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Chapter Text

John absentmindedly watches Thomas Jefferson and James Madison cross the cafeteria. The two are holding hands, and Jefferson is chattering away happily while James listens contently, smiling up at him.

“Are you paying attention?” Alex asks impatiently, and John turns to see Alex staring at him. Alex’s dark hair is coming loose from its haphazard ponytail, and he looks mildly deranged as he glares at John across the table.

“Oh, no, sorry,” John says, and Alex sighs exaggeratedly.

“You did not miss much.” Lafayette has his phone out, and he’s scrolling with one thumb. “Notre cher ami was complaining about how Thomas has a boyfriend.”

“Again?” John says, dismayed.

“Again,”  Hercules groans, resting his face in his hands.

“Hey, I don’t complain about Jefferson that much!” Alex says. (He’s absolutely lying. Thomas and James have only been dating for a month, and John has already lost count the number of times Alex ranted about it.) Alex huffs, crossing his arms as he plops back down on the bench.

“Are you going to eat?” John gestures toward Alex’s sandwich, sitting untouched in its plastic Ziploc bag in front of him. Alex glances at it and makes a face.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t you have Debate club today?” John presses, and Laf and Herc share a look.

“Yes.”

“You know you get hungry when you have Debate,” John says, and Alex rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Whatever. I guess I’ll eat.” Alex peels open the bag and takes a grumpy bite of the sandwich. Alex frequently tries to skip meals, but when his friends force him to eat, he practically shovels down whatever he’s eating. John pretends not to notice.

Alex walks into Debate club that day just wanting to go home. Typically he’d be raring to go, ready to go off on someone, but today, he feels fatigued. He’d stayed up overnight to write an essay, and now he’s thoroughly regretting it.

Jefferson is front and center in the room. He’s sitting backward in his chair, gesticulating as he talks to the small crowd around him. Everything about him just screams I think I’m better than you, from his $500 magenta jacket to his smug expression to his somehow constantly perfect hair. Alex skirts the edge of the room to avoid catching his eye, and as he does so, he notices a boy sitting by himself at the back of the room.

Any excuse to avoid a confrontation with Jefferson today.

“Hey.” Alex takes a seat at the desk next to the guy. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m new here. Both at this school, and to this club,” the boy says.

Alex pulls out his hairtie to redo his ponytail before his hairtie falls out and he loses it. “Well then, just stick with me, I can show you around. I’m Alex.”

“Aaron.” He holds out one hand, and Alex shakes it.

“My dad was in the army,” Alex admits in response to Aaron’s raised eyebrows. “He values firm handshakes. But hey, at least my hand isn’t a wet fish.” Aaron seems mildly amused, and Alex considers that a win. Taking into account Aaron’s posture, Alex would’ve assumed he was one of those hideously uptight people, but he’d gotten a smile, and as far as he’s concerned, Aaron’s not that bad.

Alex doesn’t participate in the debating today, instead muttering quiet commentary to Aaron about each of the other students.

“That’s Katherine, she’s kinda quiet but she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to science, and she can hold her ground.”

“There’s Angelica, you don’t want to argue with her, she’ll own you.”

“See him? That’s Thomas Jefferson. He’s a prick.” Right then, Jefferson, in the middle of his debate, makes eye contact with Alex, and Alex doesn’t dare to move until Jefferson looks away.

“You’ve had at least one good thing to say about every person thus far except him,” Aaron observes. “What do you have against him?”

Alex scowls at Jefferson. “For one, he’s a prick. Second, he hates me. Third, that jacket is like $500, and he wears it to school every day.”

“Surely you must hate him as well, with the way you talk about him,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, but he started it,” Alex whines, folding his arms. He’s aware he’s acting like a child, but he’s barely survived the day and he can’t wait to go home.

Aaron rolls his eyes.

“Alright, guys, that’s it for today, go home,” the teacher says. Alex goes to pick up his bag and all of his papers fall out.

“Shit!” he says, much louder than he’d meant to. The sound carries, and Jefferson glances over and smirks. Alex growls, trying to scoop his papers back into his bag, and after a moment of watching, Aaron sighs, getting down on his knees to help.

Once the two have managed to put all of Alex's papers back into his bag—he's gonna have to spend at least half an hour figuring out what order they should be in once he gets home—Alex glances surreptitiously towards the front of the room just in case Jefferson is still observing his misfortune with glee. But no, he's left already, much to Alex's relief.

"Thanks," he mutters under his breath as he passes Aaron on his way to the door.

"What was that?" Aaron asks in that teasing tone that implies he heard Alex perfectly but he couldn't quite believe his ears. He catches up to walk alongside Alex, and Alex rubs at his temples in an effort to ease his steadily worsening headache.

"You heard me," he says.

"You just didn't seem like the type," Aaron says.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex glowers at him.

Aaron raises his hands defensively, but he's smiling. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

Alex finally has a basic understanding of Aaron's personality. He's not much like the quiet guy Alex thought he was at first. He is quiet, but that's because he's clever and he waits for opportunities, unlike Alex, who always rushes ahead at full speed. Who knows, it might be nice to have someone around who's so much his opposite.

Alex holds out his hand, and Aaron stares blankly at him. "Your schedule, dummy." Aaron pulls it out of his backpack, and Alex looks it over. "Nice, we've got U.S. gov together." He shoves the paper back into Aaron's backpack, ignoring the way he wrinkles it. "I'm going home. See you tomorrow, Burr!" He waves at Aaron as he practically skips off, and Aaron shakes his head as he watches Alex leave.

Chapter Text

Alex collapses on his bed, dropping his bag on the floor. He sighs and lets himself sink as much as possible into the mattress.

After a few minutes, there's a quiet knock, and Alex calls, "Come in."

Alex barely lifts his head enough to see Martha ease the door open. She smiles.

"How was your day?" Her voice is soft, and he's glad. His headache hasn't gotten any better.

"It kind of sucked," he says, staring at the ceiling above his bed. "I'm tired and I have a headache and Jefferson was mean to me."

Martha joins Alex to sit on the bed next to him. She starts stroking his hair like she did when he was a child and he couldn't sleep. It's never not worked once. Something about the gesture or maybe the sensation calms Alex down right away, every time. "You should get to bed earlier today."

"I guess." He closes his eyes, and he hears Martha chuckle.

She pets his hair for a few more minutes before she has to leave, and Alex remains on the bed where he'd collapsed.

Someone else opens the door now, this time without knocking, but Alex knows who it is. "What do you want, Gil?"

"I had hoped you might be able to assist me with my math?" Lafayette answers. He also sounds tired, though not as much as Alex feels.

"Yeah, sure." As much as Alex just wants to sleep, his brother is higher on his list of priorities than his wellbeing, so he sits up slowly and forces a (hopefully convincing) smile. Alex has always been good at math, so much so that he's a whole year ahead of most of his peers, and as such, he's able to help when Laf gets stuck on his trig homework.

Laf hasn't always been his brother, but then again, Martha hasn't always been his mom either. Three years ago, Laf came as an exchange student from France. He'd stayed with the Mulligans. At the time, it'd been just Alex and Hercules, and then Herc brought along this new kid, with his charm and his foreign mannerisms and his French accent, and everyone in the vicinity had taken a liking to Laf. Not long after, John had transferred to their middle school. He'd been enrolled in a fancy private school in another district but had gotten expelled. Come to think of it, John had never said why he'd been expelled, but then again, John seems to have a lot of secrets.

Like those bruises on his arm that he thinks no one sees, but sometimes his sleeves ride up, and Alex has gotten a glimpse more than once. Or the weird marks on John's neck that resemble scars. Those are usually covered by John's hair, or a turtleneck, or the hood of a sweatshirt, or even a scarf when it gets cold.

Maybe Alex has put too much thought into it.

Anyway, after Laf’s exchange program ended, his mother didn't really want him back, and the Washingtons offered to adopt him like they'd done Alex.

Alex blinks, returning to the present mentally now as well as physically, and Laf is watching him.

