much stronger and they felt them to their full capacity, maybe even more. They didn’t talk so much about it, but nobody could deny that they thought about theirs at least once. In high school, the intensity began to roughly even out. They could think about it with much more depth and understanding. There were both good and bad sides to it – someone else’s happiness could make you brighten up when you weren’t even particularly sad, but also that same person’s sadness could make you angry or sad in a nick of a moment.
Some kids were as lucky to find their soulmate in high school, as well. For example, Hercules and Peggy. They were known as the Liberty High’s power couple – they were even crowned as prom king and queen. Alexander sometimes envied them. You couldn’t get more intimate than knowing how someone else feels. It was a form of art, too – being able to decipher that this person right next to you is actually your soulmate.
But your soulmate could also change throughout your life. That happened to John Laurens, his closest friend. John found out that his soulmate was actually Alex, way back in 8th grade. And he told him, and Alex almost believed it. You see, what happened was that while John was telling him that, Alex knew that his soulmate was happy. And John was happy, if not a little nervous. They dated for 2 years, but Alexander voiced his suspicions while they were in a theme park. They were riding a Ferris wheel and Alexander felt his soulmate grieving. A storm of sadness, sorrow and pain, so much of it and so intense that it actually made Alex’s throat tighten. But John was right next to him, laughing and pointing out how certain buildings seemed so close or how people were so small. Alexander stupidly asked why was he sad. John was confused. It didn’t take them long to figure out that while Alex was his soulmate, John wasn’t his. Needless to say, they both went to their homes. Alex knew that John didn’t blame him, but it was surely difficult for him. They spent two weeks in silence until John messaged him if he wants to go with the squad (aka Laf, Herc and him) for a drink, to which Alexander of course, agreed. Yes, it was hard looking at John, since he still seemed worn out, but if anything, it only made them closer as friends. Years later, Laurens confided in him that he can feel someone’s emotions, but that it wasn’t nearly same as Alex’s felt. Even when the person in question was angry, it was rather collected. He still to this day doesn’t know who it is, but Laurens likes to daydream, which Alexander always found amusing.
What Alexander also found out was that his soulmate was constantly on an emotional roller-coaster. One moment they were joyful, the next they were disgusted or even furious. Then there was envy, which made an appearance quite often, and occasionally shame. But his favorite was without a shadow of a doubt was happiness, as you may imagine. His own heart would flutter, his mind wondering what could it be that made them happy, and sometimes Alex would even envy that it wasn’t him.
And of course, you’d imagine that Alex thinks about what impression would he leave on them, based off of feelings. He was often in that emotionless state due to sleep deprivation where he could not be affected by anything because it is simply very difficult to give a damn when you can’t comprehend your surroundings. Did they think he was dead? Or maybe a sociopath? Both?
Right now, Alexander decides that he better come back to Earth and go to sleep. He has his first class tomorrow at 8, meaning he should wake up at least around 6:30 to come to his senses by 7, eat breakfast, chug down that coffee and be there at 7:40. His first class is of course, history with Washington, and the man, no matter how fond he might be of Alex, he does not appreciate him or anyone being late to class.
Likewise, he wakes at 6:56, missing all three of his alarms and having to be manually shaken to consciousness by a very grumpy-looking Aaron Burr. When he lifts himself up on his forearms, he yawns and waits for Burr’s lecture (which, really, has become a tradition by now).
“I would really appreciate it if you, for once in your life, woke up on time. My first class is Lee, and it’s beginning at 11. Meaning, I shouldn’t be awake for another two hours at least.” Ah, there it is.
“Tough shit, Burr.” Alexander shrugs and smirks at the man who gives him a death glare as the immigrant saunters towards the bathroom to do get himself ready.
Alex for once in his life, manages to tame his wild hair in a neat bun. He’s pretty happy with himself about that. Next, he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He looks at himself carefully in the mirror. The bags under his eyes are darker than the dried ink on his fingers. His complexion is still paler than the freshly fallen show, nothing like the sun-kissed tan he used to sport back in St. Croix or Nevis. How things change. Well, he supposes these days he rarely goes out and is enclosed inside his dorm, studying. Or perhaps, in the library.
He strolls out and begins digging around his stuff, trying to find something that would make him look remotely presentable. He finally finds a pair of black jeans (which he’s positive are Laurens’ but oh well), a white button up and a green pullover that, he’s been informed by Peggy, compliments his skin. Finally satisfied with his looks, he checks himself out once last time in the full-length mirror, gives his reflection half-assed fingerguns and goes out. He noticed that Burr’s left, and then locks the door.
It’s 7:49 when he reaches the classroom, a record time, he notes. He takes his usual seat, the right end of the middle row and begins taking out his textbook and other supplies. He then pauses, half way zipping his backpack. He can feel a wave of happiness washing over his chest. His soulmate’s happiness. It makes his lip twitch up in a small smile. He knows that the person must be feeling his own emotions right now. Then he’s snapped out of the trance by a sound of loud laughter of two mixed voices, coming from the doors. He could recognize those anywhere – Thomas Jefferson and James Madison.
They both come from old money in Virginia, known each other since diapers. It was as if they were conjoined at the hip, never leaving the other’s side. It was odd, admittedly, but it wasn’t rare that people felt jealous of how close they are. Usually, their presence alone would make Alexander feel inexplicably irritated. But, right now he decided that he shall respectfully ignore them. He won’t let some rich brats ruin the warmth he feels in his chest. So he turns his head towards Washington, who just came in, and completely dedicates his attention to the professor.
10 minutes into US history and Alexander is already annoyed. Annoyed by Seabury’s totally outdated opinions, irritated by constant snickering he gets from Jefferson every time he voices his opinions. What a way to start the day. And to top that, Maria decided to promptly ditch class today to go out with her boyfriend, James Reynolds. She was a bright, young girl yet still oblivious enough to keep dating James. Everybody knows they are not soulmates. Even if you were to see them together once, it would be blatantly obvious. Rumors go around that she doesn’t have a soulmate, that she’s never felt any emotions other than her own. Of course, there’s no way to safely assume and be right about it; it’s also possible that she started going out with him (back when she was a freshman in college) to make herself fit in, because a fair amount of students already have found theirs. Now when she grew up and realized herself that soulmates aren’t everything, she’s either oblivious as previously stated, simply reckless or sporting a wild case of Stockholm syndrome. Possibly both, knowing her. Alexander can’t help but feel sorry for her – well, of course, he is, since she is a really good friend (and drinking buddy) of his, but there’s much more to that.
The moment Jefferson opens his mouth up, Alexander feels the sheer anger building up in him. There’s also disgust somewhere in the mix of all the unwanted emotions that flood him whenever he’s forced to face the purple-loving fuck. He counters Alexander’s argument with something ridiculous that Alex can’t force himself to listen. Washington sends him a glare that if he’s being honest, he got used to. Therefore he rolls his eyes at the man in front of the blackboard and absentmindedly taps his pencil on the desk, waiting for the end of Jefferson’s speech.
“Thank you, Professor Washington,” he says but gives a sly smirk to Alexander, which the immigrant completely disregards. He feels confident with himself again. The rest of the class continues without any major incidents, excluding Seabury’s and Conway’s utter bullshitting about the Federalist’s Papers.
He’s not surprised that Washington calls him to talk after class. It’s not the first time, and given he’s in the same class as Jefferson, it’s far from being the last. He saunters over to the man with a mellow expression.
“Son,” Washington begins his lecture, as usual, the pet name irritating Alexander to death, “I am asking you yet again, that you pay some respect to Mr. Jefferson.”
“How can you ask me that, though? Don’t you see how wrong he is about… about everything?”, Alex is getting angry again, little less than usual.
“Don’t call me son”, he murmurs.
Washington lets out a heavy sigh but chooses to ignore Alex, “this class is hard enough to teach without infighting.”
“Well, Jefferson called me out, I called his bluff.” He said with some force but tried to tone it down because he doesn’t want to turn out disrespectful to Washington.
“You solve nothing, you just make him want to argue more!”, Washington slammed his fist onto the desk, partially because of his anger for what Alexander just did, partially because he has the audacity to be spiteful now.
“You’re right, Franklin should have put him in his place, that would have shut him up.”, he spat, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Watch your tone.”, another sigh, “go now. I expect you to clear your differences with Jefferson once and for all.”
Alexander left wordlessly, angrily stomping towards his dorm room. Who was Washington to tell him what to do like that? Yes, they were close, but he wasn’t his father or anything.
In the midst of raging, he felt himself crash into something. Someone. He was knocked down to the ground, and the sight was not pleasant above him; a smug smirk revealing rows of brilliant white teeth, a pair of dark hooded eyes watching them, a spark of malice in them. “You might wanna be careful there, pipsqueak. Watch your step.”
Alexander jumped to his feet and frowned at Jefferson, having to look up at the man. “Oh, I should be careful where I’m going? Whose to say that it shouldn’t be you?” Alexander didn’t feel his own anger only, but his soulmate’s pent up fury as well. He supposes it was appropriate.
“Oh, is that how you wanna play it, Hamilton?” Jefferson made a step towards him, now dangerously close to the smaller man. Alexander swallowed a lump in his throat, deciding that he definitely cannot let Jefferson sense his fear. He also felt a pang of smugness, however not his own. It momentarily makes him wonder whether his soulmate, in whatever situation he is, is winning… something. “You wanna get your face re-arranged? A little nip/tuck?” Jefferson taunted, lifting his arm, his fist balled and clenched. It made Hamilton step back a little but he still wasn’t backing down.
“Try me, Jefferson. You’d be surprised.” Okay, it was Alex now who was bluffing. While he did take judo classes for a year in 6th grade, he doubts he was still in shape or remembered any moves or something.
“Would I, now?” His lip curled in a snarl and the taller man tilted his head slightly, squinting his eyes.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen -”, Alexander was never this relieved to hear Burr’s voice as he was now. Both of them looked to their right, where Burr was pushing through the crowd that neither of them noticed gathered, making an almost perfect circled around the two men, whispering, commenting, some of them even betting on the winner. “-why don’t you step away, okay?” Aaron seemed calm but it was only a facade. Burr was jumpy, especially in these kinds of situations. Alex would know, he has known the man for 7 years now. “There we go,” he said when Jefferson and himself were at safe distance of 3 meters, still casting hateful glances and sending daggers at one another.
“We’re not done, Hamilton.” Jefferson threatened, and it was the last thing he said before he walked past him, purposefully shoulder-checking him. Ah, an open display of aggression. Classy.
“What was that all about, Alexander?”, Burr pulled him to the side, a hand firmly gripping his upper arm as if to make sure that Alexander won’t actually race for Jefferson and do something regrettable.
“That asshole, he just -”, he was about to begin rambling incoherent nonsense. Burr slapped him. Not hard, admittedly, just enough to grab Alexander’s attention. It seemed to work. Alexander was wide-eyed and his mouth hung open. However, it seemed as if he understood why Aaron did what he did, and then he said, much more quietly and calmly, “I was walking, and bumped into Jefferson. That douche then took it as a personal offense or some shit, because he began threatening me!”
“I hate to say it, but you’re better than that, Alexander. Ignore Jefferson, he’ll just get you in more trouble, okay?”
Alexander nodded, and on that note, Burr left his side and left Alex to get to wherever he was headed. Which was his dorm, really. He needed to print his homework for King’s class and take his books. The man, George King, was a substitute for Mr. Von Steuben, who was the English professor, until he broke his leg while trying to skate with some kids, hoping to turn out cool or something along those lines. He didn’t. He’s been absent for only two weeks yet Alexander can safely say that King was already his least favorite professor. He was overly dramatic, spiteful and selfish. But he’ll live, he hopes.
He arrived at his dorm, took all the things he needed and on his way out, he was halted in the spot. He felt his soulmate feel regret, maybe even sadness? He couldn’t quite discern the two since they were pretty intertwined. But it made him worried, very much so. He felt this sudden need to find them, whoever they were, and offer some sense of comfort. You can imagine how hard it must be. It’s hard to watch somebody being sad, but feeling the same thing as them was a whole ‘nother deal. It was most of all, scary. He took a deep breath, collected himself, tried to concentrate on what he feels and not someone else’s and walked out.
He greeted the librarian, old lady Mrs. Washington, Prof. Washington’s wife, obviously. She smiled at him warmly, as she always does. He made his way towards the computer area, where there’s also a pretty ancient printer. He tries to make this as quick as possible, considering he has only about 10 more minutes. While Washington doesn’t like people being late, King is probably willing to get them expelled. Alexander can’t have that happen. He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently until the machine spat out the 10-pages essay about Pride and Prejudice. He practically pulled the last paper out, forcefully stuffed the whole thing in a single liner and was on the run again. The whole thing with Jefferson messed up his schedule, and now if he’s lucky enough not to be late, he’ll definitely not come on time, by his standards.
It’s a good thing that he doesn’t have this class with Jefferson, but unfortunately, he does with Madison, although the Virginian is much tamer and civilized than Jefferson will ever be. He sits in the back row with Seabury, because why wouldn’t he, and while Alexander is two rows in front, he still finds it too close for comfort. But it’s not all bad since Lafayette and Eliza are there with him. His friends are always an adept distraction (not to think that they aren’t good for anything else – it’s just one of their qualities and benefits). Lafayette, of course, boasts about the ‘love of his life’, also known as Adrienne Françoise de Noailles. They were soulmates, no less, have known each other since middle school as well, but got together only one month before Lafayette’s family emigrated to the USA. However, they both did seem happy and content.
Half way into the class and completely ignoring whatever King talked about today, Alexander realized that his soulmate felt some sort of satisfaction as if they’ve done something they were proud of. A spark of confidence appeared soon, and he leaned back in his chair, tangled his arms above his head and slowly and subconsciously, his eyes fluttered closed. He completely shut off.
However, he was stirred away by someone’s loud voice; somebody was shouting. He squinted his eyes but fully opened them when he realized that George King’s apparent anger was directed at him. He immediately got into the normal sitting position.
“Mr. Hamilton, I’m glad you decided to grace us with your presence,” his plummy voice echoed through the classroom. Everybody was quiet – this was a beginner’s mistake, “and now you’ll see yourself out of my classroom.”
He was about to mutiny but stopped himself. He knew better than that, especially in this situation. He silently got up and got out. Alexander stood in front of the classroom, feeling rather annoyed. At that moment, probably as a response for that annoyance came the emotion he recognized as curiosity laced with worry. He was amused at the fast response. And likewise, a spark of the same amusement came his direction. It made him calm down a little. He knows for a fact that once King kicks you out of his class, there’s no chance of going back, so he quickly does math in his head. He still has 1 hour and 13 minutes of it before there’s a ten-minute break before sociology. He can always go to his room and lie in bed, maybe read or write something. And that’s exactly what he does.
He sees the door of the room being swung open, so he safely assumes that Burr is home. He can hear voices from the inside which confirms his doubts. But unfortunately, these voices belong to two other men, aside from Burr – James Monroe and the devil in the flesh, Thomas Jefferson. At first he’s shy to come in, seeing as none of the two ‘trespassers’ were nowhere near being his acquaintances. Then he reasons with himself that it’s his dorm – he shouldn’t be indecisive about going in. So he saunters in casually as possible. Monroe looks at him with raised eyebrows, as if he didn’t know he lived here, Jefferson just scowls at him. The usual, really. Burr’s indifferent, as one may assume.
Alexander instead of flopping down onto his bed as planned goes into the bathroom. Not that he needs to use it, really, but he just doesn’t want to be in the same room as the three because he’s afraid that Monroe and Jefferson might actually want to strangle him, and that Burr won’t stop them. So as an alternative, he locks the door and momentarily decides to take a shower. He hasn’t done it today, so he might as well scrub that stress away. He sees Lafayette’s lavender-scented body wash and makes a decision to use that; it fancier than anything he owns, probably more expensive than the shirt he’s wearing. Since the Frenchman left it so kindly, he might as well use it. Nowhere does it say that he can’t and he knows that Laf won’t be bothered.
The hot water suits him as it rains down on him from the nozzle. He then realizes how much he neglected to do something relaxing for himself. He’s been stressing too much lately, and never had the time. As the enjoyment courses through his body, so does his soulmate’s happiness. It’s a nice, warm feeling, adding up to the water perfectly. He’s almost hesitant to get out of the shower, but then he hears Monroe and Jefferson leave, and it’s his cue. He wraps a towel around his waist and his head since he did also take the liberty of washing his hair. Burr looks at him funny as he closes the bathroom door. “What?”
“Nothing. Just – don’t you have class? Mr. King, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Well, I did. Then I feel asleep and you know how he is.” Alexander sighs, sitting on his bed.
“Yeah, and you should know as well.” Burr looks at him flatly, “out of every class you could have fallen asleep in, you chose this one?”
“Hey, I didn’t choose to fall asleep!”, Alexander defends himself, pointing a finger at Burr.
“But you did choose to make yourself sleep-deprived and live off of caffeine.”
Alexander doesn’t have anything to counter Burr’s argument with, so he just folds his hands in his lap and pouts.
“You’re being immature.”
“Your face is immature.”
Alexander could swear he hears Burr say something along the lines of ‘wow’ under his breath, but he doesn’t want to get into any more arguments than he has to today. He lets this slide. He puts his legs on the bed and lays on his side, using his hands as a pillow. He doesn’t fall asleep right away, but eventually, it was bound to happen. He dozes off peacefully, not without his soulmate’s happiness coursing through his body.
“Sh, sh, quickly, he’s waking up!”, Alexander hears someone whisper-shouting near him. It takes him a moment to register there are more voiced in the room. He stirs awake and practically jumps off his bed at the sight of Jefferson, Madison and Monroe, all with cellphones in their hands, their cameras flashing and directed at him.
“What the -”, he wants to scream but then notices that his towel, previously around his hips, has fallen off. He hurriedly picks it up and tries to cover himself, with little success, as the three men race out the open door. Alexander can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the feeling of embarrassment growing in all the parts of his body. Those fuckers, how dare they?! Well, while Alexander knew that there is no way for him to spend 3 years in college without anything of the kind happening to him and that he’s been practically counting the days until it happens, he always thought he’ll be conscious (to some degree) and that he’ll be able to own up to it, not like this. They went too far, even for his tastes. The draft has closed the door shut, which was a relief. Not like it could have done it minutes ago before they managed to catch him off guard like that.
The only thing left for him to do now was get dressed and try not to think about it too much if he can. He’ll probably go wail about it to Lafayette, ever the mom friend, he has to have some advice for Alex. As he gets dressed, he can feel his soulmate’s smugness, and he starts to wonder, considering this wouldn’t be the first time he’s felt it, if his soulmate is some kind of a douche. He hopes not.
His next class is political science since he completely slept through sociology. Of course he has that with Jefferson, Madison’s and Monroe. And it begins in 11 minutes, so he best stop pitying himself and get dressed.
On his way through the labyrinth of halls, he bows his head. He’s pretty sure that if not Monroe and Madison, Jefferson has already sent the pictures out (like some kind of a fucking highschooler) and that at least half of the campus has seen him naked by now. Because Jefferson would, of course. He’s not sure how he should feel right now, too. Humiliated, yes, embarrassed, yes, but he feels as if he’s taking this way to casually. Maybe it’s because of the initial shock, and the actual pity party starts when he’s in the dorm at night. Whatever it may be, he’s grateful that at least the universe (who is truly sadistic as hell) spares him the additional damage of his dignity (which was of a small quantity before, by now it should be pretty much non-existent). He turns lazily into the classroom. Not many people are here, but behold, the infamous trio, snickering and sneering at him from the back rows, throwing snarky remarks that, while usually don’t bother him too much (to be fair, he’s used on them) kind of hurt right now – and not only his pride or dignity or whatever, they hurt his actual feelings. Which is a first, really. He has never let Jefferson nor Madison, nor anyone else gets him this much. He supposes it will pass though. Good thing is that nobody came up to him yet, laughing while sticking their phone in his face, on which, presumably, is his picture in its full glory.
Ah yes, what a sight that might be.
Prof. Temperance Flowerdew entered the classroom and cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. She said, loud and clear as usual, “I’d like you all to calm down now and we could begin working, yeah?” They nodded. Although Flowerdew was a well-respected person among the students, it wasn’t just because she was a teacher. She was strict, yes, but also kind and helping, always happy to assist somebody in need. Nobody really caused too much trouble in her classes, not even Jefferson, which was at first strange. He was nice to her, not in a flirty kind of way, the way he was with other young female teachers here. He always carefully chose his words and never tried to start an argument, not even with Alexander. Which was, right now, kind of good, because he really did not want to fight or even face Jefferson, after his little… prank .
it's obvious that I've been having a little writer's block, which is luckily resolved after one-third of this story. So yeah, forgive me if the first few paragraphs feel kind of dull.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Alexander’s eyes spring open. It’s the middle of the night and he’s awake, normally not an uncommon occurrence, but he has never woken up like this. He can feel his soulmates’ emotions, though they are unclear. There’s a mix of regret, sadness and above all, hatred. He can’t figure out towards whom, but it’s pretty intense. It makes his chest hurt as if somebody was sitting on him. He tries his best to send some sympathy to them, make them feel better or something, though it admittedly is hard, considering he doesn’t know who it is or what it is about. He’s feeling so… helpless, since he’s unable to do anything. So the best idea he can think of at this time, naturally, is to text the mom friend.
‘Oui, I am now.’
‘I’m sorry that I woke you up’
‘No matter, mon petit lion, talk to me now’
‘It’s not really something I can solve, but… well, here goes. Something’s wrong with my soulmate, Laf’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Can I please call you?’
Alexander quickly shuffled out of his bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, closing the door as softly as possible. He quickly dialed Lafayette, who picked up on the first ring.
