Work Text:
Alex seriously couldn't believe the situation he was in. Momus must be getting a nice laugh out of this, because clearly, the God of mockery and satire was exercising his powers to the fullest.
His day started off normal enough; finally submitting to the exhaustion clouding his every thought, only to be yoinked from a painful sleep by his phone's obnoxious and unrelenting chiming. Upon prying his eyelids open and squinting at the too-bright screen, Alexander Hamilton was bombarded with texts from his boss asking why he was late, where is he, is he coming in, and lastly, if Mr. Rhee didn't get an explanation, he'd be suspended without pay for a month. Alex wasn't just late. He wasn't even fashionably late.
He was missed half of his six hour shift late.
Which then invoked five minutes of scrabbling around his apartment, toothbrush hanging haphazardly out of his mouth and tripping over his feet while trying to pull a new pair of pants on. After a staggering amount of cursing and toe stubbing, Hamilton left his home in a blaze of glory, shooting off a typo-ridden excuse to Rhee and sprinting the few blocks to Walker's Pizza Parlor. Rhee was unhappy to say the least, but he was an overly empathetic man and let Alex off with a warning, as well as giving him Lee's shift to make up for lost (money) time.
He was home by seven that night. Finishing up with a steamy, hour long shower (which he did not fall asleep in, Carly Shae strike him down), Hamilton proceeded to pass out butt ass naked on his bed.
BUT, hold your horses, Hercules Mulligan, the Almighty Smiter was not done smiting Alex quite yet. He barely had time to indulge in a marvelous dream about riding the roller coaster from Phineas and Ferb before an ear splitting alarm awoke him rudely.
The fucking fire alarm.
Alex barely had enough time to yank on his boxers in his haste to escape the burning building. In the hallway, a handful of people were also shuffling fearfully towards the fire exit and Hamilton wasted no time catching up with them. The stairwell was packed with other residents of his building, all panicking and hyperventilating and shoving to the same destination.
Reaching that destination, Alex had time to reminisce on his errors. You know, the being completely fucking naked besides his boxers error. He could've tried to squeeze into some goddamn sweatpants, for fuck's sake. But the entire universe wasn't ready to give Alex a break. He was stood in the apartment complex's parking lot, in his underwear, at ten o'clock PM, right in the dead of November.
And as a final nail in Alexander Hamilton's coffin constructed specially by The Big Three themselves, someone had the guts to snicker at his vulnerable situation. Alex turned around, ready to go off on this guy, but was quickly stopped in his tracks at who This Guy was.
Resident Hot Neighbor of Alex's floor, in all his freckle-faced, curly-haired glory.
So here he is, standing half naked in the parking lot of his possibly burning apartment complex, shivering against the chill of November, and he was being laughed at by a man he's had an aesthetic crush on since he moved in six months ago.
Alex glared, fuming and shivering, at Hot Neighbor John Doe. The fucking fuck continued to giggle infuriatingly (read also: adorably), not even trying to preserve some of Hamilton's dignity. Obviously, the only reasonable course of action was to flip Hot John Doe off, pointedly turn away, and hug his torso in a desperate attempt to cover his chest and stay warm. He glared up at his apartment building as three firetrucks pulled into the parking lot, coming to a jarring stop, and a pack of firefighters running heroically into the front doors.
Resident Hot Guy stopped laughing long enough to recapture Alex's attention with a light-hearted; "Hey, cold stuff."
Begrudgingly, he grunted out; "What?"
John Doe nudged Alex. "You good?"
"I'm fine," Alex spat out, clenching his jaw to tame his chattering teeth. He purposely kept his gaze away from John Doe.
"Bet!" Hot Guy snarked, and a moment later he was peeling off his bright green hoodie. Hamilton opened his mouth to protest, but McDreamy grinned brightly, disarming his argument instantly. "I can deal," He announced while draping his jacket over Alex's shoulders. "You, on the other hand, are a lot less equipped to deal."
By now, Alex didn't care whose jacket he was given, he was just content to have even a little relief from the frigid New York wind. Despite himself, he flushed at the oddly intimate gesture and the warmth of John Doe that still lingered inside the hoodie.
"Thanks," He muttered, tugging Hot Guy's jacket on properly and zipping it up to cover his chest.
"No problem!" Hot Guy Eddie Cabot exclaimed. The two men stood silently for a moment, albeit a tense moment. Then John Doe turned back to Alex and offered him his hand. "I'm John, by the way. John Laurens."
Alex snorted inwardly. And to think I've known your name this whole time. He thought. He shook John's hand quickly, and returned it to his hoodie pocket. "Alex Hamilton."
John smiled warmly, reaching up to tuck a lock of curly hair behind his ear. That's when the firefighters from earlier filed out of the apartment building, not a scratch on any of them. One of them, a dark-skinned woman standing probably a head taller than Alex, removed her helmet and stuck her arm in the open door of one of the fire engines to tap the horn, catching the tenants' attention.
"False alarm, everyone! Just enough smoke to alert the station. Otherwise, it's safe to go back. Sorry for the scare." She announced. There was an abundance of different reactions to her words as the remaining firefighters packed up to leave. Some sighed with relief, while others (read also: Alexander Hamilton and like one other stranger) groaned in annoyance.
"So I ran out here in my underwear for nothing?" He scoffed. "The gods are having a fucking field day at my expense." Beside him, John chuckled and slapped Alex on the shoulder.
"I wouldn't say it was for nothing," He smiled warmly, only shrug at the other statement. "But I do agree that you were dealt a most undesired hand." Alex snorted in agreement, but flushed as he curled deeper into John's hoodie.
"I guess you're right." The shorter man mumbled, suddenly very interested in the asphalt beneath his bare feet. John started heading back towards the apartments, and called over his shoulder; "You comin?"
Again, Alex felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he smiled despite himself. "Yeah." He bounded to catch up to John. "Just so you know, you're not getting your hoodie back until I'm fully clothed again."
John shrugged. "Keep it if you want," He smirked slyly before adding. "It's getting too small for me anyways." Alex shoved him, huffing indignantly.
"Shaddup." They stepped into the stairwell, trailing behind the crowd of people stampeding up to their floor. Alex tucked his hair behind his ears as an idea formed in his head. In a strange burst of confidence around cute boys, he hummed thoughtfully. "How about, if I get to keep the jacket, I give you my phone number as a thanks?"
Grinning, John pretended to consider the offer for a moment. "You know, I think that'll be sufficient payback." His grin turned apologetic, and he added; "Unfortunately, I didn't grab my phone before I left. Kind of thought I was about to die an Outsiders death."
"Shoot, I left mine too." Alex replied, not even trying to mask the amusement in his voice. "Along with, y'know, my clothes." He waved dismissively.
They'd reached the third floor, where both of them lived. John snickered and shook his head. "Well, why don't you put some clothes on, then come back to my place and we can order pizza?" He offered, setting all jokes aside, instead his voice was hopeful. They stopped outside John's door.
Alex smiled genuinely. "Yeah, I'll be back in five."
John's eyes brightened. "Great! You know where to find me." He exclaimed, unlocking his apartment door and watching Hamilton bounce away to his own home.
And Alex couldn't help but think that this was Momus's apology for using him as a test dummy.