"Is something wrong, mon frere?"

"Ah, no, nothing." Alex taps his pen on the desk. "Hey, I met a new kid today."

"Oh?" Laf's eyes sparkle. He may be good-hearted, but damn, does he have a taste for gossip unrivaled by even Jefferson’s.

"Yeah. His name is Aaron Burr, and he's got U.S. Gov third period with me." He's grateful for the distraction. More often than not, he finds himself pondering in depth topics he'd rather not ponder at all, let alone in depth.

Talking always keeps him from thinking.

Maybe that's why he talks so much.

Alex tells Laf about his encounter with Burr, and Laf listens with full interest.

"You have always been good at stories," Laf tells him once he's finished.

"I don't think that was really a story…" Alex stares at the math on the page, trying to force the numbers into some sort of order in his head.

"Nonsense, Alexander," Laf says, but doesn't elaborate.

Alex figures out the math, explains it to Laf twice until he understands, and then sends Laf back off to his own room so he can rest.

Alex flops back on his bed, ready to take a nap, when his phone vibrates.

"Ugh, what now?!" If someone wants to call him, they'll have to do it later.  He can't handle much more. He turns off his phone, and shortly after, his brain follows.

Meanwhile, John sits in the dark with his phone by his ear, tear tracks staining his face, hoping someone will pick up.

No one does.

Why did he expect them to care about him?

No one ever does. Not even him.

Chapter Text

Aaron sees Alex the next day in their U.S. gov class. He deliberately chooses a desk on the other side of the room, and Alex huffs, getting up to join Aaron.

Aaron only seems mildly annoyed when Alex sits next to him, as though he'd predicted this might happen and he isn't all that surprised.

The class period passes entirely uneventfully.

The bell rings at the end of class, and the chatter begins as students begin leaving for lunch.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to talk to me during class." Aaron doesn't look at Alex as he packs up his things.

Alex shrugs. "Hey, I like this class. It’s interesting. It wouldn’t do me any good to talk over the teacher, would it?"

"Then why did you move to sit next to me?"

Alex blinks. "I dunno. I guess I just like you a bit, Burr," he says in mock introspection, and Aaron rolls his eyes. "Sit with us today at lunch."

"Us? You mean you have friends?"

"Yeah, I do. There's my French brother, and the guy who he totally doesn't like, and then there's… well, my friend John." Aaron notes the way Alex’s ears turn slightly pink as he says this, but decides not to pry.

"Very well, considering no one else has gone out of their way to socialize with me like you have." Aaron swings his bag over his shoulder, and Alex grins.

"Who's that?" Hercules asks when Alex arrives at their table with Aaron in tow.

"Ah, this must be… what was it? Eric? Eric Burr?" Lafayette says.

"It's Aaron Burr," he corrects, pretending that doesn’t bother him. "He's talked about me, then? I assume you're the 'French brother' he mentioned?"

"Oui, that is me," Laf beams.

"You don't seem very French." Aaron turns to Alex. The question is inevitable every time they meet someone new.

"We're both adopted, actually," Alex says, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Why don't you take a seat, Burr?" He puts a hand on Aaron's shoulder, pushing him down onto one of the benches. "So that's my brother Laf."

"Bonjour!" Laf waves cheerfully.

"That's Herc."

"Sup." Herc nods at Aaron.

"And this is John."

John doesn't look up when his name is said, and Alex frowns. "John? Earth to John?" John doesn't respond until Alex snaps his fingers in his friend's face, and then John jumps.

"Sorry, what?" John smiles weakly. Alex watches him shrewdly for a moment, and Laf and Herc share a look. They've been doing that a lot lately. Alex supposes they must have agreed upon which look meant what back when Laf was living with the Mulligans, but he finds it highly suspicious.

"I was just introducing you to Aaron Burr here," Alex says.

"Oh." John thinks for a moment. "I'm John. Did you already say that?"

"Yeah, but it's okay." Alex moves on with a sweep of one hand. "This is Aaron Burr. He's new."

“You’re not queer, are you?” Herc asks. Aaron seems puzzled.

“Um, no.”

“Aw, too bad, the rest of us are.” Alex finally takes a seat. He has a bad habit of standing unnecessarily.

“That’s nice,” Aaron says politely, and Alex’s eyebrows furrow.

“You are not a homophobe, correct?” Laf asks.

“No, I’m not,” Aaron says hurriedly. “I don’t happen to know very many people in the community, that’s all.” His stiffness comes across as mildly embarrassed, and Alex lets it be.

“Any girls you’ve got your eye on, then?” Alex elbows Aaron playfully. “All of us except John like girls at least a little.”

Aaron carefully extracts a plastic-wrapped burrito from the paper bag he’d brought. “Perhaps.” He attempts to keep his face blank, but against his will, the corners of his mouth curl, giving him away.

“Who?” Herc wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Does she go here? You have only been here one day,” Laf says.

“I’m not sure you’d know her. Her name is Theodosia.” Aaron takes a bite of his burrito.

“Oh, yeah, no, I don’t know her.” Alex stops crouching on the bench for favor of sitting normally. “Can you see her from here?”

Aaron scans the room. There she is, next to that girl from Debate club—what had Alex said her name was? Angelica?

“She’s next to Angelica,” he says, and Alex pushes himself to his feet to have a look. “Try not to be too conspicuous.”

“Oh, yeah, not bad,” grins Alex. “I think you’ve got a chance, Burr. You’re not so bad-looking yourself.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

John is looking at the table, gaze dull. He’s already finished his meal and disposed of his trash, and Alex notices that John hasn’t said a single word since he made John introduce himself.

“Yo, dude, you okay?” he asks, and John looks up, startled and guilty all at once.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” He sounds much more drained than usual.

“You sure?” Alex asks, concerned.

“It’s fine!” John snaps, jumping to his feet. His eyes widen as he realizes everyone at their table and a few people from nearby tables are staring at him. “It’s… fine…” He sits down again, resting his head on his arms and his arms on the table, and he doesn’t move again until the end of lunch.

The bell rings—time to go to class. Laf, Herc, and Aaron get up and leave, and Alex is left with John.

Alex puts a gentle hand on John’s shoulder, and John lifts his head. “Did you fall asleep?”

John blinks blearily. “Did I?” He notices Alex’s comforting hand on his shoulder, and gives him a tired half-smile. “I guess I did.” He clambers to his feet, and as he does, the edge of his sleeve lifts. There’s a bruise on his wrist.

“John—”

John sees where Alex’s attention is, and his eyes widen. “Leave it alone, Alex. It’s nothing.” He yanks his sleeve down. “Bye. See you tomorrow.” He walks away, and Alex is left wondering if he shouldn’t have mentioned it.

John storms past Thomas Jefferson, taking no note of him, but Thomas makes a thoughtful face, glancing from where Alex stands stationary in the cafeteria to John.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, John arrives at school early. He walks to his locker.

He feels like people are staring at him.

He shudders, pulling his limbs in close to his body in an attempt to shrink. He grips the straps of his backpack tightly, shoving down the panic that’s attempting to surface.

What did your therapist say about this, John? He wracks his brain, trying to remember. Of course, he hasn’t been back to therapy since his mother died. His father didn’t think it was doing him any good, and since his mother had been the one who thought it might help, his father had promptly cancelled any future sessions. John often wonders if, had he kept going, he’d be doing better now, but there’s no point in wondering. His father wouldn’t pay for it.

John drifts through his day only half-paying attention. During lunch, Alex opens his mouth as if to say something, then makes eye contact with John and changes his mind. Did that happen because of what John said yesterday? He does feel bad, but… it’s not any of Alex’s business either.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” he says abruptly, getting to his feet. Laf starts to offer to go with him, but Alex shakes his head, and Laf shuts his mouth. They don’t want to talk to him. That’s fine. He doesn’t really want to talk right now either. Whatever.