“Oui, mon ami, what’s wrong?”, due to being so rudely awoken, his French accent is much thicker than normally, though Alexander can understand him, for now.
“I feel these – these emotions, the usual, but I was shaken awake by some kind of mix of them all? Like all the bad things, sadness, and regret and stuff like that. It never happened, I dunno what to do, Laf! Because it hurts me knowing that they’re sad and I can’t even do anything to help them.”
“Ah, Alezzander, I know how you feel. I felt his helpless too, once upon a time, knowing that my love is across the ocean, though I accept that knowledge much better now. You should just… rest, you know, and I know it seems ridiculous but try, mon petit lion.”
Alex was about to say something about how impossible his idea is, but realised that, while Lafayette may not be quite right, it’s ass o’clock in the morning and he can’t do anything about it, except sit in his bed and wait for it to end. He should try to get some sleep to stop himself from getting drowsy in classes tomorrow, much like he did today. He quietly got out of the bathroom and went back into his bed, hoping he hadn’t woken up Burr. When he was assured that he didn’t, he let out a breath he didn’t even know he held. His hurting body didn’t give his mind peace, but the tiredness managed to prevail and thus, have him fall asleep. He didn’t dream well that night, but it won’t matter in the morning.
The morning came and went, this time Alexander had classes at 10, and he allowed himself the liberty of, despite waking up at 7, stay in bed until 9:30. His first class was literature, his typical luck. He knows that he’ll have to push through the reign of sarcastic remarks from Mr. King, about his yesterday slumber in class, but he’ll live. He always does.
And there we go, as he expected.
“Coming in early, Mr. Hamilton? Have you come to terms with your antics finally, or will I be sending you out today as well?”, the hatred between the British man and Hamilton was entirely mutual, although he’s pretty sure it was much more intense on his part. King was pretty oblivious to his student’s opinions of him. He usually trusted the fake smiles they’d put on for him. Alexander did not comment on his, but found his regular seat and ungracefully flopped down. He took out his books and leaned back into the chair. The emotions have worn him out enough, but they seem to be in line now. He feels his soulmate’s indifference and absently hopes it’s not directed at him.
Luckily, Lafayette comes to class fairly soon after to take him out of that God awful mind-space. Alex knows that it was also bound to happen, and only now he recalls that they have studied about it sometime in high school. He completely forgot about that. Well, he knows it would be a bad experience, but didn’t know it would leave him this distressed.
On the other hand, Jefferson walked in the classroom in a disarray himself, his clothes completely disheveled and nothing about him seemed in order. He looked tired, bags under his eyes however not as evident on Alexander, still present. It makes Alexander think if Jefferson has gone through the same thing as he did last night, though admittedly it would be a wild coincidence. He lets his mind wander off away from Jefferson, and even though he doesn’t sleep in class today, he doesn’t pay a nick of attention towards King, who thankfully, doesn’t call him out on it this time. Maybe he’s satisfied with Alexander’s dull gaze on him, occasionally scribbling something down in his notebook. Lafayette talks to him a lot, about nothing in particular, even after class. It does lift his spirits, and at last, the two of them decide to invite John and Hercules for a drink.
“Dude! That’s just insane!”, John says. His eyes are wide after Alexander told the two of the friends that didn’t know what happened last night.
“Yeah, it is,” Alexander agrees, though grateful that he feels totally fine again. There are no significant emotions to detect, maybe a trace of shame but that’s it. “Has this ever happened to you? I mean, Laf told me yesterday about his time with Adrienne.”
“Not to me, no.” John shrugged, “like I said – my soulmate’s emotions are never intense. Not even happiness or something good like that.
“Well yeah”, said Hercules, “but it wasn’t this way. You see, when you find out who your soulmate is and you fall in love, that love becomes so magnified it actually leaves you breathless. Literally. I thought I will run out of air.”
“Hm,” Alexander said, looking down at the whiskey in his hand, slowly swirling the glass as he remains deep in thought.
They talk more about nothing in particular, a lot of random things and nonsense they have to deal with in college – your usual stuff; people, friends, girls, boys, teachers, expensive textbooks and too much homework, not to mention the lack of sleep and lack of time. The time passes like that, and it’s soon 5 pm. Neither of them has anything after that, except Alexander, who has journalism at 6. He takes off and bids them goodbye. Since he has taken his books with him, he goes straight to the classroom.
And then it hits him.
Jefferson and Madison are both with him.
Well, this just keeps getting better, although he supposed that Jefferson might actually be calm today because he’s seen him in literature, he looked like shit. Well, to be fair, he looked like Alexander did every day, but it looked more shit on Jefferson. As if he was run over by a truck or something of that nature.
But oh boy, was Alexander wrong. Jefferson showed up in that magenta coat that hurt his eyes, under which he wore a purple jumper. His hair was puffy again and his beard was taken care of, being neatly trimmed again. Chances are he used a concealer to hide the bags under his eyes, but nonetheless, he looked good. He looked more than good. Alex would be lying if he said that Jefferson wasn’t the actual definition of a wet dream at that moment, excluding his disgustingly flamboyant clothes (to be fair, in a wet dream with Jefferson, chances are he wouldn’t be wearing any clothes, so he supposes it doesn’t matter). He made his way up the stairs only to sit one row behind Alexander. But not just one row behind Alexander, he was literally right on the seat behind him. Alex got chills. He could practically feel the man’s breath on his neck. He glanced over at Madison, who was sitting in their usual seats all the way at the top, who was seemingly equally confused. And in that moment, he could finally feel some kind of an emotion from his soulmate. It was wariness but also a sense of content. He offered his affinity, which seemed to please them, as they sent back a little bit of hope intertwined with happiness. Which naturally made Alexander happy, no matter how miserable he was whole day, and the warmth spread through his body again. His shoulders visibly relaxed from the previously tense posture he didn’t even know he held.
Washington walked into the classroom with a pile of books under his arm and his bag in the other. He smiled at them, what some of them returned. Alex was smiling regardless of Washington’s presence. Soon after, the professor began talking about things Alex didn’t pay attention to as much as he would usually. He found himself being like that in a lot of his classes lately, even during the past week.
God bless whoever invented weekend. Technically it was not yet Saturday, but Friday evening, though it doesn’t matter. He’s on his phone when he sees an incoming text message. It’s from an unknown number, and it was a simple ‘Hey’.
He was very confused at first, not knowing who this is or what do they want. However, Alexander was curious (only later will he remember that curiosity killed the cat) and texted back. ‘Hi. Who's this?’
‘How does it not, when you obviously texted me with an intention of making a conversation.’
‘Okay, it matters. I just wanted to say that I know what a jackass Jefferson can be and that I’m sorry you have to put up with that.’
‘What? Where did that come from? And how the hell would you know who Jefferson is or what he does?’
‘I attend Princeton as well, and I see how much problems does he make you. I just wanted to offer some condolences, is all.’
‘Oh. Well, thank you, I guess. I appreciate your condolences. If only somebody would tell that to Jefferson, though. What an ass he is, I mean.’
‘I am sure he already knows, he can’t possibly be that dense.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Wait. ‘Is this some kind of a prank? Is this you, Jefferson? Madison? Monroe?’
‘No, it isn’t them.’
‘How can I be sure?’
Alex is woken up by Burr again, but he remembers it’s Saturday, “The hell, man?”
“I will be out today. Probably won’t be back by evening.”
“What’s the time?”
“Shit man, don’t wake me up for that! Leave a note or text me, for God’s sake.”
“You’d lose the note before you’d even found it, and you wouldn’t read the text.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am. I’m going now, okay? Bye.”
Burr was out before Alexander even managed to say something. He tucked himself under the covers in a vain attempt to get some more sleep. Not 10 minutes later, there was knocking on the door. He groaned but got up, calling, “Who’s this!?”
“Thomas – I mean, Jefferson.”
What the actual fuck? “What do you want from me now, Jefferson? You want me to sign that pretty picture you took of me two days ago?”
“No, just – open the fucking door, Hamilton.”
“No, I won’t. Give me a reason first.”
“I locked myself outside my dorm, Madison is out and I know for a fact that Burr has the extra keys to it.”
“What? Why would Burr have keys to your room?”
“Burr has extra keys for everybody’s rooms. Come on now, Hamilton.”
It’s whatever, right? He’ll just give the keys to Jefferson and the man will be on his marry way, preferably nowhere near Alexander ever again. Which can’t happen, but he can still hope and dream. “Whatever. Hold on.” he shouts and turns around to look for the keys. He’ll let Jefferson roam around here over his dead body (which might actually happen given that Jefferson completely loses it at some point and decides to actually kill him. You can never be too careful with those things). He looks through Burr’s drawers and finds a three rings full of keys. “What’s your dorm number?”
Aha! He finds the key, which is by the way on the second ring and gets to the door. He’s still in his pajamas, but considering his pajamas are in reality a worn out black shirt and old gray sweats, he may look semi-presentable, more or less. Deep breath in, then breathe out. He’s got this. No way in hell will he let Jefferson intimidate him. He opens the door and faces him, finally.
The man is wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, a white tank and a pair of sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, clinging to his body perfectly and well, to put it this way – they leave nothing to the imagination. Alexander has to bite his lip not to reveal anything, keep his stone cold attitude though out this whole exchange, which is bound to be short. Show the key, let him show the way to his dorm, unlock the door and go back. Simple.
But if it’s simple, why does it feel so nerve-racking? Why does it make his insides quiver? Fear. Yes, fear. He decides to settle on that since it’s the most reasonable and won’t make him question his existence later. However, Jefferson huffs a laugh, a short one really, but now it makes Alex doubt in his skill of keeping his guard up and not let anything slip.
Silently, he lets Jefferson lead the way, admitted it’s just down the hall, and then lets Alexander unlock it for him. “I take it you can go on your own from here?”
“Yes. Thank you, Alexander.”
His name. Jefferson never said his actual name, aside from that one time he mocked him with ‘Lexie’ because of Laurens, who is allowed to call him that, used the nickname in front of both Jefferson and Madison. He tries to casually stroll away to his dorm, but his feet feel heavy and he feels as if he may fall.
He can feel warmth again, from his soulmate, but the thing is, this time it comes in a neat package with sympathy and pride, of sorts. He doesn’t quite know how to describe it. He feels surprised but remembers it’s probably a response to his uncertainty and pent up anger while handling Jefferson.
Alexander is still on his phone, browsing through Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter and checks up on his e-mail. He suddenly feels very bored, and wishes to call his friends to hang out; but he can’t, because Laurens is on some kind of a date, Hercules is visiting his family and Lafayette has a bunch of homework from Lee. It sucks ass, really. And then an idea pops into his head. He entertains it shortly – he can text that number again, right? The person must obviously know him, therefore they can surely make a conversation without it getting too awkward… he hopes.
It takes the person on the other side approximately 2 minutes to reply.
‘Hi, Hamilton. What’s the occasion.’
‘No occasion. Just boredom.’
‘Soooo what are you up to?’
‘Nothing in particular. Watching TV I guess.’
The conversation somehow morphs into a detailed discussion about politics (with Alexander, it always does. It shouldn't come off as a surprise at this point). They don’t focus on anything, really, just throw out some topics and catch on. They surprisingly disagree a lot. Usually not about something major, but those small disagreements seem to bother the both of them the most. Alexander is enjoying himself though. He may finally have found someone on his level – most people that debate him would usually give up before he even warms up. Well. There’s also Thomas Jefferson, but this person on the phone is much more different than the Virginian, although they are, if Alexander isn’t mistaken, somewhere from the south (given the over excessive use of word ‘y’all’ and alike). He notices it’s 2:14, and he decides that he best goes to sleep.
‘Good night now, I guess. I hope we can talk soon.’ He texted, quickly biting his lip. He’s never met his person, doesn’t know anything about them, while they certainly know a lot about Alexander. His palms become sweaty while waiting for a response.
‘Good night, Alexander.’
Sunday passes in a blink of an eye – he doesn’t go out or talk to the mysterious stranger on the phone. He writes and writes, a little bit of homework and a little bit of anything that he can think of (i.e. something useful as a draft for one of the upcoming debates, but also “20 reasons why Thomas Jefferson should burn in hell for all eternity”). So yeah, it’s been pretty productive.
Monday comes along and he already has to mentally prepare himself for the first US history class with Jefferson, Madison, Seabury and Conway. It’s torture, really. The four of them, who usually despise the other two, just kind of unite to gang up on him. Washington at first didn’t tolerate it and he’d silence them, but after class they’d call Washington his ‘dad’ or worse yet, ‘daddy’ so Alexander had to politely ask the man to stop it, even though he knows his intentions weren’t ill.
Oh well, the hardships of being a perfect target.
Regardless, he never backs down or shows any signs of defeat to any of them, though maybe he did hint it once they took that picture. He’s surprised that he hasn’t seen it on some kind of a billboard yet, though he hopes he doesn’t jinx his luck so far.
The lecture starts as any other, Alexander daydreaming about nothing in particular. The two Virginians look quite bewildered that Alex doesn’t respond to any jabs sent his direction or anything. Washington calls him out a few times for not paying attention, but he has mercy on Alex upon seeing how tired he is. Somewhere halfway into the class, the professor says that there will be some group work in the shapes of presentations and seminars. Not quite Alex’s forte, but he can manage. They quickly pair up, Alex looking at Maria two seats away as if asking to be his partner. She nods in agreement. But then Washington does the unthinkable.
“Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Jefferson?”
“Yes?”, the say in unison heads turned towards him.
“I expect you to work together on this. Mr. Madison and Miss Lewis can pair up as well,” Maria looks at Alex, wide-eyed, though Hamilton misses it. His gaze is focused on Jefferson, and both men seem to be adamant not to be the first one to look away. Seabury snaps his fingers in front of Thomas’ face and Jefferson jerks his head a little in surprise, sending daggers at Sam. The redhead only shrugs, looking sick of Jefferson’s perpetual, bullshit, alpha male and Top Dog™attitude.
The bell rings and just like that it’s over. Alexander quickly stuffs his books in this backpack and attempts to leave the classroom as soon as possible, preferably without Jefferson seeing him. Which doesn’t happen, because as soon as he walks through the door, he feels someone firmly grasp the collar of his shirt and his back hit the wall. Ah. You guessed it.
“Asshole,” Hamilton spits in Jefferson’s face. But Jefferson seems rather indifferent to it, his eyes half lidded and his expression unreadable. Their bodies are only few inches apart, Jefferson towering over the smaller man. Their height difference has never been more apparent. One of Jefferson’s strong hands is pressed up against the wall and he’s using it as leverage, as well as to stop Alexander from actually running away. Meanwhile, Alexander feels fear pool low in his gut, a certain heaviness to his chest. His soulmate this time offers no emotions of his own, nothing to comfort him as it usually is. He feels truly lost at that moment, since he’s always felt at least fragrance of someone else’s feelings inside him. It makes him feel empty, in a way. And he overthinks it, of course he does. Because Jefferson just stands there, breathing heavily but evenly, his aura even giving away a certain sense of calmness. “You done freaking out or are you going to hyperventilate too?” The man asks, his voice a deep, tired rumble, the southern accent never more apparent.
“I’m – ‘m fine.” Alexander hates that he has to answer to the man he loathes so much, but it is what it is. Jefferson nods and moved back away, an inch or two, just enough space for the man to breathe. His arm also falls limp to his side, before he sticks both of them in his pockets. “What’s this all about?” Alexander has to ask, because never has he been in such close proximity to Jefferson unless they were at each other’s throats, literally and figuratively.
“Jesus Christ, you’re dense as a brick. We have to talk about our presentation!” Jefferson frowns at him, “Do you even know what it’s about?”
“Uh,” Alexander scratches the back of his neck, “n-not really.”
“Would it kill you to actually pay attention in class for once?” Jefferson runs his hands through his hair as if irritated. Alexander feels that his soulmate is annoyed as well, so it’s not really the best mixture, along with his own stressing over this, “It’s about American Revolution, more accurately, about the Founding Father, Lin-Manuel Miranda.”
“For the record, I do pay attention. I have just been a little distracted lately, is all.” Alexander says flatly as he crosses his arms on his chest and quirks an eyebrow at the other man. Jefferson just smirks smugly at that, as per usual.
“We have journalism after this, right?” A nod from Hamilton, “good. You can come over to my dorm, since James is out, and we can start working. Make some rough drafts, et cetera.”
Whoa, okay, no. Alexander isn’t stupid enough to be alone on his enemy’s territory (even though it was just a dorm and chances are, Jefferson would probably mildly tolerate him as they work). He swallows, lets out a breath he didn’t know he held and says, praying to God or whatever there was that he doesn’t stutter and that his voice doesn’t crack. Knowing his luck, chances are that universe will make sure that he embarrasses himself in front of Jefferson every time there’s a chance to do that. “Can we actually uh, work in the library?”
Jefferson, who was already half-turned, faces him again. His posture is more relaxed than previously and his eyebrows raise for a moment but then he gives Alex a small nod and says, “Library it is, then.”
The class goes without incident, and this time Jefferson sits behind him as well. He saw Madison shrug as he secures his spot in the highest row, seemingly being bothered by his friend’s new found habits. Or was it a habit? Sure as hell wasn’t a coincidence, Alexander thought. Is there anything in between the two?
They walk together towards the library, respectfully with a meter and a half gap between them. Alexander was clutching his bag, while Jefferson strolled down the halls looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. The only comfort for Hamilton right now is the fact that his soulmate is happy, which makes him a tad bit relieved and takes his mind off of the fact that he’ll have to spend at least a week doing this with Jefferson. It’s a bummer, and he want’s to say that ‘he’ll live’, but something about the southerner doesn’t make him so sure of that.
They reach the library in five minutes or so, and Alexander is met with a confused look from Mrs. Washington. Martha heard a lot about what exactly Alexander thinks about Jefferson, knows exactly where his shoe would fit if he was asked, and so the picture of the two, walking side by side, is the very least unusual. She doesn’t comment, however, grateful for that. He doesn’t meet her eyes though, he can imagine that they are wide and shocked.
They find a table and settle, both of them taking out their laptops. Of course, Jefferson has a MacBook, or whatever you call them these days. The point is, of course he has something expensive and fancy, much like the rest of his belongings, while Alexander deals with his practically ancient Acer. He catches Jefferson glancing at him and snickering, probably because he made the same observation as did Alexander.
“So, I imagine we should split our work.” Alexander hums with approval and Jefferson continues, “You can look up things from his past, where he was born and grow up, how did he reach his goals and such, meanwhile I can search up things about his rank, politics, beliefs yadda, yadda.”
“That should work, yeah.” Alexander says, another nod of affirmation before he opens up Chrome and types the keywords, simply ‘lin manuel miranda early years’. They work in silence, the only sounds being their breathing and the clicks of the mouse (or Alexander’s mousepad) and the keyboards. After an hour, they begin pulling out facts found and copy-pasting them in a single doc file, on Jefferson’s computer. Few clicks and all his work has been sent and delivered to email@example.com. The deal is that Jefferson will through the rest of the day and maybe even tomorrow to arrange everything in a rough draft, and send it to Alexander. Alex manages to embarrass himself by being suspicious of what for does Jefferson need to know his e-mail, and he has the pleasure of having to listen Jefferson scoff at him and taunt him, before he actually writes it down. Of course, it’s for the purposes of him being able to contact Hamilton and send him his work. But of course it doesn’t dawn on the immigrant immediately. He shyly gives him a small piece of paper on which ‘firstname.lastname@example.org’ is written in a crude handwriting.
They leave the library at 6, deciding they’ve worked enough, and split paths. They don’t go back to the dorms together, God no. Hamilton has had the pleasure of being around Jefferson enough for one day. He collapses on his bed, much to Burr’s amusement. He lies like that for hours, contemplating his existence until he hears Burr complaining about the light that Alexander’s phone gives away. He was texting Angelica, until one particular number contacted him.
‘How was today?’ The unknown person said. Alexander could still not get it why couldn’t they tell him their name or at least gender. Alas, you can’t always get what you want.
‘What do you mean? Anything particular?’
‘Jefferson. How’s it feel to work with him?’
‘Uh, it’s fine, I guess. He’s thorough when it comes to things like these. Regardless, how do you even know that I’m stuck with him?’ As he sends the message, Alexander feels a pang of sadness from his soulmate. He hopes that whoever they are, are okay.
‘I saw you two in the library.’
‘...you followed us?’
‘No, pipsqueak, I saw you go in.’
‘Aha. Well, good night, pal.’
Pipsqueak. Where did he hear that one before?
Comment, leave kudos if you enjoyed :)
Chapter 3: Interlude
Thomas and Alex communicate on multiple occasions. Thomas' inner monolog dominates this chapter over dialogue, sorry lol.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Thomas is usually not the one to ditch classes, but boy, he swears that Hamilton’s presence alone just pushes him to do it (happened once, twice maybe. He mostly puts up with it, though). He’s currently in poli-sci, staring at the back of Hamilton’s neck. If looks could kill, the immigrant would surely be dead already. His fingers were twitching, which James, who sat right next to him, noticed.
“You okay, Thomas?”
“Yea, totally. Why you ask,” Thomas looked over at James.
