Chapter Text
Silence. That’s all that accompanied John whilst in detention, not even the clichéd tick-ticking of a clock. How did he land himself a spot here you might ask? Well, his school had recently decided that transgender students would be forced to use restrooms that correlate to their gender assigned at birth. John would not have any of it. Being a closeted asexual and being gay, any LGBTQ+ discrimination would not be allowed to poison his resovoir of thoughts.
After deciding to stand up to this ruling, he decided that if he were to go down he would go down memorably so at least when recounting this tale to his father, which will most likely not have a positive outcome on account of his father being strict on a good school record and highly LGBTQ-phobic, it would be an interesting one. The only problem was how could hid message reach the student body? What even was his message?. Then it hit him.
Come fifth period, lunch, he climbed on top of an abandoned lunch table and screamed the familiar lyrics from RENT, passionately pumping his fist in the air in rhythm, “ANARACHY! REVOLUTION! JUSTICE SCREAMING FOR SOLUTION! FORCING CHANGES! RISKING DANGERS! MAKING NOISE AND MAKING PLEAS!”, though vague, it would spark a rebellious incentive throughout the school, besides, the students knew exactly what he was referring to considering it’s controversial matter. He was promptly ordered to get off the table, be quiet, and attend detention all this week. Was it worth it? Yes, he would say so, because ripples were already visible- no not ripples, sparks, sparks that needed to be fanned into a flame, a flame that would engulf the school and force change. These sparks, you ask? No longer than two class periods later copies of an essay supporting John’s claim was posted all throughout the school, not your normal two-page essay that was required during middle school, but ten pages. Ten. Whole. Pages. In an hour and a half. John was astonished and quickly got to work doodling himself fist in the air on the table on all of the essays.
It was weird, because it seemed as though the kid had not been caught, it wasn’t written anonymously, no, in bold letters near the top lay the name “Alexander Hamilton”. It was a name John vaguely recognized as the school newspaper writer who bravely came out as bi in this conservative school, but besides that he couldn’t put a face to the name or know his personality, well he could infer it was audacious if his bold strokes of ink on this blank paper of a school were any indication.
Well, couldn’t but a face to the name until now, when the door opened and fifteen minutes late strode in who he presumed to be Alexander Hamilton. Oh John was doomed. Despite wearing jeans with holes in them and converse falling apart at the soles, he was breathtaking. From his shoulder-length and shiny dark hair pulled into a tight half-ponytail, to his olive skin, to black nail polish gracing his fingernails, John couldn’t stop staring. Oh god he was staring. John's eyes that were previously transfixed flicked down to the desk in front of him as Alexander took the seat next to him.
Alexander smiled with a look of admiration and smugness at what they both did, a smile so simply beautiful that made him self-conscious to reveal his braces - clad teeth, before introducing himself as: “Alexander Hamilton, you can call me Alex, Alexander, or Hamilton, or whatever other nickname you can pull out of the air into a tangible form. I presume you’re John Laurens? I wrote the essays you see posted around, my cry for equality. Sorry if I’m speaking a lot, I tend to do that, but you can probably guess that from the speed and length of my writing. Anway….”
John zoned out after that, it was good Alex didn’t give him a word in edgewise, he wouldn’t have been able to mutter the most incompetent of phrases. He was falling. Falling fast. And hoping his landing would be into Alexander’s arms and not the hard ground below.