The bathroom is empty, and John does his business quickly. Someone must have replaced the lightbulb over the weekend. He’s relieved it’s finally fixed, since it had been nearly a month and nothing had happened. He washes his hands, staring but not really looking at his reflection.

Someone yanks on one of his curls, hard, and John whirls around. Of course. Of course. It just had to be today, didn’t it?

“Hey, Laurens.” Charles Lee sneers at John, and despite the sudden terror that overtakes him, he notes that Lee’s hair looks greasy, like it hasn’t been washed in a while. It fits him as a person though, greasy and slick like a weasel. “Guess what I heard from Jefferson!” he says in that horrible, mocking, sing-song way.

“I don’t know,” John mutters, ducking around Lee to get a paper towel, but Lee grabs his wrist, and John cries out.

“Shut up,” hisses Lee. “You know what’s going to happen if you get me caught.” He squeezes John’s wrist, and John bites his lip to muffle the whimper that threatens to escape.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Lee’s been picking on John for years. John only transferred to the same high school as Alex and his friends in tenth grade. Tenth grade had been fine. But halfway through the year, Lee had taken notice of John.

It had started as insults, calling him names, slurs, even. But as the months had dragged on, the harsh words had become painful touches, bruises that stand out starkly against his skin. He’d long learned to ignore the pain—as best he can, anyway—but it’s hard when he experiences it on two fronts.

“Please let me go,” he says.

“Or what?” Lee laughs in John’s face, and John flinches. “You’ve never been able to fight me, Laurens. And I hear from Jefferson you’re a fag.”

John’s heart stops. “W-what?” Only Alex, Hercules, and Lafayette—and Aaron now, he guesses—know. How would Thomas have found out? Did Aaron tell?

“That’s right. I know your dirty little secret.” Lee’s grip on John’s wrist is starting to smart, and he knows he’s going to be nursing a nasty bruise to match the one on the other wrist, the one Alex saw. “What are you going to give me to keep me from telling?”

“I- I don’t— I don’t have anything to give you,” John pleads, desperately hoping he can appeal to whatever human side of Lee must exist behind this mean persona.

Lee sighs. “Fine. You know what comes next.” The fingers wrapped tightly around John’s wrist loosen, but he isn’t safe yet. He does know what comes next.

Lee takes off his backpack, and John glances around, but there’s nowhere he can go, Lee has him trapped between the sinks and the stall. Instead, he closes his eyes and braces himself. It’s worse when he expects it, because then his muscles tense. If his eyes are closed, he can’t expect it.

By the time the first blow makes contact, John’s already far away in his mind.

John hears a voice, but it’s far away, and his eyelids are heavy. He manages to open his eyes with some difficulty, but everything is blurry. After a minute, he can see again.

“Your name is John, right?” James Madison is kneeling next to him. “Are you alright?”

John uncurls his limbs carefully. When he starts to sit up, he winces. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” James says. “I found you here, like this.”

“It must have been Lee,” John muses.

“Charles Lee?” James asks, alarmed. John nods. “Has this happened before?” He nods again. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“He’d just hurt me again if I told,” John says, and then realizes he’s just told James. “Don’t tell him, please, I don’t want him to—” He can’t finish. His head hurts.

“You’re bleeding.” James’ eyes fix on a point just above John’s eyes, and the hand he raises comes away covered in blood. He feels lightheaded. “Do you want to go to the nurse?”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” John mumbles.

“Why would you think that?”

“I dunno. Your boyfriend hates Alex, and Alex is my friend.” There’s something important John knows about Jefferson that’s attempting to surface in his memory, but the longer he tries to grasp at the thought, the farther away it gets, and inevitably he gives up.

“Thomas has some… odd grudges,” James says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to feel the same way.” He helps John to his feet, and John lets him, knowing that if he tries to stand on his own, he might fall. “Here, I’ll help you.”

It’s lucky most of the students eat in the cafeteria. Only a few people are in the hallways as John passes, supported by James, and they whisper and stare.

The nurse raises an eyebrow at John’s state when he enters. “What happened to you?”

“Fell,” John says reflexively. It’s what he’s been told to say if anyone ever asks.

“Look, kid, I don’t believe you,” the nurse says matter-of-factly, “but if you don’t want to tell me, I won’t make you. Come lay down.” James helps John over to the cot, and John obediently lies down.

“I’m gonna go back to the cafeteria now,” James tells him.

“Thanks,” John says. James smiles.

He’s still in a bit of a daze. Maybe from the cut on his head.

“You don’t have a concussion,” the nurse says. “You’re very lucky. If they’d hit you any harder, you might have to go to the hospital.”

John tries to sit up, but immediately cries out in pain. “I didn’t… nobody hit me,” he protests, and the nurse shakes his head.

“Whatever you say. If you come in here again like this, though, I’m going to need you to tell me who did it.” John nods numbly. “Everything else is a bruise. Those’ll heal on their own. Some of these—” He peeks under John’s sleeve again. “—are at least a few days old.” When John doesn’t say anything, he sighs. “You can stay here until the end of lunch, and then we’ll see how you’re feeling, k?” John nods, and that’s that.

The nurse cleans the cut on his forehead. His friends don’t come to visit—did they even notice John never came back from the bathroom? He can’t go home early, and he can’t go back to class, so he lies there in the nurse’s office until it’s time to go home.

Chapter Text

Thursday morning, Alex spots John across the quad. He’d know those brown curls anywhere.

He slows as he approaches.

“What happened?”

John jumps, like he hadn’t noticed Alex approaching, and Alex feels bad. “It’s not important.”

Alex sincerely doubts that, but he doesn’t press on. He learned his lesson last time—although last time, it had just been one bruise and not a bandage covering practically John’s entire forehead. “Sorry for scaring you,” he says, and he reaches out to move a curl that’s dangerously close to falling into John’s mouth. He tucks it behind John’s ear.

“It’s… it’s fine,” John says, a little shakily.

“If you need anything, let me know, okay?” Alex says sternly.

“I will.” John smiles, and it’s a real smile. Alex missed that smile, he always does. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Does my hair look weird?” John smooths down his curls self-consciously.

“No, your hair looks fine,” Alex reassures him. “I just… you’re my best friend. I like talking to you.”

John flushes. “Oh.”

“Remind me what your first class is?” Alex says, attempting to keep the conversation moving.

“I’ve got English this morning,” John says, seemingly grateful for the question. “We’re doing some document analysis, nothing interesting.” Is John limping? Yes, Alex thinks he is. “We’ve been analyzing these documents for like a week.” John rolls his eyes.

Alex is glad John doesn’t seem terribly bothered by whatever happened to him, but he wonders if John is as cheery as he’s acting.

“That sounds so  dull,” Alex says, piling it on for comedic effect.

“Oh, I know!” John shakes his head in mock haughtiness, and Alex smiles.

They arrive at John’s English classroom a few minutes before the bell rings.

“Hey, I hope your first few classes go well,” Alex says. “See you at lunch?”

John frowns. “Hm, I don’t know, I might have to help a teacher during lunch—” He stops pretending, and a grin spreads quickly across his face. “No, I’m kidding, of course I’ll see you at lunch. Bye, Alex.”

Alex leaves in order to get to his class before the first bell rings. John breathes a sigh of relief as soon as Alex’s back is turned, and his smile drops, replaced with a tired expression. That was too much work.

During lunch, Alex leans in close to John, eyes sparkling. “Wanna come over later?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, okay,” John says. “I’ll… have to ask my father.” He isn’t looking forward to that.

Alex glances surreptitiously at their friends. Lafayette and Hercules are talking animatedly, and Aaron is working on what appears to be homework. “Between you and me, I’m inviting you over today because Gil invited Herc, and I’m not looking forward to being the audience to their weird sexual tension. You’re my excuse!” He winks. “Also, we can hang out, it’s been far too long, and I miss you.”

Alex missed him?

Laf calls Alex over to settle the argument between him and Herc, and John smiles as he watches Alex bound over to join the argument without even a second thought.