“You seem tense, more so than usual. You sure that everything’s fine?” James leans a little towards him, voice turning into a whisper as Flowerdew walked in the classroom with a mellow smile on her face. She looked really good today, her penny-brown hair tied in a low bun, gray thick-framed glasses perfectly framing her face, blue eyes scanning around the room and the rows of students. She put her books down on the desk and begins talking, her voice silky and high-pitched as per usual. Thomas held the cap of his pen against his lip, slightly pressing against the soft, pink flesh. He rolled it a little while he held his focus trained on Hamilton still. There was something infuriating about the smaller man, yet he couldn’t leave him alone. And sure, maybe he goes a tad too far sometimes, but the little bastard has to learn his place here. Thomas doesn’t pay around; he can’t let a greasy little nobody take over his thunder. Hamilton’s, by his standards, still a fresh face here (even though he’s been here for 2 years already. Well, Thomas has metaphorically ruled this place for 5, he’s the teachers’ favorite, the greatest and the best. And how Madison would always say – a little egotistical. But hey, if you aren’t your biggest fan, who is?). Now, Thomas won’t try to deny that Hamilton is a genius of sorts. He’s the first person that proved themselves to be a match to Thomas in debates and arguments. He admittedly can write well and has the power of will and wits required to succeed in life, make himself noticed. All the more reason he intrigues and annoys Thomas all the same. A little rat, a peasant, can’t respect the king – so defiant. Thomas likes them like that, he likes the challenge.
His thoughts are disturbed by his soulmate. Another son of a bitch trying to interrupt him in life. Thomas has never really got the hang of this whole ‘soulmate’ thing. It has always been an unnecessary hassle for him. That changed for a short period of time when he met Martha Wayles, in his freshman year in high school, while she was a junior. They were soulmates yes, and he loved her the most in the world. However, Martha died during childbirth while Thomas was a senior and she was 20. Their daughter died then as well, never been named. He thought that he’ll pass away because of how intense the pain was. For three years he hadn’t felt anything, no emotions that weren’t his, although admittedly he felt dull himself. He could swear he hadn’t felt a single thing for the years.
And suddenly, there it was.
A small hint of happiness growing in his chest, but Thomas knew it wasn’t his own. He started so intensely hating his soulmate for intruding, for being where he was not wanted – near Thomas’ heart (literally and figuratively). The whole up-and-down experience made him like he is today. He will never be the same as he was then – quiet, submissive, polite and respectful. Now he says what he wants, takes what he wants, does what he wants. And the best part yet? Nobody can do shit about it. He’s the top dog. He’s always been.
Now there’s a whole new thing to worry about as well, something that has been throwing him off for a year and a half at least. Yes, he did pick on Hamilton since the guy came here because he was just an easy target, but he’s been having his… doubts. Suspicions. Every time he’d done something to Hamilton, he felt his soulmate’s emotions crash on him like a wave of an endless ocean, drowning him almost. There wer the embarrassment, sadness and a lot of fear. Not that kind of ‘I fear for my life’ fear, but it was close enough. He’s dense enough to not give it much thought before but what if… what if it’s Hamilton? His first reaction was also ‘What the hell, that can’t be?’ but it makes sense and adds up. And to test out his theory, he pretended to lock himself out of his dorm. It was easy to convince Alex by that point to crawl out of his hole and do his thing. He felt nervousness from the said soulmate, and Hamilton indeed seemed nervous at that moment. The ‘prank’ with the picture only did hint that it was a good assumption, as he could imagine that Hamilton was ashamed or embarrassed then, which was precisely what he felt. Although he still didn’t want to believe it; he wasn’t ready to.
But he deleted the picture. He’s not that big of an asshole to keep it or show it. He made Monroe and Madison do the same (which they did consider odd, but hey whatever).
James has to wave his hand in front of Thomas’ face to get him back to the real world. Madison doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and lets Thomas be. Glancing at the clock, he sees that he has wasted the entire class since it was only about 10 minutes before the bell rings. He lets his mind wander for a little more; the damage has been done, regarding poli-sci, so he might as well.
The thing is though, he feels bad suddenly, for Hamilton. He’s been unnecessarily cruel to the man plenty of times, even before he had a reason (not that there’s a reason you are allowed to bother someone like that, but whatever). So to try and make thing better (the best to his ability), the plan was to get a new phone (and that’s not hard for him, since he can literally wipe his ass with hundred dollar bills and still not be affected financially) and pretend to be someone… well, someone else. It wasn’t that hard. After that one time they had an argument about many political whatnots, he found out that he didn’t mind debating with the man that much, because not knowing who he is, Hamilton remained civil. There were no personal insults or cursing or anything like that. Even though they didn’t quite agree, he can let it slide. However, he was surprised that it was Hamilton who contacted him. The guy must’ve felt really lonely for that because he knows for a fact that the man has a lot of friends or at least people who he managed to befriend to some extent.
A loud ring interrupted him again.
Everybody got up, and so did he, packing his books in his bag and swinging the strap over his shoulder and walked out. He joined Madison, who just eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. They went on a lunch break, grabbing a hamburger at the little kiosk. It was not the best he ever had, but it would do, considering there was only a 20 minutes gap between poli-sci and sociology. Madison had journalism, though, therefore Thomas found himself walking to the classroom by himself. No big deal. As he goes, he throws out some winks at the girls (… and guys, honestly) until a small force bumps into him. Yet again. Nobody gets knocked down this time, though Hamilton eyes him angrily. “Chill, gremlin.” Thomas lets out an over-exaggerated sigh as he looks down at Hamilton.
The man is wearing his hair down today, and it frames his face very nicely. The hickory-brown strands look soft, silky, and overall as if they would be nice to thread your fingers through and – wait, hold on. He can’t think about that now, given his inner monolog about the man that he had less than 15 minutes ago. He realizes that his shoulders are awkwardly hunched and fists balled at his sides. He snaps his fingers once, to make them less stiff, and runs his left hands through his hair.
“Whatever,” Hamilton mutters, immature as usual, and pushes past him. For a moment, Thomas wants to grab his arm and apologize, but he can’t. Even if he did stop him and convince Alexander to listen, he doesn’t know if he could get off the high horse that he rides constantly throughout his life and do the right thing. He’s working on it though, trying to cause less stress to Hamilton than he usually does. He doesn’t know what exactly made him feel so sorry for Hamilton. Don’t be misled, he still hates him (to some extent), but it’s not exactly fair either.
He watches Hamilton storm away down the hallway. What an odd, little man.
‘Hey dude’ Thomas’s phone buzzes and he can read the message from his lock screen, from the contact name ‘Hamiltwat’. He doesn’t want to be risk being caught texting during class, but the way Hamilton said it makes it sound as if there’s more to it. He knows that if he doesn’t answer, it’ll bother him for at least another hour, until the lecture ends. So he lowers his cell under the desk and types quickly. ‘What’s up?’
‘I wanted to ask you something’. And there it is. His cover is blown. Leave it to Hamilton to mock him this time around. He can enjoy his victory while he has time. ‘Sure.’ Thomas replies casually.
‘Do you think that Jefferson hates me as much as he claims he does?’
Oh… ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Well he constantly taunts me in some way and shit, and few days ago he actually threatened to punch me, which he’s never done before -’ Yikes. Thomas completely forgot about that little detail. He continued reading, ‘- but I dunno man. We worked just fine on our project yesterday, and we do have a meeting scheduled today in the library again. I don’t know what to think.’ Another message and this one Thomas feels is some form of passive aggression, but then again, what did he expect from Hamilton, ‘And you seem to know a whole lot about Jefferson’s and mine relationship.’
He was at loss of what to type. He couldn’t say the truth yet he didn’t want to outright lie. Then he thought about it for a little – and there we go, top student zoning out in class because of some unimportant pipsqueak that he’s stuck with on a project. Does he hate him? It’s no longer with that burning passion, it stopped being a while ago. What is the truth then? Does he grudgingly tolerate him? He does, yes, but there’s so much more to it. He should have thought about this before, make it clear for himself first, and then somebody else, even if that somebody was Hamilton himself. It was true that he would prefer to avoid Hamilton if possible, completely not have to deal with him, but that wasn’t hate, now, was it? So he types what first comes to mind, even though it was proven at more points in his life that maybe it was not the best idea. ‘I don’t think he does. Wouldn’t he actually have punched you if he did? Or leave you to do all the work on your project? I wouldn’t know, I don’t know what’s happening in his mind since I am not him… maybe you should give him a shot to explain himself instead of jumping to conclusions. I am sure that Jefferson would gladly -’
“Mr. Jefferson!” He heard a voice coming from the front of the class and he looked down at the angry looking Mr. Washington. One of his pet-peeves was texting in class, and it was relatively widely known, so he shouldn’t be surprised. But he is, and just blankly stares at him with raised eyebrows and mouth slightly agape. “Please come down here and leave the phone on my desk.” His tone is flat and his eyebrows knitted in a frown. Thomas hurriedly presses ‘send’ and whatever he has managed to fit into one text gets delivered. He hopes it’s enough and takes a deep breath before descending down to Washington and laying the device on the desk as instructed. “Please see me after class, Mr. Jefferson.”, he mutters and Thomas nods, going back to his seat. He knows that Madison is probably wondering what is going on, but truthfully, so is Thomas. He does is best to pay attention to ever words that leave Washington’s mouth for the rest of the class, putting his best efforts into raising his hand and answering all his knows, as well as hoping that the professor noticed what he’s trying to do.
As the students swarm out of the room, Thomas carefully walks up to Washington, who’s packing his bag as well. He glances up and upon seeing Thomas, softly smiles but the gesture is not to be confused with being glad to see him or anything alike. Washington is just being nice, as usual.
“Hey, Mr. General.” Thomas attempted to joke a little, huffing a laugh, but not getting any response from the man in front of him. It’s an ongoing joke among the older students to call Washington ‘General’ because of how he holds himself and discipline he requires, but it’s not to be mistaken with disrespect. In his own time, Washington has found the nickname rather amusing, and he’d maybe even go as far as to say that he’s fond of it. But right now, he wasn’t adamant to joke.
“I have noticed your mental absence in classes multiple times, Mr. Jefferson. I let it pass, since you are one of the best students I have ever seen, but this concerns me. Is everything alright?” He asked, finally zipping his bag closed and directing his full attention at the student.
“Sure, everything is fine, why wouldn’t it?”
“Like I said, you’ve been spacing out. That’s very unlike you.”
“It’s all good, Mr. General, I assure you. I’ve been having a lot on my mind.” He makes a failed attempt to smile casually. George lets him go then, and Thomas goes straight for his dorm, hoping to catch James on his way. Since his latest, how you say, adventures with Hamilton, he feels as if he’s neglecting his best friend.
Thomas fiddles with the keys until he manages to push the right one in on his third try. He feels relief and immediately gets a response from his soulmate. Amusement. He rolls his eyes and smiles fondly without ever realizing it, but snaps out of it as soon as he realizes what he’s doing.
And upon entering, he indeed sees Madison in his bed, wrapped in his covers and blankets (Thomas swears that the lavender-purple one is his, but it doesn’t matter because hello, it’s Jemmy we’re talking about). He casually strolls in and closes the door. He notices that James is watching something on Netflix, presumably. He greets him with a wave of his hand and James croaks out “Hi Thomas.”
“Yeah, I just felt a little sick lately. You know how it is.”
“But it’s like, pretty much summer,” Thomas says before dropping down his bag, taking out his laptop and setting it on his desk, opening the device up and going through his mail.
“You know how I get. Fragile health plus allergies equal some sort of illness.” James says and Thomas hums. There’s a new mail in his inbox and it’s from Lafayette. He doesn’t know what’s the occasion but it intrigues him and he clicks it.
To: email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com… and 11 more
To celebrate our favourite John Lauren’s birthday, I invite you to join us on a party. It will be a mix of karaoke night and clubbing at Teddy’s. There will be drinks, so be prepared. We’ll meet at 8 p.m. and stay as much as you like. Don’t do anything stupid and use protection!!!
Your favourite Frenchman,
Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de La Fayette
& Large baguette.
Thomas is at first not quite sure why is he invited. He’s pretty much sure that out of all the people listed as recipients, Lafayette and maybe Angelica are the only ones that like him. He wouldn’t even go as far to say that one John Laurens even tolerates him, even though he’s never done anything to wrong the man. He assumes that he’s heard many stories about him from Hamilton, though.
And then he remembers – Hamilton texted him before and he never saw the response!
He quickly took the phone out of his pocket and seeing as it was empty, quickly plugged him in to charge. He immediately unlocked it and much expected, there was a new text. Well, texts, as in plural. Sometimes Thomas watched not to double-text or anything, but this man must have sent like 16 of them in a row.
‘I did contemplate the fact that he didn’t physically hurt me. He looked very ready to do so.’
‘And get this, he even offered to make first rough drafts by himself. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he’s selfless because we all know his ego is the size of his hair (and that’s big).’ At this one, Thomas sincerely laughed. Yes, it was a joke on his account, but it wasn’t too much of an insult or anything. It was playful, the very least.
‘But like… he’s been acting fishy lately. Way too nice to me. Like, he didn’t even threaten to strangle me or say something ominous like ‘They’ll never find your body’ or some shit. He likes to do that a lot, I dunno if you actually know this.’
‘Okay there, you didn’t finish your sentence. “I’m sure Jefferson would gladly…” what?’
‘Please tell me. I can’t stand this.’
‘Is your phone taken away? Who’s the prof? Washing-machine or Tyrant?’ Of course that’s what Hamilton would call Washington and King. Of course it’d be him with the dumb nicknames. He gave most of the teachers his own nicknames, regardless of what they’ve been called for generations, i.e. Mr. General or Mrs. Flower-power. Thomas shook his head. He can’t precisely remember what was he going to say in class before George called him out on not paying attention so he puts the phone away, ignoring Hamilton’s request and gets to responding to Lafayette’s mail.
Subject: Re: Party
My dearest, Lafayette,
I can confirm that I will attend this party or whatever you chose to call it. How should I dress appropriately for the occasion?
T o: firstname.lastname@example.org
Subject: Re: Re: Party
Thomas, mon ami,
You know those leather trousers? The ones you wore that one time in freshman year on Angelica’s birthday as well? Yeah. Those .
Well, leather it is then.
Two more days to figure out what to do when he faces Alexander on Laurens’ birthday. Granted, the man probably won’t pay any attention whatsoever to him, since all his friends are there. But Thomas knows for a fact that it will be hard as fuck to look him in the eye knowing what he thinks about Jefferson, and not about Thomas who sits behind the other end, trying to change how he looks in the eye of the man. Not that he cares about his opinion, God forbid.
At the moment, he’s making chicken soup for James. He’s managed to get permission from his professors that day to stay with Madison at their dorm and hold a watchful eye over his friend. Granted, they send Eliza to check on them after every class, as if to make sure that they’re not doing pot or jay, or drinking any kind of alcohol, since apparently every single person that teachers anything in here thinks about the students as if they were some rebels without control or something like that. Which was totally wrong – even though there are people from his classes like Michael and Connor that do take drugs and such, most of people here are total nerds. Not in a strictly bad way, but let’s just say that they don’t really go out.
He walks out of the kitchen space with a bowl of hot soup in his hands. He puts it down on a small table that he’s set up next to James’ bed then retreats back to his computer to work. He’s almost done with the draft and he’s just editing some bits. He saves the file then and attaches it to the mail.
Subject: LMM, Draft 1
Go through this and let me know what do you think. Don’t edit without letting me know first because I’d like to know where I went wrong before we finalize everything.
Quick and short. He likes it and then presses send. After the mail has been delivered, he spins a little on his swivel chair (like a child), having nothing better to do, before there’s a knock on his door. Probably Eliza. He gets up and opens them.
But lo and behold, it’s Hamilton.
“Hamilton? What do you want?”
Hamilton looked insecure, and god fucking damn it, that was exactly what Thomas could tell his soulmate felt like right now. “I need you to – to clear out something, if you will. I hate to ask this since I know you… dislike me, but I have nowhere else to go since everybody’s in class and -”
“Hold your horses, gremlin. What’s going on?” Thomas asks, leaning against the door frame, trying to look as ‘cool’ or ‘macho’ as possible considering he’s wearing his baby blue pajama bottoms decorated with fluffy white clouds. It was Burr’s gift for Christmas, as a joke, but they turned out to be hella comfortable, so he uses them as he would any other pair.
“Conway, Seabury and Monroe, and some other people uh, your ‘followers’ or some shit, completely trashed my dorm and they won’t get out. Burr might actually kill me if he sees the mess."
“Uh, yeah, I’ll see what I can do. D’ya wanna stay here or…?”
The walk down the hallway, Hamilton walking right behind Jefferson. He was for the first time in his life truly scared, because usually the one inflicting fear was Jefferson. But they are on neutral terms now, and even so, Hamilton fought fire with fire when it came to the Virginian. And he hates to admit it, but he knows that, contrary to his own previous belief, won’t actually go too far. However, he does recall Monroe and Conway beating the shit out of him in high school almost daily so… yeah, he doesn’t stand a chance against them.
But when they arrive to the dorm, they’re gone. The room is trashed, yes, bits of chips and chip bags scattered all over the floor, his bed sheets joining them, his bag hanging outside the window and so on. Thomas feels Hamilton actually shake behind him, so at complete loss of what to do, he puts a hand on his shoulder and murmurs, “Let’s clean this up.” Hamilton nods and they get to it.
At first, they were quiet. But it hasn’t taken Hamilton long to snap out of his previous state and get back to being his old, sassy, defiant, loud-mouth self. Thomas can’t say he missed it but it is hell of a lot better than distressed Hamilton. Because simply put, Distressed Hamilton™ makes him feel things. Things like compassion, sympathy – basically – everything he doesn’t want to feel when thinking about a man as vile as Hamilton. It repulses him only thinking about it. Even though he’s helping him, they’d never really go further from being arch nemesis to grudging tolerance of each other’s existence. It was the bottom line, but it worked for both of them.
‘I think you might be right. I don’t think he hates me with a burning passion.’
‘See, I told you.’
This chapter is all over the place. It'll add up in the future though, patience.
Also if you caught on all the references in this you are a genius.
John's party. Thomas and Alex get raunchy. Plenty of regrets follow.
(Also, by Dystopian_Daydream's request - a revolutionist in heels)
I feel a need to address some things, not only related to this chapter but pretty much the whole thing. This is not me trying to, I dunno, make excuses or something. More of a disclaimer. Kay: I do not live in US, nor have I been there. Ever. So if I mess up while describing some street or... something characteristical to America, please point it out. I'd hate to have mistakes in my fics. Second thing - English is not my native language, and most of it is self-taught. If I ever mess up regarding how something is called (for example: If I call a button up shirt just a 'shirt') please point it out as well. Number three: I am just a sad lonely lesbian that doesn't do makeup and that doesn't do clubbing. If it looks like I have no idea if what I write is correct - it's because I actually don't.
WARNING: This chapter contains minor sexual content
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It was needless to say how excited Alexander was for the upcoming party. It has been way too long since he last did something like that, that is, go out and have fun. He’s always been a busy man, enveloped in work. Sometimes he’d even go days without sleep and meals, running solely on caffeine and relying on his power of will. An hour and a half until he’s supposed to be in the bar, and he’s still standing in front of Lafayette’s full-length mirror, indecisive of what he should wear, the only thing covering his body is a pair of gray boxer shorts. He absently ran his fingers through his locks while humming, deep in thought. Meanwhile, the Frenchman next to him was already all dressed up and looking dazzling as usual, wearing probably the tightest trousers known to man, perfectly sticking to his skin, a black see-through, silky shirt, sleeves not quite reaching his elbows and the most obscene v-neck he’s ever seen. Alexander wasn’t surprised that he decided to put on a pair of black heels; Lafayette has always been the one to go a little overboard when it came to any kind of event that included loud music and drinking. At the moment, he was in front of his own little mirror, applying mascara to his already thick lashes. His hair was tied back in a neat bun and his beard on fleek – Alexander doesn’t know if beards can even be ‘on fleek’, but Lafayette’s surely was.
“Tell me again, how are you going to dance in those?”, Alexander looked at Laf, motioning to the pair of shoes on his feet.
“For one, you’d be surprised what I’m capable of doing in them,” he winked and Alex scowled and made a face, “and for two, mon petit lion, when are you planning on getting ready?” Laf asked, closing the mascara and putting it away in a small purse.
Alexander let out an exaggerated sigh, “I have no idea, Laf. I brought all the clothes I have. Everything is either worn out, completely unattractive or baggy. Lafayette shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Hold on, mon ami, I’ll see what I can do.” Alexander looked at him with raised eyebrows in suspicion and surprise when the other man walked out of his dorm. Laf was back in few minutes, but this time having some items of clothing thrown across his left lower arm. Alexander saw some silky green fabric and dark pants.
“Okay, you might wanna try this on.” Lafayette offered him the clothing. Alexander wrinkled his nose in disgust when he felt somebody else’s cologne or perfume still lingering on them. However, the clothing seemed clean when he took it in his hands and with that, he decided to ignore it.
“Where did you get this from, anyways?”
“I have my sources. Now less talking and more trying-on-clothes.” Lafayette ushered him, his watchful gaze on Alexander. The shirt was a button-up made of very soft and light material. It was emerald green with thin, intertwining, golden wavy stripes on the cuffs, collar and in between the buttons. It stuck to his body perfectly, as if it was crafted for him. Lafayette’s expression was beatific as he watched the other man pull on the black skinny jeans. They weren’t quite as tight as Lafayette’s, though Alex preferred them not to be. He’s afraid he might faint due to his blood not coursing properly if he ever puts them on (though, on a second thought, considering how much smaller he is than Laf, they might be comfortable on him, if not a little long). Lastly, he put on the shoes of his own, a pair of ‘Dr. Martens’ that Lafayette gifted him on his 18th birthday (Lord knows that he doesn’t have a third of the money to buy them, and that they are likely worth more than half of the things he owns). “You look… absolutely étonnant, petit lion! We should take a picture after we do your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Alexander’s tone was defensive. His hair was in a ponytail, which was not as messy as usual but both of them knew that Laf could make something much better out of it. And likewise, the Frenchman didn’t answer him, just gave him a sympathetic look and lightly shook his head, before motioning him to sit next to him on the bed.