“I’ll be right back, I’ve got to make a call.” John steps out into the hallway. He dials his father’s number. By now, his hands no longer shake.

“What do you want, boy?” Henry Laurens’ voice growls through the phone. “I’ve told you not to call me.”

You told me not to text you, either, John thinks. How else am I supposed to contact you? " I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be quick. I’d like to go to a friend’s house after school today.”

“What friend?” He sounds suspicious.

“A girl. Eliza? I’ve mentioned her before?” John hopes he doesn’t sound nervous. His breathing is shaky.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Fine. Whatever.” His dad grunts, and John lets out a relieved sigh. “Don’t bother me today.”

“Okay.” John hangs up. He’d never tried that before, so he had no idea it would work. But of course his dad had no qualms about letting his son spend time with a girl. Isn’t that what he’s been trying to drill into John all these years? Girl = good, boy = bad?

John can’t help it, even if it means he’ll go to hell. He’s tried to like girls the way he likes boys, but it’s never worked out. Not even the time Elizabeth Sanders asked him out. She was a nice girl, but he knew she’d always like him more than he liked her, so they’d broken up.

Francis was another story, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He goes back to lunch.

Chapter Text

Last period is French. John likes this class, but he finds himself checking the clock more and more the closer it gets to the end of the school day. He hasn’t been to Alex’s house in so long, and he’s giddy at the idea of having extended alone time with Alex. When Alex said it had been a while, he hadn’t been kidding.

When the bell rings, John’s already had his things packed for at least half an hour. He’d be the first one out the door, except as soon as he attempts something faster than a hobble, his leg hurts. So he hobbles.

Alex and Lafayette are already waiting under the tree when John arrives. The brothers are both on their phones, but Alex looks up, and his face lights up when he sees John.

“Hey!” Alex waves.

“Hi,” John says, mildly out of breath. “Herc’s not here yet?”

“Non,” Laf says. He types something on his phone. “Herc will meet us there, apparently.” He shuts off his phone with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest.

“There’s Martha.” Alex has spotted their ride.

The three boys pile into the backseat, and Martha adjusts the rearview mirror as they buckle their seatbelts. John ended up squished between Laf and Alex. He doesn’t mind much. They’re both warm.

“How was your day?” Martha asks, and Laf goes off excitedly, waving his hands as he talks.

John listens quietly, but he becomes distracted as soon as he notices Alex’s head on his shoulder. When had Alex put his head there? Shouldn’t he have noticed? Is he really that out of it these days?

John is 90% sure that Alex is asleep for the majority of the drive, but when they go over a particularly large bump, he jolts awake, and John hides his disappointment as Alex opens his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” he says instead, and Alex turns to look at him.

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Alex asks. “Oops.” He makes an embarrassed face.

“Yep. Right on my shoulder,” John says with a small smirk.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” John says. After all, he hadn’t minded one bit, but of course he’d had to tease Alex about it to pretend like he had.

“If you say so.” Alex looks at John like he isn’t quite sure what to make of their conversation. “Then surely you wouldn’t mind if I…?” He slowly lowers his head back onto John’s shoulder, maintaining eye contact the entire time, and John prays silently that his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Oh, yeah, this is nice. Very comfy.” Alex closes his eyes.

Laf, to John’s left, chuckles, and John shoots him a look that roughly translates to oh my god why are you laughing clearly I need help what am I supposed to do and Laf replies with a shrug that means um enjoy this? you’re the only person I let get this close to my brother. Maybe. Actually, John doesn’t know what Laf’s shrug means. It could have meant I really don’t give a crap for all he knows.

To John’s extreme disappointment, the car soon pulls up in front of Alex’s house. It looks exactly how he remembers it. The apple trees out front are blossoming beautifully, littering the path to the front door with pale pink petals, and John wonders what it’s like to live here year-round, with the trees just a window’s glance away.

“George isn’t home yet,” Martha says. “I did make cookies—”

Alex gasps. “Oh. My. God.” He turns to John. “You haven’t had Martha’s cookies before, right?” John shakes his head, puzzled. Alex claps his hands. “They’re so good, come on! Before Gil eats them all!” He grabs John’s hand and starts pulling John along behind him, slowing slightly as he remembers John’s limp.

Laf watches the two proceed down the path to the front door giggling. He shakes his head. “One of these days,” he remarks to Martha, and she smiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“Why don’t we catch up?” she suggests. “We ought to make sure they don’t eat all the cookies.”

Alex fumbles his keys. “Shit—!” Honestly, how has Alex gotten this far in life? He may be incredibly clever and immensely passionate, but he’s also an idiot. John lets a chuckle escape his mouth, and Alex looks up from where he’s crouching to pick up his keys. “Is it that funny?” he asks, slotting one of the keys into the keyhole.

“No, not exactly, I just… it’s you.” John gestures vaguely to the entirety of Alex, unsure how to get his point across.

“You think me as a person is funny? Alexander Hamilton is… funny?” He looks so affronted that John can’t help but laugh.

“No, like…” Alex opens the door, letting John enter first like a true gentleman would. “Well, maybe? Kind of? You just… you’re so smart, and you care so much, but then you’re also just careless, and messy, and sloppy even? You can see how that would be amusing.”

Alex purses his lips. “I guess,”  he says. He’s clearly being dramatic. He’s not as grumpy as he’s pretending to be. He glances over his shoulder. “Come on, the cookies.”

Alex leads John to the kitchen, which is unnecessary, as he’s been here before, but a nice gesture nonetheless. Alex grabs a plastic container from one of the cabinets and begins sweeping as many cookies off of the platter and into the container as he can, and John watches with apprehensive reverence.

“The cookies!” Laf yells in outrage as he enters the kitchen at a sprint. “Alex, no!”

Alex draws the container close to his chest with an actual hiss, and John is reminded of a cornered cat. Alex darts off towards his room, and John follows at a slower pace as Laf is left in the kitchen to survey the damage.

Chapter Text

John finds Alex on his bed, staring unblinkingly at the container of cookies. It’s a little creepy, actually, considering Alex usually blinks. Like a normal human being.

“What… are you doing?” he asks, and Alex finally breaks his staring contest with the cookies.

“Nothing, shut up, you’re the weird one,” Alex says offhandedly, waving at John to signal for him to be quiet, and John can’t help but feel at least partially offended. “C’mere. Cookies.” John sits gingerly on the bed, careful of his leg.

He’s caught unawares as Alex shoves a cookie in his mouth, and so John’s got a cookie hanging out of his mouth. He hurriedly takes a bite, and his eyes widen.

“Oh, holy shit, you’re absolutely right,” John mumbles around his bite of cookie. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never tried your mother’s cookies.”

"See?" Alex shoves a few cookies in his own mouth, taking no notice of the crumbs that fall onto his bedspread. "They're so  good."

"I guess I can see why you stole those cookies like it was the Purge and a bunch of hungry kindergartners were on their way," says John.

"What?" asks Alex, perplexed yet amused. "How did you think up that one?" John shrugs. "Well, okay."

They finish the cookies in silence so they can properly appreciate Martha's baking, and John dusts off the bedspread. Alex may not mind, but John very much hates crumbs on the bed.

"Did you have anything in particular in mind when you invited me over?" he asks.

"Oh, uh, no." Alex stares at a loose thread on the bedspread between him and John. "I just wanted to… hang out, I guess." He ventures a glance up at John, and John shrugs.

"That sounds good to me." John falls backward onto the bed, closing his eyes. When Alex doesn't follow, he opens one eye to peer at him. "C'mon, get comfy." Alex joins John to lie on the bed.

Alex is kind of close when John rolls onto his side, so close John could count Alex's eyelashes—he's always had the prettiest eyelashes, long and dark, whereas John's are pale and not particularly aesthetically pleasing. There's so little space between them that, if he moved forward a few inches, John could ki—

Alex opens his eyes then, and John freezes. "Hey," Alex says with a breathy laugh and a small smile, and John, oh, he knows he's going to make a bad decision soon. "Stop scrunching your nose. It wrinkles your freckles." Alex boops John's nose with one finger.