Hercules, John and Burr already awaited them in front of Teddy’s. They were dressed all quite similarly, black (or in Hercules’s case, beige) pants and some sort of button up shirt. John’s was willow-green, Hercules’s was navy blue with white buttons that stuck out, and Burr’s was burnt sienna with a gradient towards the bottom. They all looked quite good. Needless to say, Lafayette stuck out quite a bit, like a sore thumb if you will, but he didn’t by any means look half bad. If anything, he’ll have guys drooling all over him tonight (but Laf being Laf, he’ll just give them the curve because hello, Adrienne still exist and he’s a man of honor, as he often says).
Five minutes later, they saw two familiar shapes walking towards them, a man and a woman. It was Jefferson with Angelica on his arm. He wore a magenta shirt, a motorcycle jacket and leather pants. Alexander had to swallow a lump when he saw him, but not for the reason one may expect; it was not because of hatred or fear or any emotion he’d usually relate to Jefferson, it was because the man’s clothing choice was lewd, to say the least, one may even call it suggestive. Leave it to Jefferson to try and swoon everyone around him by just having them look at him. Bastard. Meanwhile Angelica doesn’t looks half bad herself; she’s wearing a tight black dress that reaches just above her knees, her lips are red but not flashy and her eyes do stand out a lot. Her hair is in a bun as well, a very neat one. It seems as if they’re the Bun Squad today.
Eliza, Peggy and Maria join them in a few minutes. Each one of them looks astonishing – Eliza in a short baby blue cocktail dress, Peggy in a similar yellow one, though she’s wearing a white jacket on top of it, and Maria in a red halter shirt and black skinny jeans, much like others. She’s wearing heels as well, while the other two Schuyler sisters both opted on flats. Maria attaches herself to Alexander’s arm, Peggy goes to Hercules and Eliza decides on John. Lafayette clasps his hands behind his back and walks alongside Burr into the bar.
Teddy’s wasn’t strictly a gay bar, but it was known to be swarmed by gays, bisexuals and people alike on daily bases. It was a characteristic hangout spot for during the week, while a clubbing place during the weekends. It was infamous for it’s karaoke nights, having organized competitions if you wishes to participate, and actual awards if you’d win (free blowjobs for one week. The drink, not the act. Although if you came here often enough, the latter could be arranged as well).
The bartender, Malachi Jones (actually used to be a good friend of Alex’s in middle school) stood up on the stage and took a mic in his hand. He was the regular host for the karaoke part. “Boys, gals and my non-binary pals, are y’all ready?!” He shouted and was met with excited cheers and screams from the crowd that was already pumped for this.
One of the rules for karaoke competition was that you may not pick your own song. It was on your friends to do it. Often times you may haven’t even known you were signed up before they call your name. As the matter of fact, right now was the time where Malachi would read all the competitors’ names so they know to be prepared. “Maria Lewis will be singing us ‘Habits of my heart’. Caroline Forbes with ‘Hit me with your best shot’. Thomas Jefferson – ‘Nighttime’. Louis Williams – ‘Million years’. Alexander Hamilton – ‘I’ll be good’. John Laurens -”, Malachi laughed a little, having to even look to the side not to burst out into giggles, “- ‘I had a little turtle’. That’ll be it for now, folks, and applications are still open.” Malachi finished his short speech with that and hopped off the stage.
Eliza wished Maria luck and the darker-skinned girl smiled back at her, winking. She straightened her shoulders and kept her head up as she confidently climbed up the stage. She took the mic in one hand and held the mic pole with the other. The melody begun, and Maria fluttered her eyes closed as she concentrated on it.
“I can’t say no, it’s ripping me apart… In a dark room, in cold sheets, I can’t feel a damn thing…”
Her voice was perfect, silky and sweet. She lightly swung herself to the music, “I tell myself I like that, when you tie my hands behind my back. You’re confident, I’ll give you that.”
Alexander loved her voice, it was perfect. It captured a lot of the song, sounded very powerful.
“Oh, the habits of my heart, I can’t say no, It’s ripping me apart, you get too close. You make it hard to let you go…”, with that the song ended. It was beautiful, and the crowd clapped. Maria smiled widely as she descended down and went back to their table. Next up was some Caroline. She was good as well, maybe a little bit off-key but it wasn’t something significant.
Alexander was truly curious how will Jefferson sound. He never heard him sing, he can’t even imagine him. But Jefferson held himself self-assured and wore his signature smug smirk as he got up. He grabbed the mic pole with one hand as well, holding the other limp at his side as he obviously concentrated on the beat. The song started.
“Work all day ‘till my feet get sore, keep on workin’ ‘till the whistle blow, oh – when the nighttime come. Oh – when the night time come.”
He was surprisingly good, actually. He never expected that he can pull out rapping with a southern accent, but there he was, actually defying laws of nature. Alexander watched the way he motioned his hand along the rhythm, obviously so into it that he hadn’t even realised it. “I appreciate the offers of all your subversive efforts, but to alleviate the haters and the scoffers and other jesters.” Damn. Alexander noticed small droplets of sweat dripping down his forehead, making his skin glisten under the club lights, “I’mma relegate myself to more obvious F- words: fuck my job, fuck my boss, fuck your finance, I give a fuck about these motherfuckers when I dance…”
Apparently Alexander was in trance to the point where John had to wave his hand in front of his face to make him focus. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh, what?” Alexander looked at the freckled boy, whose brows were furrowed in confusion, “Be a sweetheart and repeat, please?” Alexander smiled awkwardly.
“I said that he’s pretty good.” John said, “who knew that Jefferson was a rapper in heart”, John all but scoffed and Alex agreed.
“Fuck it, I’m American working class split persona, party like a rockstar, introverted loner, cubicle complacent but wait 'till I get on! You gon’ see a monster walking out the front door of his home.”Jefferson all but dropped the mic. He stepped away, taking few quick breaths and clasping his head once before stepping down with the same smirk. The crowd was even louder this time, obviously very satisfied with the show so far.
Now it was Alexander’s turn to sing. He’s not gonna lie, his palms were sweaty and he was soaked. He was very nervous for some reason. It’s not like this would be his first time, but there was some element he couldn’t name that made him feel as if this wasn’t just for fun and he had to impress. He glanced at them as he got to the mic. He grabbed it and held it with both hands, knowing he needed some kind of leverage. He released the breath he wasn’t aware he held as the song started playing.
His voice was admittedly very shaky at first, “I thought I saw the devil, this morning, looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue.” But then he felt a wave of encouragement in his chest. It was moments like these that he was grateful for his soulmate. He raised his voice with the newfound confidence, “With the warning, to help me see myself clearer. I never meant to start a fire. I never meant to make you bleed. I’ll be a better man today.”
He scanned through the audience and everyone’s eyes were trained on him. He looked towards his friends, and they were cheering and laughing. Except one person – Jefferson. But he didn’t look indifferent or anything like that. He was sipping his drink, but when he put his glass down, Alex could see that he was smiling. It wasn’t smug or despicable, like one may expect. His smile looked sincere and delighted. Alexander also knew in that moment that his soulmate was happy as well, and it was the only encouragement that he needed, “ I'll be good, I'll be good, and I'll love the world, like I should. Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good, for all of the time that I never could.” At this point, the audience was clapping in rhythm, “My past has tasted bitter for years now. So I wield an iron fist, grace is just weakness. Or so I've been told. I've been cold, I've been merciless, but the blood on my hands scares me to death. Maybe I'm waking up today.”
By now he realised how close the lyrics hit to home. Because he did ‘wield an iron fist’. Because he’s been merciless and cold, and a lot of that was directed at the people he held dearly. He swallowed, now taking the mic in his hand, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll love the world, like I should. I’ll be good, I’ll be good.”
“For all of the light that I shut out. For all of the innocent things that I've doubt. For all of the bruises that I've caused and the tears. For all of the things that I've done all these years. Yeah, for all of the sparks that I've stomped out,” deep breath, “For all of the perfect things that I doubt.”
He was sweating even more now, having to resist the urge to wipe his palms on his trousers. Well, not
He blinked quickly a few times and now looked up from the spot on the mic stand where his eyes were fixed on for the whole performance.
Yeah, I’ll be good. For all of the times I never could.” He looked at Thomas.
After his heartfelt performance, Alexander could finally feel some kind of relief. He felt a little dizzy as well, much to his soulmate’s amusement. He downed a glass of water and then proceeded to watch Laurens sing “I had little turtle, I his name was Tiny Tim. I put him in a bathtub to see if he could swim. He drank up all the water and ate a bar of soap, and now he’s in his bed with bubbles in his throat.” Alexander is ninety percent sure that this was Angelica’s idea. Pretty much everyone was cracking up, but John didn’t looked bothered. He actually seemed quite amused with it.
Now it was time to dance. Alexander usually wasn’t the one for techno music, but it was arguably the best thing to dance to in a club. The lights were dimmed, except the reflectors who were flashing colors like red, green and yellow in random order all over the place. Alex found himself in a mass of sweaty bodies. To his right, Maria held Eliza’s hands and swirled her around the dance floor, meanwhile somewhere in the distance Laurens was actually grinding against Burr. What a sight. He didn’t know if Burr had one too much, because not only did Alex not know if he was gay-slash-bi, even if he was, he surely wasn’t the one to take part in those kinds of activities. But they both looked as if they were having fun.
As he was making his way through the crowd, Alexander felt a pair of large, wet hands on his hips. The man reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, his breath against Alexander’s neck making the smaller man sick. He attempted to wrestle out of his grasp but the men held him close to his body. Alex felt something poke against his back side, and sure enough, it was the man’s hard-on. He panicked, felt his heard beating in his ears as the man bucked against his tight.
“Step away. He’s with me.” He heard a voice. A familiar voice. One he’d never imagine would be his savior in this situation. Jefferson, standing there and stone-cold looking at the man behind him. The man took the cue and lifted his hands up from Alexander’s hips and put them up defensively, while indeed stepping away. As if to prove his point, Jefferson grabbed Alex by his upper arm and gently pulled him towards himself, wrapping a hand (seemingly) possessively around his waist, as he watched the man go. That was a close call.
“Uh, thank you, I guess.” Alexander looked up at Jefferson, who momentarily released him from his hold. He put his hands to his side, looking like he didn’t know what exactly to do with them. If Alex didn’t know better, he’d say that he’s blushing, but it was probably due to heat. Alex was about to turn around but there was a hand on his shoulder. Nothing like the harsh pull like the man did it. It was a light, soft touch, as if only to grab his attention and not actually make Alex face him. But Alex did. He raised his eyebrows.
Thomas looked indecisive. After a short moment and one breath held, he said, “Wanna dance?”
Say what now? Did Alex hear him well enough? “What?”
“I thought just – you know, since we’re already here. What is there to lose?”
If Alexander was sober, he would have politely declined. But as you may assume, he was most definitely not the case. He smirked, “ I don’t see why not.” Jefferson arched his eyebrow and offered him a hand, which Alex took. And as if on cue, the music changed. It became louder and fasted. Jefferson ’ s hands found their way to Alexander’s hips, pulling him imposs ibly closer. He couldn’t describe the feeling, partially because he was buzzed, partially because his feelings were mixed with his soulmate’s. From what he managed to discern, his soulmate was excited, a tad bit nervous. He suddenly felt bad about himself for doing this kind of thing with Jefferson, of all people. But when he felt Jefferson’s breath against his neck, he abandoned the thought immediately. Alexander momentarily turned around, pressing his back against Jefferson’s front.
Don’t get him wrong; this isn’t something that Alexander usually does. He doesn’t just go in bars and grinds against strangers-slash-his-self-proclaimed-enemies. But he hasn’t had any action in way too long and this is an opportunity. There can be no harm in it, because neither of them will surely remember this by morning.
He manages to elicit a small, barely audible groan from the man behind him, feeling Jefferson’s grasp on his hips tighten, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, probably going to leave bruises . The more they move to the beat, the more venereal their actions get. Not that Alex minded. He felt Jefferson’s right hand travel towards the hem of his shirt. Alex rests his head back on Jefferson’s shoulder, his own hands going up to wrap around Jefferson’s neck. Jefferson pulled Alexander’s shirt out of his trousers, trailing his fingertips up his torso, barely touching his skin, making Alex shiver. He huffed impatiently, hearing Jefferson chuckle darkly.
The whole atmosphere is surreal. He couldn’t imagine this happening in a million years. P robably not with anyone, definitely never with Jefferson.
A lex tipped his head to softly graze his lips against Jefferson’s jawline. This gets Jefferson to bow his head down and connect their lips, the little act turning into a heated kiss in matter of moments. Jefferson’s hands hover over his crotch for a little while until he presses the heel of his hand against Alex, palming him through his trousers.
It’s quick, dirty and messy, and Alex loves it. Just what he needs. And so it happens to be with Jefferson.
It doesn’t take Alexander a lot of time until he’s spilling in his pants. It’s awkward and the feeling is uncomfortable but that’s something to worry about later. He turns around quickly and in the heat of the moment, decides to grab Jefferson by the collar of his jacket and pull him down in a kiss, pressing his tight between Jefferson’s legs, making the man moan in his mouth.
The time has stopped for both of them, Alex doesn’t know where to draw the line.
“Alexander. Alexander!”, he hears familiar voice. He realizes it’s Burr. Wait. Burr? He hopes his eyes an immediately his head hurts, the light apparently too bright, making him squint.
“Burr? Where the fuck am I?” He croaks.
“In our dorm. John and Lafayette brought you in yesterday. You weren’t conscious enough to even walk.” Burr laughs a little.
“What did I do? Why am I hungover?”
“It’s was John’s birthday yesterday.”
“Aha, yes. I remember now. We did karaoke, hadn’t we?” Alex lifted himself up on his forearm and his eyes went wide; there was a dried stain on the front of his pants, his button up was wrinkled and completely disheveled. He felt that his hair was greasy and messy, and he felt disgusting, still kind of sweaty.
“Yeah. You got wasted off your ass. Do you even remember what happened?”
“Uh,” Alex gave it a thought, “Not really.”
At that moment, they heard knocking on the door. Burr stood up from where he at at Alex’s bed and opened them. His face lit up at the sight of Laurens (who looked much better than Alex. His hair was in a low ponytail, his attire completely changed, and even from where he was on the bed, Alex could smell Lafayette’s lavender-scented body wash). Laurens’ eyes were bright as Burr pulled him close by the hands and kissed him chastely. Alex had so many questions about this, but he really didn’t feel like asking anything now.
He was in the shower, trying to scrub not only the bodily fluids away, but also a certain feeling of shame and disgust with himself . He could only imagine what he did if Burr didn’t want to tell him. He truly can’t remember on his own, but maybe it is indeed for the better. He steps out of the tub and dries himself with one of the fluffy white towels, wrapping one around his head. He dresses himself in the bathroom, for he learned that being almost naked out of it was quite risky around here. When he was done and got out, Burr was gone, presumably with Laurens. He noticed the screen of his phone light up. There’s a new text.
‘Have you had fun last night?’ Asked the unknown stranger.
‘Probably. Honestly, I don’t remember almost any of it, at least not after the karaoke.’
‘Interesting?? Elaborate maybe?? How’s that ‘interesting’ to you??’
Alexander got no reply.
The rest of the day just drags for him, and feels quite dull. Alex would say that nothing much has changed, that is, his yesterday’s actions hadn’t caused any arm, whatever they were. But as he walks into US history, he sees Jefferson standing just in front of the door, talking with Madison. For some reason, Alex decides to say ‘hi’. They aren’t on such bad terms lately, so he might as well, right?
But Jefferson just turns on his heel and leaves, not even subtly.
For all of the perfect things that I doubt…
I live off of comments and kudos
Madison is a little bit of a dick. Eliza is a mom. Burr is not soulless. Thomas/Alex bonding time.
So sorry for not updating yesterday. I didn't really feel like writing. But to make up for it, I present you the longest, the angitiest and the fluffiest chapter of all, so far. 5,613 words of an emotional roller coaster.
Also, if you want a better idea of their classes schedule, you can look at it here:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“I don’t know what’s wrong with Thomas. Why you ask, Hamilton?”, Madison said lazily, wearing a bored expression as he looked down upon the small immigrant that stood in front of his dorm for the last 10 minutes, banging on the door relentlessly until Madison would talk to him. He squinted his eyes at Madison, as if he suspected that Virginian knew more than he would tell. Not that Alexander could really blame him, because he would without a nanosecond of hesitation defend his friends, or keep things secret from prying eyes – or in this case – incessant immigrants.
“Aren’t you two as close as they get? I highly doubt that Jefferson wouldn’t say anything to you.” Alexander crossed his arms on his chest, still pouting. He tapped his foot on the floor in an impatient manner, eyeing Madison, not intending to drop his gaze.
“Look, I don’t know nothin’, ‘kay? Leave me alone now. I don’t have time for you.” He rolled his eyes, and just as Madison was about to shut the door in Alexander’s face, the smaller man pushed his foot forward to prevent the door from closing.
“One more thing -!”, Madison sighed heavily but Alexander ignored him, “-first of all, you can’t say ‘don’t know nothing’ because two negatives make a positive, which would, contrary to what you wanted to say, confirm that you have information that I may need. You’re lucky that I know what you meant.” Madison face-palmed, sick of Alexander’s shit.
“Why do you even want to know? Don’t you hate Thomas, anyways?” He interrupted Alex, who actually did stop talking and shut up for a moment.
“Well, hate is a strong word. But to answer your question, I want to know because it has been a week. A week of him letting me put him in his place in arguments, him not insulting me when he runs out of things to say – and not only in class. He just brushes past me in the hallways. And I was sure he can’t quite avoid me, because we do have a project together, so he “opted on doing the work from his dorm and just mail it to me, and we can meet in the library on Friday to practice our speech” -” Alexander did air quotes, “- and then he didn’t come to the library!” Alexander was at this point making crazy gestures with his hands, waving around the air, “You don’t understand, Madison, I need somebody to fight me. It’s how I get all the anger out. Yeah, he is an asshole but he served the purpose. Now he’s useless for me!”
Madison frowned at him, surely thinking what an odd creature Alexander must be. Why would anyone need somebody to ‘fight them’? What a bizarre concept. “Well, Hamilton, I am of no use to you regarding this… ‘issue’ you have with Thomas. Ask him, I don’t know. Don’t just go around being a nuisance because you can’t get what you want, for once in your life!” And then Madison really did slam the door in his face, making a loud sound that echoed through the hall, making Alex flinch and step back. He’s never seen the aggressive side of Madison, if this can even be called that. It surely is the most ‘violent’ thing he’s ever seen the Virginian do. Because Madison was usually spiteful and often times snide, but overall most bearable and tranquil out of Jefferson, Monroe, Seabury or Conway.
Alex decided to go visit Eliza. She probably doesn’t know what’s happening between them, but surely can give him some advice or can make a guess. Besides, she maybe has seen what happened at Teddy’s.
The girls’ dorms are one floor up, so he takes the stairs. It’s noon and a lot of people have classes at this time, Alex, Madison, Eliza and a few other people being an exception, so it’s relatively peaceful in the usually buzzing and crowded hallways. He reached her room, number 289, and knocked on the door three times, in a much calmer manner, with his knuckles rather than slamming his whole palm against the wooden surface. After few brief moments, he heard footsteps followed by the sound of a lock unlocking, the familiar click before he found himself facing Eliza. She smiled when she saw it’s him, her face lighting up immediately. “Alex!”, she chirped, “what brings you here?”
“I need your help, ‘Liza.” He said, tilting his head a little.
“Sure, come in,” she moved to the side and closed the door after him. Immediately he rose his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Maria sprawled on Eliza’s bed, flipping the pages of some fashion magazine absently. He bid her a quick ‘hey’ and Maria smiled in return. He didn’t question, although he was tempted to sweep his troubles aside and go on find out why are the two so chill, seeing as they haven’t really had any contact with one another until last week. Eliza knew Maria as Alexander’s go-to drinking buddy, and Maria knew Eliza as Alexander’s high-school best bud.
Eliza brought him to their kitchen area, where she leaned against the counter and put her hands on her hips and slightly jerked her head, letting Alex know that he can spill the beans now. Alex called this ‘mom mode’, because she would usually be very demanding and sought to squeeze any detail out from Alexander. He crossed his arms, not knowing what else to do with them, but feeling uncomfortable with them hanging limply at his sides. In one breath he said, “It’s about Jefferson.”
“Pardon me?”, Eliza looked at him worriedly, a spark of anger appearing in her eyes at the mention of Jefferson’s name, one Alexander knew would fan into a flame if he doesn’t explain soon. He loathes the man, but he’d never wish his worst enemies to get on Eliza’s bad side, “What did the bastard do this time? I swear when I first see him I will -”
“No, no”, he assured her, stepping forward and grabbing Eliza by the wrists to pull her hands down, since she gestured furiously with them as her fury grew, riling her up, “That’s actually the problem. He didn’t do anything.”
Alexander then proceeded to explain everything, telling her precisely what he did to Madison just minutes ago.
Washington was packing his things after class. His head was filled with thoughts about how unusual today’s class was. It went peacefully without many fights, which was not uncommon for him, as he practiced discipline – but with Thomas and Alexander in the same room, it was hardly ever the case. Alexander did at first try to make some jabs at Thomas, provoke him in some way, but Thomas ignored him. But it wasn’t something like ‘I’m ignoring you because you’re below my level’. Thomas looked as if he physically didn’t posses the strength required to counter Alexander. That never happened. He even saw Thomas Conway and Samuel Seabury stay put and observe what was going on with wide eyes, casting looks at not only Thomas and Alexander, but also James Madison, as if looking for some kind of explanation – one that James didn’t give them. He only shrugged.