"Hey!" protests John. He waits a moment before lunging.

"Oh, oh, no, John," wheezes Alex. "Oh my god, you know I h-hate being tickled."

John sticks out his tongue and tickles him a little more for good measure before he stops.

Alex wipes at his eyes, breathing heavily. "What was that for?" he cries.

"Payback." John smirks.

"For what?!"

"For booping my nose without my consent." John sniffs haughtily.

"Okay, yeah, sorry about that, are you happy?" Alex says, exasperated.

John pretends to think. "Hm… No. I'll forgive you if you promise to bring cookies to school for me next time your mom makes some."

"Oh, that's harsh," Alex says. "Okay, fine, I suppose. I like you too much for you to be mad at me."

Alex surely hadn't meant it like that, but all John can hear is Alex saying I like you, and he mentally chastises himself. He's not allowed those thoughts. And Alex would probably be uncomfortable if he ever found out John thought those things about him, right? So it has to stay in John's head. Where he'll lock those thoughts away, in a box in the corner of his mind, and never think them again.

John feels a tug on his hair, and then Alex is holding his scrunchie. "Wh— Alex! Give it back!"

Alex rolls over so John can't reach unless he wants to lie practically on top of Alex. "No." He's always been so stubborn, hasn't he? "Your hair looks nice when it's loose."

John ignores that statement, instead focusing on his target: Alex's hairtie. He grabs at it right as Alex tries to move, which makes it so that John pulls on his ponytail instead of the hairtie.

"Ow," Alex mutters. He pulls out the hairtie and holds it out to John. "You want it so bad? Here." Alex had sat up at some point, and his hair falls messily to frame his face. It doesn't look terribly different from usual, but something about him makes it hard for John to look away. (Is it Alex's ruffled appearance? The red flush across his cheeks? The ever-present smirk?)

John takes the hairtie being held out to him, but now he isn't sure what to do with it. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Hey, here's an idea," Alex says with that brilliant grin, the one that always makes John 70% more likely to be amiable to whatever comes out of Alex's mouth. "I've always wanted to do something with your hair. I could braid yours? And you could braid mine after, I guess, if you want?"

"That sounds like a plan," John says. Alex gets up to track down a hairbrush—he really is messy—and John shifts on the bed.

"Found it!" Alex straightens up holding a green hairbrush. It's a similar shade to his eyes. He sits behind John on the bed and starts very carefully drawing the brush through John's curly locks.

The Laurens family always has very curly hair, the kind that tangles easily and hurts when it's brushed wrong, but Alex is surprisingly gentle and doesn't pull at John's hair as he brushes it. It's very calming and comforting, and John closes his eyes.

"I'm done," Alex says proudly. He frowns at the lack of a response. "John?" His friend's eyes are closed, and Alex smiles. "John." Alex shakes John's shoulders slightly, and John's eyes shoot open. He looks around, confused.

"I think I almost dozed off," John admits once he's gotten his bearings.

"Really?" Alex asks, surprised, and John nods.

"Your turn." John gets up, and they switch places. (He's a little disappointed it's over already.)

Alex's hair isn't greasy today. To be fair, Alex is busy with school and Debate club and personal projects and who knows what else, and so it makes some sense that he skips showering at least once a week. But he must have washed his hair yesterday, because it's incredibly soft in John's fingers.

John has had lots of practice doing various hairstyles, what with his two little sisters and his preference to keep his own hair long. With his sisters' hair, and, indeed, his own hair, he often has to wrangle it into some kind of order, just something that'll stay in place until the end of the school day, but John marvels at the ease with which Alex's hair behaves.

"Are you sticking out your tongue again?" calls Alex, and John pulls his tongue back into his mouth.

"No," he lies, aware he doesn't sound at all convincing but refusing to let Alex have that small victory.

Alex laughs. "If you say so."

"I'm done," John says, tying off the end of the braid with the hairtie Alex had given him earlier. Alex leaps to his feet in excitement.

"Let's go to the bathroom, I wanna see!" He proceeds to, once again, drag John down the hallway by the hand, but he finds he doesn't mind much.

Alex appraises himself in the bathroom mirror, first smiling, then suspiciously eyeing his reflection. He pouts as he blows air at the shorter bits of hair by his forehead. Do those count as bangs?

"Do you need a barrette or something?" John asks, leaning against the doorway.

"Maybe," mutters Alex, actually grumpy this time, but it doesn't last very long, and he instantly bounces back. "Hey, come and see my handiwork!" He drags John into the bathroom, positioning him directly in front of the mirror, hands on John's shoulders. "What do you think?"

"I'm not gonna lie, I kind of like it," John says. He hadn't been expecting that. His hair never works well with whatever updo he's trying to wrestle it into, and he ends up with a mediocre result every time, but Alex has managed to get John's curls into a respectable braid, and the few loose locks at the front look intentionally arranged. "It's nice, thank you." Alex smiles softly, and John's heart skips a beat. He hurries to shift the attention away from himself. "Anyway, do you like your hair?"

Alex moves the braid so it lays over his shoulder. "Yeah. I've never tried this before. It's cool, though."

The sound of raucous laughter drifts down the hallway from the living room, and John takes this as a cue that Hercules has finally arrived. "Why don't we go back to your room, before they catch us being weird and sensitive?" He doesn't notice Alex frown behind him as he leaves the bathroom.

Now that Herc is here, between him and Laf, John knows he and Alex aren't going to get another moment of peace, or, rather, a moment of silence. The dynamic between Laf and Herc has always been lively, which probably stems from the year Laf lived with the Mulligans. He's never met Herc's parents, but he dreads to think what they'd be like. No thanks. John is an introvert. Maybe that's why he and Alex always pair off and Herc and Laf pair off.

Still, what kind of parent names their kid "Hercules Mulligan"? What self-respecting parent? No wonder Herc insists that everyone call him by a nickname. John  is a perfectly normal name, thank you very much.

After they'd come back from the bathroom, John and Alex had defeatedly admitted that they had homework to do and should probably work on it. But it's hard with Herc and Laf in the room across the hall being incredibly loud, and Alex keeps hitting dead ends and growling.

Alex makes another sound of frustration, and John can't take any more of this. He grabs Alex's hand, and Alex looks at him.

"Let's take a break, okay?" He rubs the back of Alex's hand with his thumb, hoping his voice is soothing, and sure enough, the wrinkles on Alex's face slowly smooth out. Alex goes to run a hand through his hair, then remembers it’s in a braid, but he seems significantly less agitated, which John is glad about.

Alex stands up slowly, stretching, and John refuses to look, because he knows that when Alex lifts his arms, his shirt lifts a little and his stomach is exposed. "Hey, I know!" Alex hits the lightswitch, plunging the room into darkness, and John yelps. "It's okay, just wait." There's the sound of Alex shuffling across the floor, and John learns to trust his ears in the absence of his eyes. There's a couple of quiet clicks, and John has to shield his eyes.

When he lowers his arm, his jaw drops. There's a whole galaxy shining on Alex's ceiling, complete with shooting stars.

"It's cool, isn't it?" Alex's voice comes from right next to John on the bed, and he jumps. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry." John doesn't want to look away from the constellations, but even without looking, he gets the feeling Alex is looking at him  instead of the ceiling.

"Aren't you gonna look at the stars?" he says, suddenly self-conscious.

"Oh, but I am ," Alex says, and John chokes. "Oh, shit,  are you okay?" John, of course, cannot answer, as he is busy hacking up a lung. "Do you need a pat on the back?" John shakes his head the best he can. "Water?" A nod. Alex hurries off to the bathroom to get water, coming back a moment later. John takes the cup gratefully, gulping down as much water as he can. At first, he coughs on the water too, but soon it does help, and the coughing gradually stops.

"That sounded really bad, are you okay?" Alex asks.

"I'm fine," he starts to say, but winces. Not only does his voice sound  like it's been attacked by a cheese grater, but his throat feels like it too. "Ow," he says instead, rather lamely.

"Okay, good." Alex's hand rubs circles on his back. They sit in silence.

John doesn’t know when Alex fell asleep, or when he did, for that matter, but they both jolt awake when Laf bursts into the room. "It is time for dinner!" He squints at the figures on the bed, aided by the light streaming into the room from behind him. "Did you fall asleep?"

"No," says Alex, even as he yawns. His voice sounds adorably scratchy from sleep, and that's the only thing of any importance that John's sleep-addled brain will tell him.

"Whatever. Le dîner est prêt!" Laf, frustratingly, leaves the door open, and John is reminded of a certain emo song.

Herc pops his head into the room to give his own two cents. "Also, there's a call for you, John."

In an instant, John begins imagining the worst possibilities, and he races to the kitchen, knocking a few of the framed pictures on the wall askew.

Martha is holding the phone, and John snatches it out of her hand. "Hello?" he says, breathing heavily.

"Jacky?" a girl's voice asks.

"Martha? Is everything okay? Why are you calling the Washingtons?" John tries to convince himself there's nothing to worry about, but something in his sister's tone worms its way into his brain, and his heart is beating faster than normal.

"You wouldn't answer your phone," Martha says reproachfully. “I was wondering if Alex might know where you were, since you never stop talking about him.”

John pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, shoot, I'm sorry, Mar, my phone died. Do you need something?" She still hasn't told him why she's calling, and she'd only call if it was for something important.

There's a loud thump from the other end of the line, and John hears Martha gasp. There's a minute of silence, and then she responds at a whisper. "Father's home early. He… Jack, he's not happy, and I can't find Polly." She sounds on the edge of tears, and John lets himself panic for a few seconds before he becomes the calm, strong big brother his little siblings need.

"I'm coming home right now. Lay low until I get there, okay?" She gives an affirmative response—what she said, he doesn’t know, he wasn't exactly listening, he's too busy planning what he's going to do as soon as he gets home.

John turns to leave the kitchen and immediately runs into Alex. "Sorry," he says. (He doesn't have time—)

"Are you alright? Where are you going?" Alex asks. He lightly grips John's arms to steady him.

"Home." John could swear Alex looks alarmed when he says this, but then Alex's face becomes almost carefully blank.

Alex chews his lip. "Tell me when you get there?"

John nods. "Could I borrow your phone? I need to text Eliza."

"Eliza?" The surprise is evident on Alex's face. "What for?" Even so, he extracts his phone from his pocket, typing out his passcode before he hands it to John.

"My phone died, and I told my father I was at Eliza's today. I, uh, didn't tell Eliza that." John frantically types something out, and when he finishes, he shoves the phone into Alex's hand. "Bye."

John leaves, throwing the door open carelessly, and shortly after, George enters, looking appropriately confused.

"Was that John?" he asks, and Alex nods numbly.

John takes his hair out of the braid before he gets home.

Chapter Text

As John walks home, even the sky seems dreary and bleak, not a ray of sunshine in sight. There’s an uncanny lack of sound apart from the cars that rush by. There aren’t even any birds.

John finds James, or rather, Jemmy, huddling behind the bushes by the front step, knees pulled to his chest.

"Hey, Jemmy," John says, putting on a brave face, and Jemmy slowly unfolds, getting to his feet. He has a bruise along his jaw, and his cheeks have a few scratches. John thinks the scratches might be from the bush, but he knows where the bruise came from. "It was smart of you to hide out here."

"We can't find Polly," Jemmy blurts. "I was looking for her outside when he  got home." Jemmy shudders, and John wraps his arms around his little brother.

"I know about Polly. Martha told me over the phone." He doesn't acknowledge the bruise—not yet, not until their father is in a somewhat agreeable mood and first aid can be administered without consequence. John pulls back, hands on Jemmy's shoulders as he looks his brother in the eyes. "Do you have any  idea where she could be?"

Jemmy scrunches up his face as he tries to recall. "Uh… I think maybe she said something earlier about the attic? But, uh, dad's in there, and…"

John pales. "I need you to hide again." Jemmy nods, instilled with a certain grimness that a fifth grader should never have to feel. He crawls under the porch. "That's good. I can't see you." John gives him a thumbs-up—it feels out of place, and he almost laughs, even though he doesn't think a single thing about this scenario is funny—before entering the house.

The place is desolate. With a family of five kids, the Laurens house is often filled with noise of one kind or another, and the absence of sound is eerie.

There’s a whisper as John passes the stairs, and he notices the slightly ajar door of the closet under the stairs.

“Jack!” hisses Martha as John opens the door. Henry Jr.—a horrible thing, really, to be named after their father, it’s no wonder they all call him Harry; on the other hand, John supposes he should be glad he  wasn’t the one named after his father—huddles behind his sister, and John breathes deeply, thoroughly glad all of his siblings except Polly are safe. “You’re here!”

She grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closet, shutting the door behind him, which casts them into near-darkness. He can just make out the forms of his siblings. “You need to find Polly.” You’d think John would feel some kind of resentment being the sole overseer and, well, protector of his siblings, but all he feels is a grim sense of determination. There’s a mutual understanding between them that he’d rather get hurt himself than stand by and let his family get hurt, and so it all falls to him.

“I found Jemmy out front, he said something about her being in the attic?” John says, finding and gripping Martha’s arms in the dark.

“Oh, that’s not good,” she says urgently.

“I heard him go upstairs earlier,” Harry says. “I don’t think he’s come down yet.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go now,” John says, bracing himself as he eases the door open. Nobody is waiting on the other side, but that doesn’t diminish his apprehension any. He doesn’t have to tell them to stay put—by now, they know. He waits to make sure Martha closes the closet door again before starting to climb the stairs.

All of the rooms are empty, and John feels the dread building with every quick beat of his heart. He pauses under the attic door, one hand resting on the ladder.

Wait…

The ladder. It’s down.

A girl’s scream comes from above, and John doesn’t waste any time scrambling up the ladder. In his haste, he barely feels the pain from his injured leg. He pulls himself up into the attic.

Polly.

There’s a sense of relief as he sees his youngest sister unharmed, but it’s short-lived. Henry Laurens is lumbering toward her, and John recognizes the way he’s walking. He’s drunk. He’s the most violent when he’s been drinking.

“Dad,” John says, jaw and fists clenched. He hopes to draw his father’s attention. It’s a successful ploy, as Henry turns at the sound of John’s voice. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Where have you been, boy?” Henry rumbles, eyes narrowing. “I called you and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m sorry, my phone died. I was at Eliza’s, remember? I called you earlier?” John doesn’t dare take his eyes off his father, as much as he wants to run to protect Polly.

Henry thinks, seemingly with a great amount of difficulty. “That’s right.” This is bad. Even when he drinks, he normally doesn’t consume this  much alcohol.

“You can do whatever you want to me later,” John says, attempting to soothe his father’s immense temper. He’s strangely calm. He holds up his hands to show that he isn’t planning anything. “Just… leave Polly alone.”

Henry scoffs. “Or what, boy? Did you forget that I know you’re a fag? It would hurt both of us if that information got out."

John doesn’t flinch, too absorbed in his task of ever-so-slowly edging across the attic to Polly. “No, father. But please. Polly’s only 9.”

Henry watches John calculatingly.

Without warning,

Henry lunges at Polly.

“No!” John doesn’t pause to think. He darts forward, throwing himself in front of Polly just as his father swings, and promptly doubles over, groaning. Henry had been aiming at Polly’s face, but hit John in the stomach.

That’s gonna leave a mark.

“Jacky!” Polly cries behind him, sounding as though she’s on the verge of tears, but at least she’s not hurt. Henry glowers down at John. With substantial effort, John manages to stand, one hand braced on his stomach. He’s been hit there before, so he knows that the difficulty breathing is temporary and nothing to worry about. Still, that doesn’t stop him from feeling lightheaded and off-kilter. The cookies he’d eaten at the Washingtons’ are threatening to crawl their way back up his throat, and he swallows forcefully.