After some time of that, Alexander realised he would never get any response, and while he certainly did not stop expressing his opinions, he did give up on getting anything from Thomas. It’s wasn’t like every once in a while one of the two has had a particularly bad day so they aren’t as fierce and ferocious as usual, although more often than not, Alexander was the one needing some kind of brake. It never went on for so long, if Washington isn’t mistaken, it has already been a week.
It was much easier to teach without somebody constantly interrupting him, don’t get him wrong. He managed to do so much more work today than he would usually do in 2 classes. Maybe he should stop worrying about this, maybe the immigrant and the Virginian have made peace. It was a nice illusion to live in for a moment, even though his common sense and right mind told him that it wasn’t going to happen in a million years, much less in a week.
He walked out of the classroom and locked the door. The last thought he entertained was that they do have paired presentations next class, that is, on Tuesday, and he’ll wait and see if he’s right regarding Alexander-Thomas situation.
“Excuse me, Sir.”
He heard a voice and when there was nobody in his field of vision, he knew he had to look down, “Good day, Mr. Hamilton. What’s on your mind?” He asked, lips twitching into a small, pleasant smile.
“About the presentations,” Alexander twiddled with his fingers. George has never seen him nervous in his whole life, therefore he didn’t know whether to be amused or worried. He decided to listen first and then jump to conclusions.
“Is it okay if Jefferson and I present it… first? Like, before everybody else? If that’s okay, Sir.” He looked up at Washington with hopeful eyes.
George considered the idea, and wondered what might be the reason behind it. He wanted to ask, for a moment, but decided against it, because right now, he is supposed to go home and definitely doesn’t have time or nerves to listen to Alexander’s undoubtedly long and detailed speech about why exactly his suggestion is the best suggestion Washington has ever heard and probably nothing will top it. Maybe George is a little over exaggerating.
He and Alexander split ways and he leaves the building.
He only manages to take few steps until he reaches a crowd of students, from freshmen to seniors. They are shouting, some incoherent words but also very discernible ‘FIGHT! FIGHT!’ and one particularly loud ‘FUCK HIM UP!’. George doesn’t think twice before dropping his bags and books and running towards them. He pushed his way through them, students upon seeing him moving to create a free path for the professor.
George reaches the middle and his eyes go wide upon seeing the men fighting – Thomas Jefferson against Conway and Monroe, with Seabury chanting particularly loudly in the crowd. When the three caught the sight of him, they stopped. Thomas was on the floor, however, he held Conway in a headlock, while the said man was trashing his legs around, scratching against Thomas’s forearm. Meanwhile Monroe held Thomas down by pulling his hair back, exposing his neck, and pinning him down with one legs pressed up against his chest, his hand planted by the side of Thomas’ head. They were messy, their clothes ripped and a fair dose of blood was on the concrete ground and themselves.
“Gentlemen! Get up! Now!”, he practically growled at them, feeling rage boiling in him. He subconsciously clenched his fists at his sides as he watched the three untangle themselves and stand up. He looked at each one with caution. He noticed a bruise blooming under Thomas’s right eye and his lip, swelling on the left side and a single cut on its right, droplets of blood dripping down his chin. His purple button-up is torn on its shoulder, as if somebody was trying to grab him and pull him back. Some of his buttons have popped off, and his white undershirt is drenched with blood and sweat. He looks utterly defeated, but his gaze doesn’t lack his determination and pride as he looks directly into Washington’s eyes, until professor’s gaze moves to Conway and Monroe. The two look no better, Monroe’s shirt equally ruined and hair out of the ponytail, the hairband holding itself on the few strands that have not escaped. Conway, on the other hand, is bent over at the waist and coughing, his hand at his throat.
“Follow me. You’re going to have a chat with the dean, understand?”
The three nodded in sync and Thomas shot one daring look to Monroe and Conway before following. Conway flipped him off but retrieved his hand when George gave him a warning look.
It’s 8 pm and Alexander is freaking out. Jefferson said that he would meet him in the library today. They have to practice, God fucking dammit. Jefferson stood him up once already, and this is not the time. They have to present their work tomorrow, and since Alex asked Washington to call them out first (because he wants to be done with it already) they can’t risk anything, because leaving a good impression is a must. When he sent at least 10 emails that go along the lines of ‘Get your irresponsible ass in the library or so help me’ and got no response, he went as far as to ask Burr to give him Jefferson’s number.
‘This is Hamilton. Where are you?’ 7:42 pm.
‘I am not joking here, you piece of shit.’ 7: 44 pm.
‘Why aren’t you answering me?????’ 7:48 pm.
‘I should have know you’d do something like this.’ 7:49 pm.
‘Of course you would leave me to do all the work.’ 7:97 pm.
‘I mean, at least I hoped you’d make me write your speech so you can read it. I thought we could at least practice.’ 7:49 pm.
‘Don’t even talk to me. I’ll do it all by myself.’ 7:49 pm.
Alexander has had enough.
‘Don’t bother coming to class tomorrow, I can do all the speaking on my own.’
Alex must say he was half surprised when indeed, the class has started and Jefferson did come. It’s fine though, he prepared himself. So when Washington said, “You have the floor, gentlemen”, and only Alexander stepped down in front of the board and pulled down the white canvas for the Power Point presentation, Washington frowned at him in question. Alexander just shrugged and professor knowingly looked away, much to Alexander’s confusion.
“Lin-Manuel Miranda, also known as one of the youngest Founding Fathers, was born in Washington Heights, New York. Himself, as well as Anthony Ramos – President Jackson’s aide-de-camp, Okieriete Onaodowan – an Irish spy, and Daveed Diggs, a French general – are the…”, he continued. This time, he didn’t speak as if he put his heart and soul into the work (even though he did), his eyes didn’t glimmer with pride as the students clapped after he finished. He made a small bow, said ‘Thank you’ with a forced smile, and went back to his seat. This left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was so angry at the southern bastard. How dare he leave him hanging like that? He had the audacity to, after all that the two has been through, leave all the work on Alexander? He would maybe understand if it was somebody like Seabury. But Alexander knew for a fact that Jefferson never half-asses his projects. Alexander realizes he should maybe stop thinking about it because it only infuriates him more. He watched as Madison and Maria talked about Anthony Ramos, and their report was almost flawless. They talked loudly and clearly, Maria’s sing-song voice echoing through the classroom. They were relax around each other, as if they were best friends.
After the bell rung, Alexander went straight to his dorm and took a cold shower to calm his nerves. Burr looked at him funny as the small man practically sprinted out of the bathroom and angrily tossed his clothes on, undoubtedly ripping his hoodie in the armpit area due to the aggressive way it was pulled on. Burr has never considered ‘pulling on clothes aggressively’ a thing. Apparently it was when it came to Alexander.
Alexander’s phone made a high-pitched ‘ping’ sound and the man suddenly stopped. Only in his shirt, boxers and a single grey sock he trotted to the bed and took the device in his hands. His brows furrowed as he read the text preview on his lock screen. It was from a contact ‘Jeffershit’.
‘Sorry. I was busy.’
He was busy? The bastard was busy? If Alexander was not angry enough already, he was furious now. Deep breaths, Alex, he told himself in his head, although he almost crushed his cell with how much pressure he squeezed it with, or threw it in a wall. He quickly pulled his sweats on and stomped out of the room, much to Burr’s confusion.
He ran down the hall, pushing himself past the students who looked at him with question on their faces, before he reached the dorm Alex knew was Jefferson’s, number 217. He hit his closed fist on the door a couple of times before he heard footsteps coming towards them. He was surprised to see Madison, rather than Jefferson. Madison looked at him lazily. Angry with Jefferson and sick of his bullshit, he almost forgot his manners (what was left of them) and barged in. It took all the power of will stored in his small body not to knock Madison down and come in screaming at Jefferson.
“Now is not the time, Hamilton.” Madison said. He did not sound angry or annoyed, just kind of careful and wary, which was not like him. Well, in truth Madison was a quiet guy, but he sure did have a hell of a lot to say when confronting Alexander.
“It’s none of your business, really. Piss off.” He almost closed the door, but yet again, already familiar with the situation, Alexander stopped them from closing with sliding his body closer, just under the door frame, halfway into the room. Madison flinched away. There was nothing he could do to get him out now. The man was like a tick; he just kept coming to places he was not welcome to and then stuck there.
“Hamilton, I’m being serious, this is not a good time -”, Madison attempted, but Alexander’s eyes were already scanning the room, and the moment he trained them on Jefferson, he stopped. He closed his mouth that were fallen agape and his figure tensed. Alexander thought to himself that he has never seen the man so… so utterly dead-looking as he was now.
Jefferson was lying on his bed, facing the wall. One of his hands was under the pillow and the other looked as if he held it to his chest. He was halfway covered with the purple (what a surprise) blanket, revealing some skin below his waist. Alexander actually squeaked and turned around, facing Madison again.
“Who’s here, Jemmy?” He drawls, southern accent thicker than ever.
“It’s uh – Hamilton.” Madison says, scratching the back of his neck, “I couldn’t keep him out.”
Jefferson sighs heavily, and after a moment, says, “Of course he is.”
Alexander could hear rustling of the sheets and he stuttered, “Are you decent?”
He hears Jefferson chuckle, “Morally, no. But I am wearing pants, if that’s what you mean.” Of course he’d say something like that, but he sounded oddly bitter. Regardless, Alexander shyly turns around. He walks few steps closer, admittedly a tad bit annoyed that Jefferson refuses to look at him; he has a lot to say to his face. “I won’t be here for too long. I just came to say a few things on my mind.” Alexander begun, the initial coyness now completely washed away and the anger swept back inside him. He was that close to begin spewing insults and yelling when he felt something.
Something that he didn’t feel for a while now, and it made him halt for a moment.
A wisp of his soulmate’s emotions. Some kind of hurt mixed with stress and maybe even despair? It left a sour taste in his mouth and almost immediately he wasn’t in the mood for having a shouting match with Jefferson.
“What do you want, Alexander? I can feel your indecisiveness from over here.” Alex squinted. Before he managed to say his response, he heard the door of the room close and he assumed Madison left, as he couldn’t sense his presence in the fairly smaller room anymore.
“Well – initially I came her because you have been ignoring me for a week,” his voice was strong and reflected confidence, however, it was difficult trying to be intimidating and what not when his chest hurt and he didn’t know why. I mean, obviously because of his soulmate but it was absolutely tearing him apart that he didn’t know what or who had the audacity to make them feel this way, “have anything to say in your defense? Maybe explain why did I have to do almost all the work on my own and present it alone?”
Jefferson said nothing. Alexander observed him carefully as he stayed motionless for only a moment. And then he started to turn around. First thing Alexander noticed as he was still in movement was nail markings, like claws, across his shoulder. Jefferson was shifting into the position on his back agonizingly slowly. He laid back with a heavy grunt, eyes clenching shut for a moment, before he looked at Alexander. The immigrant’s face was horrified first at the sight of Jefferson’s almost mangled torso, riddled with scratched and dark bruises. On his hip was a large white plaster. His eyes trailed back up to his face, which was in no better condition. His lip was swollen and cut, another bruise under his eye and a long but thin wound on the left side of his face. On the said wound was a gauze, secured with first-aid tape. His knuckles and upper right arm were wrapped with a sterile dressing, fingerprint-shaped bruises around his neck and collarbone area. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, as if he was crying. Alexander never felt sorry for him, had no sympathy for this vile man. But he couldn’t help the way his face dropped and brows furrowed when their eyes locked.
Half-dressed, apologetic, a mess – he looked pathetic. Alexander thought that he would never relate those adjectives to Jefferson, but here he is.
“Christ, Jefferson, what happened to you?” His voice was harsher and more reserved than intended. Jefferson chuckled bitterly, causing his body to jerk in pain afterwards.
“What d’ya think?” His voice was rather hoarse. Speaking caused him obvious discomfort, Alexander noticed.
“Well shit, Jefferson, I don’t know. I don’t go around keeping an eye on you all the time.” Alexander saw Jefferson’s eyebrows knit together, but he couldn’t read his expression. “I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -"
“It’s fine, Hamilton. I know what you meant.” He said, turning his face towards the ceiling. Alexander looked around and spotted a small stool near Jefferson’s bed. He walked over and pulled it next to the bed, eliciting a confused face from the Virginian. He sat himself down on it and stuck his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
“The hell are you doing, Hamilton?” Jefferson brought his arm up and rested it above his head. Alexander shrugged, saying a silent ‘dunno’ before leaning back into the chair and relaxing with a heavy exhale.
“I… I suppose, if we put my initial intention to scream at you aside, I kind of want to… talk?” He cast and uncertain glance at the man in bed, who was absently flicking his messy curls and then hummed for Alex to continue. “I guess we never got the chance. And plus, for the first time I don’t actually feel threatened in your presence.” This made Jefferson laugh a little, and Alexander felt the warmth in his chest from his soulmate, some kind of pitiful happiness like a ray of sunlight in the dark clouds and the storm of negative emotions. Alex didn’t even consider it then, just subconsciously listed it as another case of a wild coincidence.
“What did you want to talk about?” Jefferson asked, sounding somewhat uncertain.
“Our… erm… ‘relationship’.” He did some half-assed air quotes.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Jefferson blurted out instantly. “For, you know… treating you like shit.”
“It’s… it’s fine.” Alexander said dismissively. Only it was not fine. It wasn’t right for Jefferson to do all those things and make his life harder than it already is. It was not fair. But at least he apologized now, that was a good start, right? Alex didn’t have the heart to tell it to his face right now, seeing how pitiful he looks. He must be in pain enough. Alexander told himself that it makes him a bigger person right now, because he was at least considerate of other man’s circumstances, something Jefferson never was. “I… I forgive you.”
Jefferson blinked, as if needing a moment to realise what did Alex actually say and comprehend it. “Thanks, Alex.” Alex. Alex. There it was again. It was the second time Jefferson caught him off guard with the casual first-name basis.
“No problem”, he hesitated, “Thomas.”
Jefferson didn’t look quite as phased at the use of his name as was Alexander, but the smaller man did see him flinch. However, he also caught a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, one that disappeared as soon as Jefferson saw him staring.
They talked more or less for about 20 more minutes, mostly about school. Alexander then asked who did Jefferson get in a fight with, and then why. But Jefferson was very vague when explaining the reason, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Alexander wanted to know but didn’t want to risk their temporary truce by pushing it, so he nodded and accepted what Jefferson has given him (“Uh – we had a minor disagreement but they took it to heart, I suppose.”)
At some point, Alexander had to leave because he had sociology, and Adams would not be happy if he ditched it again. Alexander rose up from the chair and turned around towards the door. He bid Jefferson goodbye with a smile, which Jefferson returned. It was beyond weird. Alexander didn’t know where they stood, what were they considered. He hoped that they were not enemies anymore. He would accept if the man grudgingly tolerate him, because it would mean that maybe he would stop being mean. Well, he had apologized, hadn’t he? That should mean that he would stop, right?
In any case, Alexander found himself not being able to hate him again. It didn’t mean that he was fond of him, God no. But it’s just… when you see someone like that, barely able to move, it makes you reconsider a lot of things about them, feel him?
The day went in a blur for him. He made notes in class, of course, he’d never risk repeating the disaster with King again. But talking with his friends and other classes passed in a blur. He went to bed around 1 am, but he fell asleep surprisingly quickly. He slept well that night, for the first time in forever, really. He supposes it was because there wasn’t anything bothering him anymore, because he was not afraid anymore, because he didn’t feel so much hatred trying not to burst out of his small frame into a hissy fit. Because his conscious was clear again.
He woke up at 7, with the morning sun making golden stripes on their fluffy, brown carpet as the rays found their way through the blinds, and he chirp of birds that would usually make him cranky, now setting an almost idyllic atmosphere. He was light on his feet as he padded to their kitchen area and grabbing a small carton of chocolate milk and drinking it with a straw (“Like a child”, as Burr would often comment. In those situations, Alexander would just stick his tongue out at Burr, which would really only prove Burr’s point). He sat up on the counter, another thing that Burr hated seeing him do. But Burr was asleep, so fuck his stupid rules.
And then it dawned on him,
He woke up before Burr.
Shit, that never happens. He was kind of proud. To reward himself, Alexander made himself breakfast – some quick cornflakes and milk, but it was good because he usually never got to eat breakfast. Life was good.
His phone buzzed and he walked back to his bed with the bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in his mouth. He looked almost comical, in a white undershirt and beige boxers, messy hair and an ugly three-day-beard. He doesn’t realise the way his eyes light up when he sees a text from “Jeffershit”. ‘Come over?’, it said. Very simple, but it woke up some kind of giddiness in Alexander.
Burr looks at him as if he was possessed or something when he realizes that he’s awake. He dismisses it soon, when he dresses up and (surprise) Laurens comes. They are disgustingly cute. Who knew that Burr could get so lovey-dovey with anyone, really. Alexander could hear Laurens giggling all the way to the bathroom, where he was shaving his face, settling on his usual circular ‘van dyke’-ish beard. Today he opted on wearing jeans and a green long-sleeved v-neck shirt. His classes today start at 11, and it’s literature with Mr. King. This realization would usually put him out of good mood, because of course, King was the person he despised the most. But he did not have a care in the world right now, as he bid Burr and Laurens goodbye (and made a jokingly disgusted face when Laurens shifted on Burr’s lap to kiss him, not missing the way Burr grinned at him and rolled his eyes upon seeing Alex’s face. Maybe he wasn’t such a stone-cold, mood killer after all).
He knocked on the door 217, patiently waiting for presumably Madison to open the door, with his hands clasped behind his back. Which Madison did and just as the Virginian's face darkened and he opened his mouth to protest why is Alex here again, they heard a voice coming from inside the room, “Let him in, Jemmy.” Madison was obviously surprised but did comply. Alexander nodded him in thanks. Before Alex could say anything, James just stuttered, “I’ll uh, I’ll go out. I have – erm, I have places to be.”
Jefferson was still in the same position as yesterday, though his hair was wet and tied in a bun, and his blankets were changed.
“Hey.” He smiled a little and took his position on the chair at the bedside, much like yesterday.
Few minutes into their conversation, Jefferson asked, suddenly. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
Alexander frowned a little, agreeing, “Shoot.”
“Are we enemies?”
“No.” Alexander was quick to answer. He hoped Jefferson wasn’t about to ask if they were friends, because Alexander didn’t know the answer to that, in all honesty. But Jefferson didn’t ask. Apparently ‘not enemies’ worked for the both of them. Alexander considered something for a little, before swallowing and looking at Jefferson, shifting on his chair. “Can I ask something”?
“Go ahead.” Jefferson said casually, but Alexander didn’t miss the streak of possible fear flashing in his eyes for a moment, and he tried his best to reassure him that it wasn’t anything serious. Well, anything too serious.
“On Laurens’ birthday… in that club. I apparently did something. Something possibly unethical, so much so that not even Burr would tell me. And he loves making my life miserable,” he said the last part jokingly but his heart was still beating with worry.
Thomas acted all cool, but he panicked. He didn’t know what to tell him. The truth, jackass, he told himself. But he wasn’t ready to tell Alexander the full truth. He told himself that he didn’t want to lose him again, that is, make Alexander hate him again, but mainly he hesitated for a much more selfish reason.
He liked it.
It took days, more than a week, for him to admit it to himself. He at first blamed it on the drinks and the fact that his lay was a month ago with some random chick in some random bar. But then he reasoned with himself; he couldn’t blame it on the drinks because he wasn’t drunk. He had one glass of whiskey the entire night (Alexander on the other hand…). That was the reason he managed to tell a difference between Alex acting like a slut he is, and grinding on some random guy, and the guy forcibly holding Alex. Of course it was the right thing to get up and get him out of the situation, no matter how much he disliked Hamilton. But he didn’t need to stay. He didn’t need to ask Alex to dance. He didn’t need to palm him through his trousers. He didn’t need to kiss him. He didn’t need to make him come in his pants. He didn’t need to let him do the same. He didn’t need to bask in the post-orgasmic afterglow and rest his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, breathing heavily in his neck, nipping on the sweaty skin. He didn’t need to put his hands back to Alex’s hips and bring him closer, so that their chests were pressed together. He didn’t need to pull his hair and kiss it with unknown hunger.
He didn’t need to. But he did it.
So with the best serious face and flat voice he could pull off, pretending that remembering those moments didn’t affect him, didn’t send the blood rushing in his lower regions, he said, “I don’t really remember, much like you. Had one too many shots.” and to top it all off, he laughed a little, to punctuate the statement.
Thank you for reading <3
Flowerdew drama, 'not-enemies'-ship, watching a movie and spooning.
Things also begin to resolve.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It’s been a week already, since the day that Alexander came to Jefferson’s dorm and found him miserable like that. It’s been a week since Jefferson and him overcame their differences and became… not-enemies. It’s been a week since Jefferson asked him to ‘come over’, more than once. It’s been a week since they had talked for so long and didn’t break into fights. It’s been a week since their mutual insulting has turned into friendly banter. It’s been a week since Jefferson didn’t use personal things to put Alexander down in debates. It’s been a week since Alexander got to see the different side of the man, the side that people like Madison, Lafayette or even Angelica got to see.
It’s been a week since he got to call him ‘Thomas’.
It’s been a week since he Monroe and Conway beat him up in the parking lot. It’s been a week since he admitted to himself that he doesn’t mind Hamilton so much. It’s been a week since Hamilton came to his dorm, riled up and prepared to fight, but found sympathy for him and stayed. It’s been a week since they admitted to each other that they are not enemies. It’s been a week since he has asked for Hamilton’s company more than few times, and Hamilton always came. It’s been a week since he started to notice little things about Hamilton, like the way he runs his fingers through his hair on impulse when he gets deep in thought, or the way he fiddles with his fingers when he’s nervous, or the way he scratches the spot behind his ear when he runs out of things to say. It’s been a week since Hamilton stopped completely avoiding him
It’s been a week since he got to call him ‘Alexander’.
Alex was on his way to class, poli-sci with Mrs. Flowerdew. He liked her, and he’s convinced that everybody here loves her, not just students, but professors and staff as well. What’s there not to like, about her? She’s kind, smart, and funny on occasions. She’s very pretty, with cinnamon hair and crystal blue eyes, petit frame and round, friendly face. She’s also strikingly close to their age; the oldest students on campus are 24-25, as of right now, and she’s 27. Truth be told, those are the students that took a break for a year or two before college (those rich kids who can afford it), transfers (like Laf, who is – despite being a year older – in the same year as they are since high school), or simply people who failed a year, although there are only one or two of those. Those are also mostly rich kids who can afford to fail, since their scholarship or student loans don’t depend on their success.
Flowerdew, however, came to class today looking utterly lost. Her hair, although in a low ponytail, looked greasy, as if it wasn’t washed for some time, a few strands even sticking out. Her eyes weren’t vibrant as usual, her face lacked the usual blush, the signature rosy cheeks and soft skin. She even wore black pants and jacket today, under which was a dark grey blouse. This wasn’t anything usual for her, since she would often wear dresses in lively colors, like yellow, pink or perhaps blue. This visibly made a lot of students confused, however they did refrain from asking much questions. Her lesson today was dull and she let them out 5 minutes before the bell, which never happens.
Alexander was utterly puzzled. His first instinct was to talk to Martha, since the old librarian was known to be a gossip. But he didn’t have the time, so he thought about something quickly. That unknown person that texted him… they might have been in the class with him? Admittedly it would be a wild coincidence, but he can’t know for sure if he doesn’t try.
Thankfully it was his last class, so he walked to his dorm. The doors were closed, which – he thought sarcastically – was a new thing. Usually Burr would left them open (“Fresh air, Alexander. You can’t think clearly if you keep yourself closed off so much, and that tiny excuse of a window isn’t doing much.” Sweet Jesus.) He attempted to open them but the door knob wouldn’t bulge. He shook it and pushed the door with his shoulder. He heard a voice from the inside. You guessed it.
“Fuu- ahh – just leave, we’re busy!” Alexander would be dammed if this wasn’t Laurens’ voice. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what Burr and Laurens are surely up to and immediately stepped back. They could have put a sock or a tie on the door, like normal people.
He thought about going to Lafayette’s, and immediately turned back on his heel. Lafayette’s dorm was one floor below his, and he prayed that he could remember where it was. He didn’t go there often, mostly because 1) Lafayette had Skype sex with Adrienne 90% of his free time and 2) Lafayette’s roommate was Seabury. Alexander loathed the man, more so than Monroe or Conway. The two were bullies yes, but they were your classic high-school jocks. All muscle and no brains (well, they were smart, but they didn’t tend to use logic or common sense). But Seabury? He was sly and sleazy, vile and despicable. He looked for loopholes, he used anonymous methods to hurt other people, never getting into physical arguments himself. As far as Alexander was aware, even Thomas didn’t like him, which was (if he was looking back at the time where he didn’t know Thomas as well as he does now) the flashing red sign, since Thomas’ friends usually were people of the same minds set as himself – Conway, Madison et cetera.
Luckily for him, Seabury was out. But Lafayette wasn’t alone by any means.
“Thomas?”, he asked as he opened the door.
Thomas and Laf were sitting on the couch, Laf’s hair out of a bun. Fuck, he wasn’t sure which one of them was Thomas, since they both sat on the bed in matching shirts and were trouser-less. Lafayette always had a canny resemblance to the Virginian, but it never posed as a problem. But then the man closer to the back of the room looked up and arched one of his eyebrows. “What’cha need, pipsqueak?”, he asked, but the ‘nickname’ didn’t hold any malice behind it now.
“Uh, Laurens and Burr are fucking so – I didn’t have anywhere else to be.”
Lafayette smiled broadly and patted the spot on the bed next to him, “Well you should have just said something, petit lion! Come and join us.”
“I wouldn’t want to bother you two in… whatever you were doing” Alexander gestured at stacks of tissues on the floor and nail polishes.
“Thomas was just doing my nails, since I can’t do them right on my feet, ever, for some reason.” Lafayette shrugged. Alexander chuckled and smirked a little at Thomas. “Didn’t know you were an expert, Thomas.”
Thomas smirked back, “Well, I’d hardly say I’m an expert.” He winked, actually making Alex blush a little.
“Didn’t know you two were on first name basis. Hell, I didn’t know you could be in the same room for .2 seconds and not rip out each other’s throats.” Lafayette noticed absently as Alexander shuffled onto the bed next to him. They were watching Pitch Perfect 2, Lafayette’s favourite movie and the one he’s probably watched over 100 times already. Alexander hated it from the core. It was too perfect, the way circumstances added up just right to make everything happen the way it did. It’s way too cliché and predictable. Lafayette says that cliché-s make it all more fun, but Alexander wouldn’t agree. But oh well, he can adapt to the circumstances. He’ll try not to bash the movie as they watched, though he didn’t miss the couple of times Thomas rather obviously scoffed, much to Laf’s both amusement and displeasure, and the Frenchman swatted him playfully with his hand.
It’s been maybe an hour, and Thomas and Alex were already in an argument; not the aggressive kind, or rude, but something that could be called a friendly crosstalk. Lafayette, unfortunately finding himself in the middle of them, had Alexander practically bent over him, using his tights as a leverage as he screamed something at Thomas, who much like Alexander, was crouching and angrily gesturing his hands in the air.
“Okay – okay, I’ll be right back,” Laf said and wiggled out and headed towards the bathroom. Alexander cooled down a little, leaning back against the wall. Thomas did the same, running a lazy hand through his hair. Alexander wrinkled his nose at a particular scene in the movie where Fat Amy got struck by burritos or some other generic fast food. Thomas chuckled at that, resulting in Alex leaning towards him and smacking him in the shoulder.
“Watch it, pipsqueak.” Thomas said, but there was no particular bite behind the ‘threat’.
Suddenly Lafayette came back, “Ah, see, this is good”, Alex and Thomas raised eyebrows at the French, “This, how you say, banter. You aren’t clawing at each other’s throats. Just a little back-and-forth. I must say I never expected that to be the case, but know that I am proud of you two, mon petit lion et tigre!” Lafayette practically squealed, at what Alex snorted. He would never be friends with one Thomas Jefferson, but it seemed as though Thomas as well preferred what they had right now, instead of initiating becoming anything more, undoubtedly making their already fragile relationship even more awkward.
As if on cue, Hercules strolled into the room, closing the door behind himself. He first glanced at Lafayette and Jefferson, probably trying to distinguish the two (making Lafayette groan rather audibly and then pull his hair up in a bun) and then at Jefferson and Hamilton, sitting oddly close to each other and watching TV. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked with a knowing smirk and a wink. Alexander paled and stuffed his face into his palms, and Jefferson just snickered and winked back. Of course he would still use any opportunity to torment Alex. Of course, this wasn’t by any means measurable to what he did before, but somehow, him getting close with his friends was even worse than that, Alexander thought, because of course, they would not resist telling Jefferson all the embarrassing things Alex did in past – much like they did when Burr became acquainted with them. He knew that the assumption was quite a leap, but he was willing to bet on it.
“So…”, Hercules drawled, “I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“We’re not!”, Alexander shot out in a nanosecond after Hercules finished his sentence. He noticed Thomas raising eyebrows at him, a lopsided smirk plastered on his features.
“Huh. It sure seemed as if you guys were at least that, based off of your actions on John’s…” Hercules was beginning to say but then caught the sight of Jefferson frantically shaking his head and decided not to ask the question. “I mean, I saw that Jefferson chased away that dude, is all.”
Alexander glanced at Thomas, who shrugged and awkwardly smiled. Alex looked away in the similar awkward manner. This all was unusual, and Hercules’s and Lafayette’s friendliness towards Thomas was getting out of hand. He must’ve looked deep in thought as he heard Thomas muse, “Already in some parallel Hamilton Universe? What, you got some kind of idea?”
Alexander looked up and momentarily decided to say, “Yes. Problem?”
“No, not in the slightest. I assume you’ll also write this one down and work yourself over limits until ungodly hours of the night?”
“Maybe. Besides, how do you even know that? Are you a stalker?” Hamilton had said this to only one person ever, besides his friends. The stranger on the phone, no less.
“Alex, you look decent enough but don’t flatter yourself. It’s very obvious how poor your self-care is. You’ll be dead to lack of sleep in a year. I’ll give you two, even.” Jefferson snorted, pissing Alex off just a little bit
“Thomas is right, petit lion, you do write like you’re running out of time.” Lafayette said and he heard Jefferson grumble ‘because if he keeps it up, he is gonna run out pretty quickly’. Lafayette paid him no mind.
“You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
“A force to be reckoned with! I’ll take that as a compliment.” Alexander folded his arms on his chest and sat back, smugness overflowing his future. He felt his soulmate’s amusement in the spot around his heart.
“It certainly wasn’t meant to be one.” Thomas said and poke his tongue out at Alex, like an overgrown child he is.
“Whatever you say.” Alex replied and Thomas arched one of his eyebrows. Damn him and his stupid, prefect eyebrows
“Well, Alexander, I wasn’t aware you thought of me as perfect. Next thing you know, you’ll find me charming.”
Alexander felt his ears burn with embarrassment as he dared to look at the Virginian. “Did I say that aloud?”
“Sure did, darlin’. Now, as much as I’d like to hear your poetic thoughts about my exceedingly fine features, we have two other people in the room. You might want to take your blatant adoration down a notch, yeah?” Thomas had the audacity to say, much to Hercules’ and Lafayette’s amusement, seeing as the both of them bursted out into laughter. A rush of blood colored Alex’s face and neck as the immigrant stared intensely at his lap. Suddenly he felt a large hand messing though his hair and he was blessed with another one of Thomas’ stupid remarks, “Don’t bite yourself over it too much, darlin’. We all know I’m irresistible.”
“I second that,” said Laf through giggles. Alexander just looked at him with a scowl and said, “You look pretty much like his long lost twin.”
“Exactly,” Laf said and winked, of all things. This day wasn’t really going as Alexander planned, but he’ll live.
“Well, you’re full of yourself, Jefferson. That much is obvious. I don’t know how anyone would find you irresistible when they get to know you.”
“Dear Alexander, you wound me,” Thomas pretended to wipe a tear away, but only a moment later he added, “What, do you wanna be full of me too?” and winked. There sure was a hell of a lot of winking going on in the room. However, as much as it disgusted Hamilton only thinking about this, it made Hercules and Lafayette only laugh harder.
“That one was a knee-slapper, Jefferson, I’ll give you that,” Hercules said, actually wiping a tear away.
Alexander threw his hands in the air and slumped back, totally giving up on trying to reason with either of them.
Soon enough, they recoiled and found themselves all on Lafayette’s bed, now Alex being next to Thomas, Laf next to Alex, and Hercules in between Laf’s legs, resting his head on the Frenchman’s chest. It was a rather interesting sight, as they all were visibly focused on watching ‘The Princess and the Frog’. It was Thomas’ and Hercules’s favourite cartoon, much to both of their surprises. They never really had anything in common, and not that they had a reason to. They barely talked but turned out to be good friends. Sometime in the middle of the movie, the door began to open, and John Laurens pokes his head inside, “Uh, hey. Am I interrupting…?” Oh, my God, Alexander thought. He had to ask himself how many times did they all walk in on somebody at some point in their lives, that their first reaction was the same. Laf shook his head and invited John in. The others didn’t know this, but Alexander hadn’t failed to notice that John was wearing Burr’s ridiculous burnt-sienna sweater with suit-like buttons and tie drawn on it (the man was almost obnoxious with burnt-sienna as Jefferson is with purple. Hell, the only reason Alex knows why that color is called ‘burnt-sienna’ is that Burr would almost chew his head off every time Alex called it purple). But he digresses. John nested himself in between Alex’s legs, much like Hercules and Laf, and Alex found himself threading his fingers through Lauren’s locks rather fondly. Laurens seemed to enjoy since he’d always push his head up in Alex’s hand when the immigrant found a particularly good spot. He’d catch Laf glancing at them with affection in his dark eyes, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest, but also Jefferson. Or, Thomas, if you will. The Virginian’s half-lying position, propped against a pillow, made him seem quite relaxed, but Alex knew better. He noticed the way his arm would inch towards Alex’s whenever he would put it down from John’s head to take a break. He’d notice the way his fingers grabbed at the sheets to stop himself. Or the way he shook a little whenever Alex glimpsed at him, and Thomas would instantly look away from Alex’s open palm, that he stared at with such reverence. It made Alex feel a tiny bit guilty, for two reasons. One was that he felt as if he was leading him on, even if he didn’t reciprocate his actions. Two was that he felt as if he was cheating on his soulmate, even though they’ve never met. So avoid any intruding thoughts, Alex wrapped his arm around John’s chest. John sighed with content, Thomas sighed with contrition.
Thomas didn’t realize he fell asleep until he felt something poking him in his right arm. He groaned, not wanting to be disturbed, but finally giving in and opening his eyes. He was met with a sight of Alex in front of him, the man’s arm awkwardly being used as a pillow by the Virginian. Thomas felt embarrassment flood over him and he bolted up immediately, “I-I’m sorry,” he tried, and watched Alex fondly shake his head. “It’s no big deal, really. I only woke you up because my arm went numb.” he laughed lightly, but Thomas only felt mortified.
“What’s the time, mon coeur?", Lafayette asks Hercules, his tone revealing how drowsy he’s become. Herc glanced at his watch, “It’s 20 minutes to 10 p.m.”
“Jesus, fuck.” Thomas rubs his forehead, “I should have been in my room like hours ago. James will be pissed at me.” He begins to get up, but Alex pulls him by the hand. “Hold on, I’ll go with you. Our dorms are in the same direction.” Thomas nods at the suggestion. They bid the trio goodbye and find themselves walking side by side through a dark hallway, using Thomas’ cellphone screen as the only source of light. Alex all but clung on Thomas’ arm, because it wasn’t a rare occasion that the hall gets filled with trash (like soda cans, snack wrappers, beer bottles) and he might trip or step on something and hurt himself.
They reach Alex’s dorm first, and Alex waves goodbye. Thomas reciprocates the action and lightly pats Alex on the shoulder. Alexander’s gaze may have lingered a second too long on Thomas’ behind, but can you blame him? Anyways back to the point. He got in the dorm, careful not to wake sleeping Burr as he shuffled into his bed, under the covers.
It’s not been 5 minutes and there’s knocking on the door. He gets up and when he opens them and sees Jefferson, he arches an eyebrow. “Locked yourself out again?” He joked.
“Not really. Madison has some girl over and… you know.” Thomas scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Can I -”, he swallowed, “can I stay the night?” Alexander was at loss for words, and seeing that, Jefferson quickly added, “I can sleep on the floor. Or the bathroom, I won’t bother you.”
“It’s not about that but… don’t you have other friends to stay at? Monroe? Conway?”
Alex felt dumb the moment Jefferson gestured at his face, still swollen and had bandages (though it did look much better by now ), “Ah, yes. I almost forgot… that was stupid of me. Please, come in.” He moved away to let the man inside. Admittedly, Alex was not the happiest that Thomas was seeing him with messy, let down hair, old boxers and worn out shirt with stains of coffee and ink scattered about. Thomas didn’t seem to mind, though. “Also, there’s no way in hell you’re gonna sleep on the floor. You can take my bed.”
“And where might you be sleeping at?”, Thomas crossed his arms and looked down at him with raised eyebrows.
“Dunno. Guess floor?”, he laughed a little, swinging his hands back and forth.
“Uh, no.” Thomas glanced at Alex’s bed, biting his lip nervously as he looked back at Alex, “We can share it. I won’t mind. You?”
“Suppose not.” Alex said, his tone more high pitched than he’d prefer. He didn’t mind sharing the bed with Thomas, but admittedly it did seem odd to him. Their ‘not-enemies’-ship started just about a week ago, and this was quite a leap for spending a short amount of time in while not fighting. He watched Thomas walk over to the bed and slip under the covers. He expectantly looked at Alex, who almost tripped as he hurried towards it, sliding in as well. The plan was to let Thomas take the side at the wall, and that he stays at a respectful distance from the man.
He can hear Thomas begin to snore few minutes later, and unable to sleep, he takes his phone out and goes to messages. He clicks on ‘Unknown stranger’ and types a quick ‘You up?’ Few moments later, he can hear rustling of the sheets, that is, Thomas shifting in bed. He held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t woken him up. He can’t really look since he turned his back towards the man.
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I’m just kind of bored.’
‘What, you don’t have anything to write about? Ran out of topics lol?’
‘Not really. I am physically tired, so I won’t be getting out of bed anytime soon, even though there are plenty of things on my mind that I could write about.’ He swears he can hear Thomas chuckle.
‘An intruder in my bed.'
‘That sounds… a little rape-y.’
‘No, actually, there is someone in my bed. Guess who.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s Burr.’
‘Ew, no. I’ll just tell you – it’s Jefferson. Uh, Thomas.’
‘Shit. Did y’all hook up?’
‘No, we didn’t.’
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’
‘I have yet to decide.’
He gets no more messages that night.
Alexander wakes up with a face full of (surprisingly good smelling) hair. The wavy locks are everywhere, in his mouth, poking at his eyes. He then realizes that the person whose hair is in question is Thomas Jefferson. He immediately stills, his breath catching in his throat. The man is facing away from him and despite Alexander’s attempts not to move, to avoid making this all the more awkward, Thomas shifts around. Alexander can’t tell if he’s asleep when he grabs Alex and pulls him closer to his chest, apparently deciding that being the small spoon isn’t his forte.
And… Were they spooning? Ew.
Alexander tries to move away, and finally, that stirs Thomas awake. He flutters his eyes open, thick eyelashes making him look all the more attractive from this close up.
“Uh – Alex – shit, sorry,” the taller man immediately releases him, moving away back towards the wall. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware -”
“Chill, it’s no problem.” Alexander laughs it off. He glances at the clock on his bedside cabinet. It was 10:38, and his first class only starts at 11:30. Philosophy with Mr. Paine. Great. Alexander was never really fond of the guy, perhaps because of his outdated and borderline conservative opinions. He groaned, stuffing his face in the pillows.
“Alex?” He can tell how concerned and confused, maybe, Thomas was, judging by his voice, borderline shaky. It was an odd experience on its own, because Alex was only used to the firm, threatening tone Thomas usually spoke to him with. Not to say that the change wasn’t welcome.
“I’m fine. I just don’t like philosophy.”
Thomas snorted, and he as well seemed rather content with staying in the bed for now, as he lowered is head back to the pillows as well, facing Alexander but directing his gaze at the mattress.
They got out of Alex’s dorm around 11, Thomas on his way to his own dorm to change, and Alex on his way to the class. He had good 30 minutes before, but it was always fun to walk around or even chat before it started.
Come 11:30, the bell rung and the professor walked in. Paine, the old man, held himself hunched over as usual, piercing blue eyes scanning the rows of students. He cleared his throat, “Due to personal reasons, Mr. Flowerdew will be absent for 2 weeks. Your substitute for Political Science will be a new teacher by the name John Jay. I was instructed to tell you this… ‘news’. Now, we may get to today’s lecture…”
Alexander couldn’t concentrate one bit on Mr. Pain. He thought about how Flowerdew looked just yesterday, his mind racing, jumping to conclusions. He doesn't like it, but not like he gets to chose. He can only wait and see what this ‘John Jay’ will be like.
I love comments more than I love myself
Angst. Angst. Angst.
1. Little bit of Flowerdew's POV 'cause you guys seem to like her
2. Not-so-explicit sexual content at the end
3. The said sexual content is not as well written because, hello, I am gay. I don't do straight porn (lol)
4. I don't like getting drunk (since I have had bad experience with drinks in the past) so if I didn't portray drunk people well, I am deeply sorry
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Three Days Ago – Wednesday, March 17
Temperance felt tears slipping from her eyes and down her cheeks as she drove her car. It was raining profusely, a storm brewing on the horizon. She could barely see the highway, only lights of passing cars catching her attention. She was driving towards the hospital the fastest she could. She has only now gotten a text from her sister-in-law. Her husband, George Yeardley, has apparently been admitted to the hospital only but an hour ago. She got out of work in record time. She knew what must have been the reason behind it.
I love comments. Give me feedback ;;
Ready for more angst and unresolved tension, kids? Then hop on up onto this emotional roller-coaster.
My beta is on a vacation ;-; sorry if this has any unintentional errors.