“Dad, I told you, you can hurt me all you want, but I can’t let you touch her.” John gives his father what he hopes is a defiant glare but is likely more of a half-hearted scowl.

Henry Laurens is tall, yes, being over six feet tall, but John is only four inches shorter. And yet, as John sways almost imperceptibly on his feet, planted protectively in front of his sister, his father seems to loom over him. “How dare you,” Henry growls. He lifts his fist, and John closes his eyes, prepares himself for another hit.

The pain he’d readied himself for… doesn’t come.

John opens his eyes in time to see Henry take a step back. He’s lowered his fist, and he’s… crying?

Henry’s never been a sad drunk, but John doesn’t ponder on it too long. He takes the opportunity while his father is preoccupied to usher Polly to the ladder and help her down. He takes the rungs slowly, one at a time, clutching at his stomach, which is absolutely going to have a huge bruise in the morning.

Henry Laurens doesn’t come down from the attic for a while.

John coaxes his siblings out of hiding. They protest when they find out he’s hurt, but he insists he’ll be fine, and they eventually leave it be.

Several hours elapse. John tucks his siblings into bed, a thing he’d done ever since their mother had passed. He kisses Jemmy’s and Polly’s foreheads, just like their mother had done. He goes to bed.

He can’t sleep.

He hears the attic door close at some time after nine, the pull-down ladder being shoved noisily back up.

There are no other noises.

When John falls asleep, it’s already early Friday morning.

Chapter Text

Henry Laurens leaves for work before either the sun or the children are up.

The house is quiet Friday morning. They’re all shaken up. He hadn’t been that bad in a while. They’d gotten a false sense of security, a distorted feeling of safety, now shattered by yesterday’s events.

John was the last to go to sleep on Thursday and the first to wake up. Harry finds him sitting at the table, a cold cup of coffee in one hand, staring aimlessly out the window.

“Jack? You okay?” Harry says, and John blinks—a sign of life.

John’s vacant expression gives way to a tired smile. “Yeah. I’m fine, Harry.” His brother isn’t so sure he’s telling the truth, but he lets it go. He serves himself cereal.

On a typical day, John would help his siblings get ready for school, but today, they choose not to bother him, instead figuring out how to do all the things he’d normally help them with on their own. It’s unclear if John notices, but they still feel as though they’re helping, somehow.

John drops off the other Laurens at their respective schools—Martha and Harry at the middle school, Jemmy and Polly at the elementary school—and somehow makes it to the high school in one piece, despite the daze he’s been in all morning.

John’s thinking, and he doesn’t notice when Alex falls into step beside him.

“John?” He doesn’t hear. “John!”

John startles, and Alex feels bad. He hadn’t meant to scare John. “Oh.” He seems genuinely surprised. He reminds Alex of some kind of prey, frightened and on edge.

What exactly had happened at the Laurens home?

“You left in quite a hurry,” Alex says, choosing not to take too direct a route or else John might not tell him anything at all. “Did it have to do with that phone call?”

“Yeah. Uh, my sister needed me.”

“Wait, you have siblings?” Alex asks. John never talks about his home life.

“I do.” John laughs a little, the kind of laugh that signals he’s exhausted and hiding it poorly. Alex is far too familiar with that laugh. He does that too.

“Tell me about them?” he asks, hoping to distract John from whatever’s bothering him.

“Sure. So there’s Martha.” John starts listing them on his fingers. “She’s 15. She’s named after my mother, and she plays the violin. Then there’s, uh, Henry Jr., which is just an awful name, but we call him Harry, he’s 13. He’s kind of a jerk, but he’s shy. My youngest brother is named James, but we call him Jemmy, he’s 10. He likes capturing frogs, but he can’t keep them. And then my youngest sister, she’s 9. Her name is Mary Eleanor, but that’s too long a name for a fourth grader, so we call her Polly.” John lights up when he talks about his siblings, and his enthusiasm make Alex want to meet the Laurens family.

“They sound like the kind of people I’d want to know,” he says, and his half-smile makes John’s own fond smile grow. “Do they all look like you? Dark eyes and wild hair and more freckles than they can handle?”

John smiles wryly. “Not exactly. Martha is practically a carbon copy of our mom, though, and people always say I look like her.”

“Then I bet your mother was very pretty,” Alex interjects, taking pride in the way John’s face flushes and his lips part.

“The younger kids have more of my dad’s genes,” John says hurriedly, as if he doesn’t know what to say to Alex’s… compliment? attempt at flirting? And would rather not think about it right now while Alex is standing there. “Maybe you can meet them someday.” The way John says this, it sounds like he doesn’t think it’s a real possibility. This sets off alarms in Alex’s head, and he tucks it aside in a corner of his brain for later analyzation.

“So, how are you?” He changes the subject, since John doesn’t seem to have much to say on the current subject.

“Oh, I’m…”

Truthfully? John hasn’t been this bad in a while. Lee had left him alone for a couple of weeks, and Henry Laurens had avoided drinking for longer than usual, and he’d let himself hope that maybe it was over. That he could start to heal. But it’s never over, not for John.

“I’m alright,” he says instead, because, of course, he can’t tell anyone that, especially  not Alex.

Alex scrunches up his nose.

It sits like a mantra in John’s head all day. You can’t tell anyone, you know what’ll happen if you tell someone. He can hardly think about anything else. When he gets called on in history, he’s wholly unprepared and gets the question completely incorrect.

He doesn’t talk during lunch. He doesn’t talk after he picks up his siblings on the car ride home. He goes directly to his room.

He can’t tell anyone.

He has to tell someone.

can we talk, he texts Eliza, not really expecting an answer, but within a few minutes there’s a reply.

of course! can i call you?

ok, John says. His ringtone for Eliza plays—Everything Stays. He’s never seen Adventure Time, but he came across the song online somewhere and it just felt like her. Calming, kind, safe. That’s Eliza. He doesn’t let much of the song play, he answers quickly.

“Hey!” Eliza says. It sounds windy, and she sounds slightly out of breath.

“Are you outside?” he asks.

“Yup, I was gardening when you called.” There’s a muffled clink  on the other end of the line.

“Oh. Never mind, then—” he starts to say, but she cuts him off.

“Nonsense!” John imagines Eliza flapping her hands at him the way she always does when someone says something absolutely ridiculous and she needs to announce that it isn’t true. He smiles a little. “Look, I always have time for my friends, and we’re friends, aren’t we, John?”

“Yeah.” He concedes a point to her. It’s a vestigial system from a while ago, really. He used to tally points up and keep track of who was winning, back when he thought Alex might like Eliza. She was always in the lead. One day, Eliza had confessed to Alex that she’d liked him, and he’d politely said he didn’t feel the same way. They’d stayed good friends. John had stopped counting after that. 

Mostly.

“So, you wanted to talk? What about?”

John splays out his fingers on the mattress, and he stares at his freckled hand while he thinks. “I dunno. Just… stuff, you know?”

“John.” She sounds disapproving. “I think you wanted to talk to me for a reason, and while I’d love to catch up, I know that’s not why I called you.”

“You’re right.” She usually is. Eliza is an empathetic person. She’s usually the first person any of their friends go to when they need to talk. Sort of like a free therapist.

...maybe John should pay her for this.

“So what’s up?”

“I…” Where to start? How does one even begin explaining events that were initiated so long ago?

He starts with his mother. Eliza reminds him of his mother, but he doesn’t say that aloud. His mother, the original Martha Laurens, had gotten sick when he was little. She’d been pregnant with Jemmy at the time, and she’d smiled a lot back then to make sure they all knew she was doing okay. She’d beaten cancer the first time, but six years ago, it came back. That time, she wasn’t so lucky, and John was only eleven. Only eleven when he’d had to grow up. Henry had taken to drinking, and someone had to take care of John’s siblings.