As soon as Alex hauled himself out of bed, the memory of last night began seeping through. It was one of those nights where you would over-flood with feelings, emotions of your own blended with those of your soulmate’s. With each broken sob torn out of Alex’s throat, came a wave of sadness and something that he could only describe as a considerable amount of equal dose of pain and regret. It sucked ass, his own misery and the misery of his soulmate combined; only it hurt additionally because he couldn’t help his soulmate, who seemed to suffer all the same, if not more. As Alex began dressing himself, jeans from yesterday, and even though he planned on wearing the new stuff he got, he couldn’t make himself wear anything but a large, warm hoodie. Or a sweater. Yeah, the woolen, green sweater (in the middle of March). He wanted to feel safe, something that he could usually achieve by enveloping himself into blankets and staying in bed all day, while convincing Burr to make him soup (which, bless his soul, Burr did). No, today was Monday. And of course, considering his luck, he will have to face Jefferson in his first class. How delightful. He rose to his wobbly feet and made his way towards the bathroom, and brushing his teeth and washing his face, as he did. He also brushed his hair, and even though he wanted to do everything just to spite the Virginian, he couldn’t make himself go look around the room for a hair band, and then when he undoubtedly won’t find it, he’ll have to find Laf or John, which will prove hard as they both have classes today – and to save himself the hassle and additional disappointment-slash-frustration, he just let the silky, brown strands fall on his shoulders. Come to think of it, he should go cut it soon enough. It’s almost very wall past his shoulders.
He grabs his bag, stuffs it with his books, and finds himself to be on his marry way to US history classroom. Or, ‘history’ classroom, if you will. On his way, he doesn’t see any familiar faces, but everybody seemed adamant at starting at him. Yeah, he looked as if he just washed up on the shore after some kind of a natural disaster; or to put it simply, he looked like shit. Despite him trying to tame it, his hair was messy by the time he reached his destination. He also managed to spill his to-go coffee on the left outer side of his jeans, so that was really dandy as well. Peachy. He will end up having to walk his first two classes with his bag covering that part of his pants, because he won’t have time to go change between history and sociology.
He shuffles up the stairs to his seat and ungracefully flops down. Jefferson is, he notes absently, already there, on his usual spot in the top row, towards the left, where he shares it with Madison. Monroe used to sit there as well, but something tells Alex that it is not the case any more. His presumptions came out to be true when indeed, Monroe came and joined Seabury and Conway, who were two rows in front of Alex. And look at him, Hamilton, always having to mentally comment everything. Of course he couldn’t get Jefferson out of his head for one day, even if he wasn’t thinking about the obvious.
Washington walks in and begins the lesson, much like usual. At some point, he gets on the topic of Diggs-Miranda conflict. How appropriate. “Diggs advocated a decentralized agrarian republic. He recognized the value of a strong central government in foreign relations, but he did not want it strong in other respects -”, at that, Alex let out a loud scoff. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold it in. He would usually bite his tongue when Washington spoke about things that went against his beliefs, because ultimately, it was Washington’s job as a teacher to retell what happened in history, whether they agree with it or not. The man was just doing his job, but of course Alex had to be abrasive, “Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton? Do you have anything to say for yourself or shall I continue?” This was his chance to let Washington proceed and everything would be forgotten, his shot at trying to look less like an opinionated brat and more like a polite, sophisticated man willing to learn. But he threw away his shot.
“I have to say how utterly senseless that kind of policy was, Mr. Washington. I can’t keep myself from having a reaction, sometimes.” Alex said, his tone far more snide than he meant it to be, and he internally slapped himself.
But before Washington got a say in this, another voice could be heard through the classroom, echoing like thunder, with the harsh tone it was spoken, “Of course you would say that, Hamilton. Of course you would lean towards the man that was, in his time, as much self-indulgent and arrogant, much as yourself.”
Alex turned his head around and his gaze was fixated on Jefferson, who was now standing up on his feet. Alex did the same, turning away from Washington and completely training his attention at the Virginian, “Lin-Manuel Miranda firmly believed in the need for a powerful central government. He had been an officer in the American army during the Revolution, and saw first-hand the results of a weak central authority”, he spat rather viciously at Jefferson, who didn’t flinch even a tiniest bit, as if not surprised at Alex’s hostility, “While soldiers froze and starved to death, the Continental Congress could only beg for state assistance. Miranda had powerful allies, including Christopher Jackson and Okieriete Onaodowan.”
Alex watched Jefferson’s features morph from anger to smugness. The man was in his territory, political debates were his hobby, Alex knew that. But here’s the catch – it was a passion of Alexander’s as well (not that it was a secret among students or staff). “Did your forget that Onaodowan later questioned a too-powerful federal government and came to oppose Miranda?” he continued, “Diggs believed the threat of tyranny was ever-present in a strong central government. A proponent of the need for state sovereignty, Diggs believed political power should come from the bottom up. Diggs believed the union of the states was a voluntary one, and if the national government exceeded its enumerated powers, the states had the power to nullify federal law”, the last bit Jefferson practically growled out, sending daggers in Alexander’s direction. This ‘debate’ isn’t going to come to an end soon. Alex wondered why had Washington allowed it, but he did see the professor lift his hand up when one of the students began to interrupt, to try and seek the means to an end of this back-and-forth.
Although it was no ‘back-and-forth’ as Lafayette had put it some days ago. It was vicious, it was merciless. Both men with sharp minds and even sharper tongues; nobody expected anything less.
After no fast reply came from Alexander, Jefferson continued, “Of course, you’d know nothing of common sense, and not to talk about loyalty – much like the old man Miranda. You and your Lewis whore, both”, this elicited gasps of shock from the students, “You’d kiss the British shoes if you lived in that age. You have no dignity; your country has just escaped its tyrant and now you’d want to go back to them with your tail between your legs and your nose to the ground, like a beaten dog? Or rather, a kicked puppy.”
Alex was red in his face. He felt hot. He opened his mouth to retort to that personal attack, because who does that piece of shit think it is? He can insult Alex as much as he likes, hell, he’s been doing that since they met. But the mention of Maria just riled him up; she didn’t need to find her name in the middle of Alex’s mess. So what if they fucked once or twice behind Reynolds' back? This topic has no place in politics, has no place in the classroom. “You must be out of your God damn mind -”
“Enough!” Washington shouted all of a sudden, “Gentlemen, don’t you think this is quite overboard? What happened to you two? I heard you were getting along pretty well lately.”
“You have told your daddy about us, Hamilton? Aw, how sweet.” Jefferson mocked while sitting down. Alex wanted to spew out insults at his direction, he wanted to damn him and his whole family to hell and back, but one stern look from Washington and he just turned around to face the blackboard again, fixing his sweater as he sat down properly.
“I said enough, Mr. Jefferson. Both of you – Mr. Hamilton, Jefferson – take a walk. Come back after a brief recess. And I don’t want to hear you shouting through the hallways,” Washington added, “Actually, right now I don’t even want you talking to each other. Part ways.” And with that, Washington continued his lecture without any further interruption, and Alex and Jefferson shuffled out.
Alex immediately turned left, fishing some change out of his pockets and heading towards the vending machine. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but this had drained him of energy. It wasn’t uncommon that the two clashed, and yes, maybe things could get a little out of hand and jab into personal territory, but it was never such an open, aggressive attack. Both of them would always try and subtly hint at something the other did, something that was by chance reckless and idiotic. Or perhaps something they’ve said. They refrained from dragging more people in this, so what happened with Maria today enraged Alex to the point where he just wanted to kiss Jefferson’s face. With his fist. No doubt that this information would only spread and who knows if Maria will be okay; nobody has heard of James in months, but Maria seemed to trip and hit her elbow, or knee, or even face a notch too often. Alex just has to keep in mind that he should watch an eye out on Maria. He could ask Eliza to let her sleep over for a couple of nights, he’s sure that the middle Schuyler sister wouldn’t mind sharing the bed with the other girl. Honestly, even if Eliza didn’t obviously have a thing for Maria, Alex’s pretty sure that she would always help out of goodness of her heart.
When he pushed the coin in the machine, he heard footsteps behind him. He was about to ignore whoever it was, a by-passer probably. But then the person stopped behind him and cleared his throat. He turned around, assuming that the person wanted directions or something like that. Bur boy, was he wrong. Thomas Jefferson stood there in front of him. Alex’s whole body instinctively tensed, his hands and jaw clenched. He held his breath. “What?!”, he snarled at the man, his mouth forming a thin line and his eyebrows knitting together.
Jefferson, on the other hand, looked totally opposite. He looked relaxed, calm. Maybe a little bit nervous, “I just came to say -”
“Say that you’re sorry, I assume?”, and then whatever held Alex back snapped, and the immigrant began ranting, “Sorry that you mistreated me all these years? Sorry that you toyed with me, used me for some kind of sick, twisted game you played? Sorry that you made me a walking mess in less than a day? Sorry that you insulted, and possibly put in danger, my best friend in front of at least fifty students?”, he took a deep breath, and in a calmer, but no less accusatory voice said, “Or are you sorry that I found your phone?” Alexander grabbed the small chocolate bar from the machine and walked away, not before shoulder-checking Jefferson. Open display of aggression?
Earlier That Day
Jefferson woke up in the least expected place possible. One of the back rooms of Teddy’s. He was practically bathing in his own sweat, and it made him feel sick. He got up to his feet, and pulled his pants up. Only then he realised there was another body next to him. That of a woman, a strikingly familiar woman. Shit.
“Professor Flowerdew?” he held himself up on his arms as he stood above her. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, but she only muttered something incoherent. He fucked her last night. He fucked his teacher last night. Now, this is the kind of misfortune that can only happen to one Thomas Jefferson. He chuckled bitterly. If it weren’t Flowerdew, he would just leave the girl (or guy) lying here until they came to their senses and left on their own. But this was truly an exceptional case. He would be haunted by guilt the entire day if he just abandoned the woman. So he decided, in a matter of seconds, to scoop her up in his arms, bridal style. However, not before pulling her bra and dress up again – and much more uncomfortably – her underwear that was discarded next to them.
Thomas glanced at the wall clock in the room. It was 5:12. Luckily, Teddy’s was the 24/7 type of bar – if it were not, he’d probably get kicked out by closing time, still drunk, and he would likely commit some kind of stupid act; that, or cause an accident on the road, or something along those lines. Can you tell that he wasn’t even now thinking straight, given how much his head hurt? Hangover was a bitch. He wondered vaguely how will Flowerdew take it, since he is 99.3% sure she doesn’t drink or go out on daily basis like this.
Come to think of it, what caused her to go out like that in the first place?
For some strange reason, Thomas knew where she lived and decided to drop her off there. He climbed up in his Chevrolet Silverado 3500HD High Country – or, if you will – a very fancy pickup truck he’s gotten when he passed his driving test, and ultimately it became his first ever car.
He parked in front of her small apartment complex. He left her napping in his driver’s seat (okay, how wasted did she actually get to still be asleep even after this much commotion around her?) He got to the list of all the inhabitants of this place, and chose the button under the name ‘Flowerdew & Yeardley’. It was safe to assume that it was her place, but he didn’t know whether anyone was home. Suddenly, a voice coming from the microphone startled him, just a little. “Hello? Hello?”
“Hey – uh, morning.”
“Who is this? I’m calling the police -”
“No, wait!” Jefferson said. The woman behind the mic was obviously not well rested and on her tiptoes, nervous, “I brought Miss. Flowerdew – I mean, Temperance.” Silence, “This is the place, right?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be down in a second, wait up.” The response was immediate after Thomas’s last question and sure enough, a tall, caramel-skinned woman in a purple bathrobe and white bunny flip flops came out of the elevator, which he could see straight in front of him because the doors of the buildings were out of glass. The woman unlocked the door, seemingly surprised at the sight of him. She was, Thomas dully noted, almost the same size as he was.
“Where is she?” her voice was stern and flooded with worry. Thomas jerked his head towards his truck, and he knew the (even though he didn’t see her face then) exact moment that this woman had spotted Flowerdew through the windshield, since he could hear an audible gasp, followed by what presumably was her covering her mouth with her hand. Thomas opened the door and reached in to pick her up, again bridal style. Her head dropped to his chest as he brought it to the woman, who was still at the door. “My word, what happened to her?” she squeaked.
“I… we hooked up last night and… she drank a lot. Before you asked, I know her from before, that’s why I know where she lives. And uh, even though we aren’t friends or anything, I didn’t want her to leave her in the back of her bar. So I thought I’d just… bring here here.”
“Thank you so much,” the woman muttered, “My name is Elizabeth. Call me Liz.”
“Thomas,” he smiled politely, “do you want me to carry her upstairs?”
“No, you don’t have to, really. I can take over on my own from here,” she said and the Virginian nodded, transferring the woman cradled in his arms to the arms of another, and watched her head lull. “Again, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No need. Knowing I did the right thing,” for once, his words echoed, “really makes up for it.” He watched Liz smile at him one last time before turning back into the building. Thomas walked over towards his car. He put his key in, arms on the wheel, and he was determined to go home and concentrate on his work.
But no. What he did instead was rest his forehead against the wheel and cry his dark, pitiful heart out. Damn Hamilton, damn him to hell. The gremlin managed to weasel his way to Thomas’ heart and then rip it out, chew it up and stomp all over it. But don’t be fooled; Thomas knew it was his own fault.
“Leave me alone, Jacky, please.” Alexander wailed, coiling himself in the blankets and the duvet, as Laurens tried to get him to talk about what happened today. John may have not been in class when it took place, but it spread through the campus like a wildfire. The only things that John knew was that they fought, Jefferson pushed it too far, and now there was sobbing Maria and sobbing Alex at their hands. Although Eliza was taking good care of Maria. After some more persuading from John, Alex got up into a sitting position and, albeit reluctantly, told him everything that happened between him and Jefferson (in class. He wasn’t ready to reveal the texts from ‘unknown stranger’ yet, not even to his friends). John listened carefully, as if absorbing every word Alex spoke. It was nice to be listened to, for once, and not interrupted or challenged. Yes, sometimes men as great as Alexander Hamilton could lament about his poor excuse of a life.
It wasn’t long until Burr came home and all of Laurens’ attention was now on the man. Attention which Burr gladly granted him. Alexander was happy for both of them, but also insanely jealous. How amazing must it be to finally know who your soulmate is? How awesome must it be knowing that they are right next to you and that they are happy being right next to you? Alex let his mind wander around the topic of soulmates, even wondered what his own is doing right now. He can’t quite tell, to be truthful. He feels regret (in much smaller doses than before) and above all, a lot of guilt and shame. He wants to comfort them, but as soon as he sends any type of condolence, through emotions, his soulmate rejects it. Alex is almost persistent to do it, make them feel better, but it doesn’t make any sense to force them to feel what they don’t want to. Maybe something bad happened to them – worst case scenario, somebody died and it was their fault. Best case scenario, they burned scrambled eggs. He can’t tell, and it’s obvious at this point how off-the-leash his mind is. He likes it that way, but sometimes he can, much like now, get overly imaginative.
James knows something isn’t right with Thomas. He has had his suspicions for a few days now, and now that whole performance in US history had only confirmed it. Because as much as James knows that Thomas loves arguing with Hamilton, he also knew that Thomas would never attack so fiercely for such a small, meaningless comment that Hamilton made. But of course Thomas wouldn’t talk to him now, because he’s busy behaving like an actual child and closing himself off in their bathroom.
“Please, Thomas. We can talk.” James stood there, leaning against the wall next to the door, that were locked. He knocked again lightly with his knuckles.
“We can’t ‘talk’. This is not easy to explain, this cannot be resolved by talking.” Thomas wasn’t going to let go of this belief, and James really had to try anything to make him change his mind.
“How about I make some mac ‘n’ cheese and you try to explain me as we eat?”
“How about no?”
Pause. “Can you at least tell me who is this about?”
“And what, you’ll kick their ass or somethin’? Jemmy, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a person.”
“I never said that I was going to do that. I just want to know,” he added, and knew this was playing dirty, but it was the last ace up his sleeve and his only hope, “Are we not as close friends as we used to be?”
The door creaked open and Thomas shyly stepped out. He held his head low, as he said, his voice only barely louder than a whisper, “It’s about Hamilton.” Pause. “I love him.” Pause. “And I made him hate me again.”
James had no other ideas about what to do right now. He never, in a million years, expected that his long awaited confession would be anything related to Hamilton, much less about Thomas’ feelings for the immigrant. So James hugged his friend tight, making the hug last for seconds longer than maybe deemed appropriate, before taking Thomas’ hand and pulling him over to the bed, where they sat and James listened patiently as Thomas told him every single little detail about what has exactly happened during the course of the last month.
Angst. Fluff. Resolutions.
1. I'm sorry
2. You're welcome
Keep reading :)
*Un-beta'd since my beta is still on vacation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Thomas didn’t really sleep that night. Or the night after that – as the matter of fact, nor the night after that. The days were blurry and more often than not blended together. He felt dizzy all the time, and weak. He didn’t even stand up for himself when Seabury tried to forcibly push him over the edge into an argument. He looked down at the ginger with a lost, dull expression, and after the other was done practically shouting at him (about what did the author of the poem ‘Poison tree’ want to say) Thomas just slumped back into his seat. James only patted his shoulder, being the only person aware of the cause of his distress. Thomas even let the fellow Virginian give him advice about his situation. It was obvious that he thought everything through, careful about every word that left his mouth. But try as he might, the words had no effect on Thomas.
Thomas didn’t know how to feel about Alexander. There was no more point in denying it to himself that the immigrant is his soulmate. It was hard to accept it at first, it was difficult to bring himself to spend more than 5 minutes in the same room as Alex. But now that he’s got it all figured out (or anyways, he likes to pretend he does) he was desperate to make things right again. He knew that he will never be able to have Alex trust him again, but he can not live with the constant weight of guilt on his chest. He’ll accept to stride through his life, knowing full well how majorly did he fuck up, feel every single one of the immigrant’s emotions until either he couldn’t take it anymore, or their soulmates change.
The phone thing was a mistake, he realized, but as per usual, the realization came way too late. He didn’t want Alexander to feel this way about him, that was why he did it in the first place; to get closer to the other man, maybe find out some things Alex would only share with his friends, and thus, unknowingly make Thomas like him, just enough for him to pursue anything with the man. And after all, if it happened the way he planned it to, maybe he wouldn’t even have to admit pretending to be somebody he was not, and just leave Alex wondering who the person was, and what they truly wanted. Maybe it wasn’t the most honorable thing to do, but the guilt about it would fade soon, unlike this. Thomas swears too, that he planned on answering that last text, the one that had quite possibly confirmed that at the time, Alex liked him as well. But he pondered so much about the response, thinking it would have to be something witty or intelligent, that he just absentmindedly (stupidly) pushed the phone under the pillow. Naturally, he forgot about it. Because universe and karma are two sadistic fucks.
He was sitting at his desk, attempting to concentrate on his sociology homework; an essay of sorts, something he didn’t listen to in class and of course, had troubles writing now. Can you blame him? (Yes). Instead, the pen he held in his hand and tapped against the desk all this time, as if it got will of its own, started writing a letter. A letter to Alexander, no less.
The recent days I spent wondering, thinking, long and hard about what I did to you; not just the cellphone fiasco, but everything else throughout both of our lives. I am thinking long and hard as I’m writing this. This letter is not perfect, it isn’t supposed to mend everything that I’ve broken – your trust, your fondness of me – but I need you to hear me out. At least once, or else I’m afraid I might go mad. This may be odd on your side, hearing this ‘poetic’ so to speak, part of me. But I cannot imagine a letter without a touch of sentiment in it, don’ t you think?
Anyways. You were one of the only people I have ever met in my life that I consider on my level, but that have also managed to sway me off my feet – in more ways than one. You are, as much as it pains my past self to admit, a great listener. The fact that you listened through all my arguments, my selfish laments and insults directed at you lead me to believe that you are an incredibly tolerant person. And while our debtates-turned-fights did require a certain dose of ferociousness, I now only realize that I should never have put you down on so many degrees, or meddle our casual disagreements into (most often) politics. I saw with my own eyes, more than once, how much anguish it caused you. I saw that the mere sound of my voice echoing through the school halls chased fear into you. And if you’d ask me what I think about it, maybe a month and a half before, I would’ve said I enjoy it. I am a sick, twisted person, Alexander, like you said not so many days ago. I am vile, and not worthy even of your acquaintanceship. And you putting up with me, for so long, shows how unfathomably brave you are.
The fact that you can still look at me after I did this to you makes me fully realize your courage and loyalty. It was so very wrong of me to assume anything less, much less voice my opinion in front of fifty people . I hurt you, and I will regret it until my dying breath . I promise you, with my heart and soul, that I will do everything in my might to make this right. I’ve treated you cruelly and unjustly for these last two years, and I am aware it is hell of a lot to try and correct.
You aren’t the reason I cry at night anymore. That was true in the first two days following the break of something fragile between us, something that I dare not name. You are now what keeps me from crying; because the dull ache in my chest and numbness in my mind when thinking about you is better than constant feeling as if I’ve been stabbed repeatedly, although I know you undoubtedly feel the same.
My tears come from my insecurities. They come from my fears and I pin - blame on the wrong reasons so I don't have to face realities that I don't have patience for. My tears come from the possibility of my former friends doing anything else hurtful to me, or anyone here, because I know I am partially, if not wholly, responsible for their mindset, the ever obnoxious ‘alpha male’ attitude I’ve sported for years, but only recently came to realization that I don’t want to play the role that was not meant for me . My tears come from the fear of losing you as my friend because of my rash, self-driven decisions . My tears come from me being afraid of not even trying to correct my misdeeds.
After what has happened, I would not be surprised if you deem this letter as sweet talk to try and appeal to you. What I'm writing is the truth. Know that from the bottom of my heart and from our a week and a half as friends, that I am sorry.
Because you must know, by now, that I love you, Alexander. It’s something I tried to push down and forget, but the closer I get to you, the more I feel for you. However, I wish not to be mistaken. I don’t expect you wanting to pursue anything with me. I am a terrible, pitiful excuse of a human being that does not deserve anything from you. However, I do have the audacity to ask you for one last thing, which is also the point of this overly-emotional and way too long letter. With this, I humbly and shamefully ask for your forgiveness for the pain I have caused you. It’s something that I most definitely don’t deserve. I don’t ask you to understand why, mostly because I myself cannot pinpoint the reason; it’s an entirely non-materialistic thing, only based off of opinion and judgment. I know that it is selfish of me to do so, but I have to know, to clear my own consciousness, that you forgave me, Alexander.
W ith that, I end this letter.
Forever yours, if you want me to be,
Alexander didn’t know what to expect when Burr handed him the small, white envelope. It was titled only with ‘for Alexander from T.’ and he suspected that he knows who T. was. It was unnerving, and he never hesitated this much with something, whether it be something to read, watch or discuss. It was easy to delete messages and emails, but this could not measure. It was, when he took the two papers out of the envelope, a full fledged, handwritten letter. He would never admit it, but he was shaking as he began to unfold the papers, fingers trembled at the first look. It was written in cursive, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, he wouldn’t hesitate in telling Jefferson that ‘hello, 1770s called. They want their tradition back.’
Alexander decided to wait until night time to read it, since he is positive that he would cry. At the time, he assumed it would be because of Jefferson’s harsh words. But now, as the clock in their room announces midnight, he only reads the first few words before he finds himself having to clasp his hand over his mouth. Alex wanted to believe that this was a joke, another game, but it just seemed so… real? Sincere. He wanted to villainize Jefferson in his head the best he could, alas, that was the only thing keeping him sane for the last five days. And Alex really did keep himself composed until the last paragraph, or rather, the way Jefferson had ended it. He loved him. Jefferson loved Alexander. It took the immigrant quite some time to process the information, staring blankly at the wall in front of his work desk. Alex’s insides quivered, but not anymore from fear, but from nervousness about the next step. What now? Does he just come barging into Jefferson’s dorm and demand explanations behind this? Does he send a letter back?
Yes. Yes, he does.
He wrote his way out of so much shit, he’s positive that he will be able to brigs means to an end to this. He’ll be dammed if he doesn’t tell this asshole all that was on his mind for, how he nicely put it, since they met. First reflex was to open Microsoft Word, but he figured that to achieve the desired effect, he must fight fire with fire, that is, paper with paper. So he drafts one from his bottom drawer, grabs his fountain pen (because he’s a slut for those. Also, if Jefferson decided to go back to the revolutionary era, so be it).
But as he starts writing, it was if his hand had decided to have the will of its own, and now every scream, every shout he would direct at Jefferson to express his frustrations comes off as polite. Polite and ‘peaceful’, as if he didn’t want to start another fight, much like he intended to only minutes ago.
Dear Thomas… No. That doesn’t sound right, not anymore. Dear Jefferson,
I will be responding to you in similar fashion, behind which I still do not know the reason; that is, in the written form . You’re right, you cannot regain my trust with some pity-seeking letter. However, I will not deny that it was heart-warming and pleasing to know that you can finally realize your mistakes and see through that great wall you’ve built around yourself, as if to keep your perfect little world in your head undisturbed.
Forgiveness is a lot to ask, you said you are aware of that . That, quite frankly, surprises me. I am on the verge of giving it to you, because like you said, I wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore in life. But much like yourself, a part of me knows it’s opinion-based, yet I can’t make myself write the words.
And no, Jefferson, to answer your question, it isn’t rather obvious that you ‘love me’. I put it in quotations because I still refuse to believe you. As sincere I deem the rest of the letter, all the same I can’t believe that part, no matter how much I wish to be able to do so. Nothing, excuse the last week, can serve as proof. While you trying to forget about it seems legible, I need a lot more convincing.
This letter may sound rather harsh, yet I don’t want it to leave that impression. Whatever I wrote isn’t trying to encourage another argument. We’ve already fought enough. You can consider this a peace offering; it’s simple. You stay out of my way, and I will make sure you don’t have to put up with me anymore.
It’s been about a day after Alex instructed Burr to deliver the letter in the same way to Jefferson as did Burr claim to find it in the first place – slidden under the doors of their dorm, like preschool kids would do, in shame of fear of the recipient.
Alex was sitting on his bed, or rather, curled on his bed, with his knees pulled up to his chest, head resting on his knees as he typed something hurriedly on his phone, a text to Hercules whether he could meet up with Alex over dinner , regarding a French project they’re working on together. Just as he presses ‘send’, he can hear frantic knocking on his door. He can’t think of anyone that could need anything so urgently that it required so much noise. Reluctantly, he crawled out of his bed and opened the door, almost being knocked on the ground considering the force they’ve been pushed open.
“J-Jefferson?”, he stammered, having to blink twice and mentally pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. But the Virginian wasn’t a fruit of his imagination; he stood in front of his door, dressed abominably as usual, though granted, the purple sweater he’s wearing doesn’t make Alex want to bleach his eyes as much as that magenta jacket does. He doesn’t look like he imagined him while he read the letter, either; he doesn’t look like he hasn’t shaved in days, his hair hadn’t lost its puff. Maybe Jefferson did push it a little in the letter, was his first thought; you can’t keep on crying for days and hide the full effect. But as Alex gathered the courage to look up, he was met with a very dull gaze of a very tired man. He almost felt sorry.
He wanted to snap, he wanted to snarl “What?!” but the raging fire inside him turned into dying embers. However, he puts all effort in making his expression stone-cold, seemingly unaffected.
“Alexander -”, Jefferson said, swallowing, his eyes darting around the room, all as if trying to avoid having to look Alex in the eyes. He did eventually stop and stationed his gaze, but he was looking almost at the ground. “I… that letter wasn’t meant to reach you.”
Alexander scoffed. “Before you say anything,” Jefferson continued, “it’s… it’s a thing I wrote to make it easier for myself to get through the day. James, he… he decided it was appropriate to show it to you without my consent.” Alex nodded. “Sorry about that.”
“Why did you wrote that you love me?”, Alex shot out, not able to stop himself.
“What? I – because I do.” Jefferson said, putting it plainly as if it was the most casual thing in the world to say.
“What did you do in the club that night?” Alexander tried to make himself not flinch at the sudden questions his own brain was producing and his own mind letting out. He couldn’t stop himself.
However, this time, Jefferson was silent. He looked as if he was considering giving an answer, but couldn’t find the right words. Alex cannot be fazed by it, not anymore. But he truly is dying to know.
“We danced.” No shit. “But we also… we kissed. And we’ve whacked each other off.”
“You said you didn’t remember.”
Another scoff. Alex hugged himself, partially because he needed some kind of leverage, partially because he felt as if he needs to entertain his hands in some way.
“I’m sorry -”
“Save it. I’ve heard enough,” Alex said, now raising his voice and spitting, “why do you even care about me so much?!”
“Because you’re my soulmate!”
There was no more movement in the room; you could hear chatter from down the hallway and cars’ horns from the outside on the street. Alex watched as single curly lock fell across Jefferson’s face, but the man didn’t reach to fix it, his eyes fixed on Alexander. Alex’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why should I trust your word?”
Jefferson only shrugged.
Alex turned around, and when he sensed Jefferson’s movement, he rose his palm up, to let him know to stop. Alex walked over towards his bed and sat down, hands loosely in his lap.
“I swear, if you’re fucking with me -”
“I’m not.” Jefferson was one to snap this time, his arms crossing on his chest.
Silence in the room was deafening almost, lasting for what could be a minute or an hour. Alex couldn’t tell. He the looked up from his lap, slowly, tentatively, at Jefferson.
“How long have you known?” his voice was weak, brittle.
“A month or so. But I did have my suspicions for a longer time now.” Jefferson said and took a careful step forward. Alex didn’t stop him this time, just waited patiently until Jefferson reached the bed as well, and sat to his left side. The bed shifted under his weight, and that was the only way Alex knew that he was there, because he dared not to look up at the man’s face. He felt tears pricking in his eyes. Was this the way universe planned him to find out about his supposed ‘one true love’? Was this the universe’s ultimate prank on him? Deciding that the person he should, according to all textbooks and manuals, hold near and dear to his heart – was it some elaborate part of a grand scheme to ruin his life? So he could watch whatever he built crumble to the ground?
“You should have told me.” His voice was stern, but didn’t echo confidence, only a trembling syllable of a broken man.
Alex swore he’d never let Jefferson in his bed again. It may sound ridiculous, but the Virginian in his bed was what caused this in the first place. But he was also utterly broken; the letters and later on, confessions, had taken their toll on his sanity. Temporarily, of course. He’s feeling better now that he knows that Jefferson regrets his actions. Although, now that this problem is solved, comes the question of soulmates. It sounded crazy at first, but it started to make sense. All those years of not noticing how obvious it must have been. He didn’t have the strength to overthink this one. Therefore, he wasn’t surprised when Jefferson pulled him close and shifted them into a lying position, his face now full of Jefferson’s obnoxiously purple shirt. Alexander pointed it out, and Jefferson huffed a laugh, as he threaded his fingers through the smaller man’s long, soft locks. They were calm at first, silent and undisturbed. But when Alex heard Jefferson crying, or rather, trying to muffle the small sobs by pressing his mouth against the immigrant’s hair and holding him even tighter, Alexander couldn’t help the tears that started flowing.
He didn’t know the reason behind this; reasons for crying right now were plentiful, although most of all, he’s pretty sure that this was only for one purpose – relief.
When Alexander woke up, Thomas was nowhere to be seen. He supposed that the Virginian left, most likely because it was Thursday and they still had classes. Luckily, it was still 6:29 and French begins in 7, so he has relatively enough time to think a little, clear his head and well – shower. Because he smells as if he hadn’t washed himself in two weeks, even though it’s only been days. He scoffed at himself ‘only’ days.
He looked much better when he took care of himself and finally changed his clothing. He chose a that new beige/brown button up that Angelica urged him to buy, as well as deciding on the scarf and the new shoes.
He was maybe one or two halls away when he saw a familiar figure at the vending machine, seemingly trying to scoop out a can of soda, and judging by the colorful collection of swearwords, he was failing. Although, by the time Alex reached him, he looked at him.
“Hey, Alexander.” Jefferson said, or hold on – Thomas said. He was still vaguely confused on what to call him, but since the taller man seemed adamant on using his first name, maybe that was how they roll now. At last, they’ve been through more in less than a week than ever, both emotionally worn out, but Alex could now feel a hint of relief from Thomas, in his chest. And wow. He could now name the person in his head, and not just call him ‘his soulmate’ or ‘they’. It was nice, though he still had some mixed feelings about this.
Alex was about to continue walking when he heard Thomas rushing after him. He turned his head around, following the Virginian with his gaze as the other came to his side. They walked in silence, but in much closer proximity than usual. He could feel fingers brushing against his own, and after some time, he got sick of it, “Jesus Christ, just take my hand!” the comment had an annoyed tint but he said it without any bite behind it. He almost laughed out loud at how quick was Thomas to do as he was told.
They were met with raised eyebrows from Franklin, Monroe, Seabury, Conway and the others, but nobody commented. Thomas headed up the stairs to his seat, and seemed surprised when Alex pulled him back, only to grab his attention, “Can I come with you?” In truth, he needed closeness, he needed comfort, whether it be from Thomas or not. Thomas, luckily, just grinned at him lopsidedly and nodded. James Madison was fist to chase John Hancock, who sat next to Thomas (after Monroe) down by one row, and Alex sat down, relaxed in class for probably the first time in his life, knowing that he and Thomas are cool now. As the lesson went on, Alex gradually (subconsciously) moved closer to Thomas, and at one point, the other man put his arm around Alex.
They waked back to their together as well. Thomas watched as Alex unlocked his own, patient to say proper goodbye. However, Alex turned around as he opened the door, and on his tiptoes, pressed a peck on Thomas’ cheek. Thomas was dazzled for a moment, before smiling warmly and leaving to his dorm.
I’ll be good. For all of the times I never could.
Fear not, this is not the last from me. There is also Flowerdew, and I refuse to end this without telling her story.
Chapter 10: Epilogue
Tone of fluff & crack
I rewrote this 6 times, and every single time it turned out differently, but this is the version I thought captured everything. What else can I say, but thank you for getting this far??
Also - I wrote their 'first debate as a something like a couple' based off of another fic (link in the bottom of my work) because I really loved how it was written. I changed it, of course, that's an understatement.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Thomas laid his laptop atop a circular dinner table in the dining room, and then opened it, waited for a few seconds for it to load. He was going to check his emails, and he's been procrastinating enough already. He absentmindedly tapped his fingers onto the wooden surface. The Internet connection in the building was exceptionally slow, even more so than in his college dorm.
He heard the doors opening and closing, accompanied by rattle of keys, followed by somebody kicking off their shoes and discarding their jacket. He felt Alex's relief blooming in his own chest. It was Friday.
"Evening, sunshine," the immigrant said in a joking manner and a smirk on his face. Thomas only smirked back, entertained by Alex's sudden smugness, but enjoying it nonetheless.
"Took you long enough," Thomas muttered, sliding slightly away from the table and letting Alex sit on one of his legs, kissing him slowly and profoundly. As much as Thomas enjoyed the act, he wished to know the reason behind it. He backed away after a few moments and arched an eyebrow in question. "What? I can't show random displays of affection to my fiancée?" He asked with mock hurt, a hand on his chest. Thomas snorted.
"Are you gonna stop being so giddy about the engagement? You've been going on about it for like two weeks now", Thomas added, seemingly deep in thought, "why did I say 'yes', again?"
Alexander only laughed at this and then moved away from Thomas' lap, going towards their bedroom door. "I'll go change now. And also -" Alex struck a pose against the doorframe, "- because otherwise you wouldn’t have access to this hot bod." He jokingly threw his head back and gasped rather melodramatically.
"Mm, you wish." Thomas laughed and turned back towards his laptop. His eyes widened when he spotted an entirely unexpected mail from a very familiar person. ' email@example.com '. My, he hasn't seen that name in weeks. He was about to click on it when he heard Alex coming back.
"And another thing -" the immigrant sauntered back, only wearing a pair of boxers. Thomas groaned, but it didn't stop him, "- wanna share a shower?" Alex wiggled his eyebrows, now standing behind Thomas and nuzzling into his neck. Thomas tried to shake him away.
"Get off my dick, Hamilton." He let out a sound of frustration.
"Mm, that's not what you said last night."
"Alex, please, I have work to do." He craned his neck and looked up at Alex. The smaller man didn't seem to take the hint, kissing him again. Although the moment Thomas got invested into the kiss, he strolled away, snickering. Thomas only shook his head and went on to read the email.
I am writing this to you from the sunny beaches of Miami. As you know, I highly dislike cold weather and tend to get sick all the time, so I opted to spend my winter holiday in a hotter climate. It's been fantastic so far, even though I landed only two days ago. Or rather, we landed. Dolley is having a great time as well, might I add. She was the one who insisted that I send you a postcard, but as you may imagine, this is much quicker.
I have been told that Hamilton and you are now engaged? How did I not hear this from you, Tom? I must say, it wounds me. Regardless, I wanted to ask - how is it going for you guys? At first, I couldn't even imagine you two being in the same room together for a minute without wanting to strangle each other. It was even odd watching you two in college being all shy and stuff. You know, 'I accidentally and not so subtly brushed my hand on yours' or those coy little pecks on the cheek Hamilton always insisted upon? It was hilarious. Still is, actually. Not in a bad way, though.
Thomas laughed a little to himself. Yes, the debates and arguments were comical and it made a lot of people in the room a little confused. He can actually recall the first time they went toe to toe.
"Sweetheart, this argument was bullshit. I don't care if your pretty little mind thinks it was the right thing to do. Miranda had awful ideas." Thomas growled, waving his hand in his face (since they sat next to each other in class now).
"Listen darling, I'm telling you, Miranda's idea would have done good for our nation, were it accepted." Hamilton said in the harshest loving tone anyone in the room has ever heard.
"Doll, I love that bleeding heart of yours, but it's going to put people in danger if you ever get to hold some position of power. Thomas frowned, sighing, "This preposition would have been a waste."
Alex's hand dropped from where it was initially placed pointing a finger on Thomas' chest. "Wait, what?"
"We don't need it." The Virginian repeated himself, furrowing his brows in confusion
"No, you said…" Alex looked down, a rosy tint coloring his cheeks as he stammered, occasionally glancing up. "That you… about me- my…"
Thomas' eyes widened in realization. "I haven't said that yet?"*
Thomas likes reminiscing. He his eyes darted back to the mail.
I always thought it to be interesting how you guys would bicker about everything, not only about politics anymore, and looked like an old married couple. I have had my doubts about the strength of your relationship. You too must admit that it was very unlikely for you to stay together for 6 years now. Some compared your relationship to glass. While types of glass can be strong, such as the bulletproof one, there is also very fragile glass, like lenses. I admit that I expected you to "be" lenses.
Hamilton is a difficult person, so are you. You disagree a lot, but in the end, you are very much alike - excuse the fact that you acted like an ass to Hamilton for years. Regardless, you're both remarkable, both geniuses and probably smartest people in any given room you enter. Having this in mind, it would be relatively obvious that you would always have each other's back. And really, that is the only thing that matters in the end.
P.S. Did you really think that I, the embodiment of asexuality, had a girl over that night?
Thomas didn't know how to react to the last sentence. Had James really done that just to make him share the bed with Alex? A sneaky devil, really.
Talking about sneaky...
He didn't hear footsteps at first, but suddenly felt a pair of cold, wet hands covering his eyes. "Guess who?!"
"Gee, I wonder," Thomas said sarcastically.
"C'mon, join me?" Alexander said, but this time there was no mischief in his voice, only a sense of longing - which Thomas also felt in his chest. Well, how can he say no to this? Finally Alex moved away his hands and Thomas could turn around.
"What's it in for me?" The Virginian winked, making Alex snort. With best of his efforts, he put on a seductive face (and failed, but Thomas thought it was cute, so he'll let it slide) and say in a low, very suggestive voice, "I guess we'll have to see. Do you still feel like you don't want me on your dick?"
Now it was Thomas’ time to laugh. He let out a huff, and let his eyes roam Alex's body. His fiancée was not exactly a bodybuilder, but for him, seeing next to nothing covering his sun-kissed skin was enough. And then it hit him. "You're not wet." He stated.
"Uh... what?" Alex squinted, “I’m a dude, did you forget?”
"Your hand were wet, yet you aren't." He shook his head, "Jesus, I don't even want to know what you touched with them."
Alex snipped for a moment but then reassured him, "I just checked the water temperature. Besides," he said and paused, "you can have the honor of touching that."
"You're disgusting," Thomas jokes but got up, slapped Alex's ass (making the smaller man squeal in surprise, but he would deny it later) and following him into the bathroom. He stripped, gave Alex a quick once-over and smirked, "Can I still take you up on that offer?"
He swore that he has never seen the immigrant flush this much, this quick.
Yeah, he'll be good.
For all of the times that he never could.
Temperance has had it pretty hard for the last 8 or so years. A lot of emotional trauma regarding the death of her husband, and then not even a year later, her mother had passed away. She began basically living a double life; a college professor during the day, and nights she would spend in bars. She had probably slept with half of the regulars at Teddy’s, plus that cute Malachi boy that worked as a bartender.
She quit that about two years ago now, realizing that it was all once huge mistake. She first of all, got rid of all the alcohol in her house and stopped visiting the bars, even cafes. She also got closer to her substitute, John Jay, who by now started working regularly. Which was good, because at least it was less work for her.
She would be lying if she didn’t like him; he was adorable yet hot at the same time, blonde hair and very deep, dark eyes, and a galaxy worth of freckles scattered about on his face. He was tall and lean, and only a year younger than her – at the time, he was 33. They would flirt casually, jokingly most of the time, until one Friday, she gets a text from him saying ‘Hey girl, I feel like I didn’t give my best at that pool game last week. Care for a rematch?’ And she’d be lying if it didn’t make her excited, the thought of John wanting to hang out. The said pool game was held between herself, Jay, Adams, Paine, King, Lee and Gwinnett. Jay didn’t lose by that much, the one with the least amount of points was Adams. But it was a perfect excuse, for what Temperance knew was ‘Hey, wanna go out?’
She didn’t think much of their date (should she be calling it a date?). They got to a bar, not Teddy’s, and it looked far more sophisticated. There was, by chance, a pool table. They drank very little, Temperance opting on a single martini and a glass of orange juice, and John drank gin & tonic. They moved to play, at last, that was the initial idea of this… meeting? Except all the while John kept standing irrationally close, and it was very obvious what his intentions were. At once, as Temperance was slightly bent over the table, and he found himself pressed up against her back, seemingly trying to “guide” her cue stick, as if she wasn’t already beating him in the game. His breath was hot on her neck, sending chills down her spine. Then she turned around and kissed him. He stilled for a moment, but his hands were in seconds on her hips, and they had to take this outside of the bar, because they were considerate of other people. She ended up at his place, but they only kissed and cuddled. Both of them were too tired and too worried about what was this going to turn into.
They got together not a week later, and quickly became the power couple among the teachers, taking Washingtons’ title.
So yeah, life was good.
Alex curled up in bed almost immediately after the shower. Thomas had more work to do, and Alex was way too tired to wait up for him. Besides, the handjobs in the shower left him perfectly satisfied for the day. He was half-asleep when he felt the mattress shift under what presumably was Thomas. He was right, when he felt the Virginian wrap his arms around Alex. Alex turned around to bury his face in Thomas’ chest. He inhaled his scent like a drug, and with that, fell asleep.
So yeah, life was good.
Can't believe I am actually done with this! It has been very exciting. I wanna thank all of you who commented and supported this, all the constructive criticism and praise.