“Eleven,” echoes Eliza, horrified. “Wow, John, I… I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.” John knows that. Eliza is one of the lucky ones. She still has both of her parents, and she’s never had to muffle her sobs because if her father heard, he’d beat it out of her. No, that had been John.

He continues. He tells Eliza about moving. He tells her about meeting Alex and Laf and Herc. He tells her about Charles Lee, and then backtracks to explain the other  bruises, and she gasps a few times in all the appropriate places.

“John…” Eliza sniffles. “I don’t know what to say. If I was there with you, I’d give you a hug, but unfortunately, I’m here, and you’re there.”

“That’s alright. But that’s not all.”

“There’s more?” she asks, trying to play it off as though she’s exasperated, but John can hear a hint of the weariness in her voice that comes from learning a lot of traumatic news all at once.

“It’s about Alex,” John says, but immediately he wants to take it back, after all, Eliza used to like Alex, this could be incredibly awkward, but—

“Do you like him?” she asks. If she was here in person, she’d take his hand, and she’d look him in the face, expression serious, and something deep in her eyes would reassure him.

John doesn’t remember the last time he felt this vulnerable. It was probably with his mother, so at least six years, then. He’s told himself for so long that he can’t tell anyone, that he has to bear this burden alone, but he told Eliza everything—almost everything—and she sees right through him. She’s correctly guessed the last hidden truth he keeps locked up deep inside him, and he takes a shuddering breath as the locked box of all his secrets finally opens. “Yeah.” The way he says it, trembling and thick with tears, it isn’t even a coherent word.

“Oh, John.” And just like that, the dam breaks. It feels good to cry. It’s been too long. “Let me guess, you think he doesn’t like you?”

He pauses to catch his breath, waits for his shoulders to stop shaking before he speaks. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it. I’ve been too busy telling myself these feelings are disgusting, and therefore nobody can know.”

There’s a slight rustling. “John, I know it’s going to be hard, with the way your father’s conditioned you, but I need you to listen to me, alright?” He nods—she can’t see him nodding, and yet he gets the feeling that she understands anyway. “It’s not wrong to be gay. It isn’t bad, or repulsive, or disgusting.” She takes the words he’d thrown at himself, and with unending patience, she tells him that it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay, that he’s allowed to feel happy. She tells him all the things he’s wanted, no, needed to hear. She gently coaxes something out of him, until he can separate the words his father drilled into him from his concept of John Laurens.

The something almost feels like… self-love, or at the very least, self-acceptance, and it hits him with the force of a freight train. Wonderingly—is it possible? did she do it?—he reflects, and sure enough. The word gay still makes him flinch, but he doesn’t fear the idea of people knowing nearly as much. And, well… so what if Alex might not like John back? Shouldn’t John at least… give it a try? Tell Alex how he feels?

Something in him changed when he bared his soul to Eliza. John lets in all the thoughts he’s been suppressing for years, and he smiles for the first time at the memories of every time Alex held his hand.

“Thank you.” Those words don’t seem nearly enough to express everything Eliza did for him.

“I’m happy I could help.” And she is, she really does sound happy, she’s just that good a person, and he resolves to hug her the next time he sees her. She has to be an angel, there’s no other explanation for how kind and how utterly beautiful she is.

John stays in Cloud Nine for the rest of the afternoon, and once he falls asleep—early for once—he dreams of Alex.

Chapter Text

John doesn’t know what to do with himself for the rest of the weekend. He’s never had this much nervous energy in his life, much less all at once, and he spends his time doing chores that have needed doing for ages. He soon runs out of those, and rearranges his bookshelf a few times. That only takes a few hours.

His siblings can sense that something’s different. His restless excitement starts to rub off on them, and there’s plenty of infectious laughter to go around.

“What’s gotten into you?” Martha asks him on Sunday, and John shrugs exaggeratedly. She snorts. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a good thing! You haven’t been this goofy in… well… ever!” John proceeds to pick Martha up and carry her around the house, and she giggles the whole time.

Henry stays holed up in his office, which only serves to escalate John’s good mood.

He jogs up to Alex on Monday. “Hi,” he says, breathless and giddy, and, to his delight, Alex smiles the moment he sees John.

“Hey,” Alex says. His left hand is free, and John weighs the idea of taking Alex’s hand, to hold Alex’s hand in his own—just take it, don’t you want to do this? —but he spends too long thinking, and Alex catches John staring at his hand. He raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, sorry,” John says, burying that fantasy. “I got distracted.” Not yet.

Ah. Would you look at that. He’s gone from I’m not allowed to do that to Not yet. John smiles to himself, and Alex, mystified yet amused, keeps sneaking glances at him as they walk that John pretends not to notice, but John’s heart sings.

They’re a few feet down the hall from John’s classroom when Alex suddenly says his name. John stops, turning to look at Alex, whose mouth is open and moving slightly, as if he’s trying to speak, but after a moment and nothing has come out, he closes his mouth and shrugs.

“You know what, nevermind. It’s not important. You seem happier today.” He waves at John as he turns to leave, and then Alex is gone, swallowed by the small crowd in the barely large enough hallway.

That was unusual.

John knows he's grinning like an idiot through all of his classes, but he can't bring himself to stop. He's finally starting to come to terms with himself, so why shouldn't he be happy about it?

At lunch, John goes first to his normal table, and there he drops off his things. He scans the cafeteria for Eliza—she's at her normal place, there isn't really a need for him to look for her—and resolves himself.

John doesn't speak. He taps Eliza's shoulder, and when she turns, her face softens. He hugs her, and she lets out a quiet noise of surprise but hugs him back all the same.

"Thank you," he says in her ear, and she smiles knowingly when he pulls away.

"What was that about?" Hercules asks once John returns to their table.

"I asked Eliza for some advice over the weekend," he says.

"That's why you are acting weird, then," Lafayette says.

“What do you mean?” John asks, baffled.

“You know…” Laf gestures vaguely, and Herc jumps in.

“Dude, I have no clue what kind of advice Eliza gave you, but you were practically bouncing on your feet as you walked,” Herc says. “You never do that.”

John frowns, having trouble imagining the way he appears to other people. “I don’t?”

“No. But whatever it is, if it makes you this happy, then I am happy too,” Laf says, a twinkle in his eye, and John feels guilty for isolating himself. He can’t count the number of recent lunches where he hadn’t said a word, the number of text messages left unanswered and ignored. They’re his friends, for fuck’s sake, and they obviously care a whole lot about him.

Alex has been strangely silent throughout all of this. He’s watching John with a thoughtful expression.

“What’s up?” John asks him, and Alex looks down.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” he says, and chooses not to elaborate.

“Okay then,” John says, shaking his head.

Aaron doesn’t sit with them every day. Sometimes, John can see him sitting with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, which Alex is unhappy with but can’t do anything except rant about it to the people who don’t sit with Jefferson.

Jefferson…

Wasn’t there… something important John wanted to remember?

Cold floor.

Blossoming pain.

Cruel taunts, the nasally high-pitched voice of —

Charles Lee.

John must have dissociated again, the memories from before James found him on the floor are fuzzy but he distinctly remembers Lee saying something about Jefferson.

He must’ve gasped, because his friends are watching him with concern.

“Mon ami?” Laf asks, and John shakes his head.

“Yo, John? You okay?” Herc asks.

John resists the urge to laugh hysterically. Is he okay? “I have some business I need to attend to.” He scribbles something on a folded piece of paper, then gathers his things, shoving his barely-touched lunch back into his bag. His friends exchange worried glances as he leaves.

John not-so-subtly drops the paper in front of Jefferson as he walks by, and Jefferson frowns, suspicious, before unfolding the paper. He reads it, and reads it again, then shows it to a curious Aaron Burr and James, who are just as surprised as he is.

John checks the time on his phone. Either Jefferson is late, or he's decided not to come despite John’s note informing him that this meeting is of grave importance. He taps his foot on the ground.

“What do you want, Laurens?” Jefferson’s southern drawl comes from behind John, and he turns. Jefferson’s stance is hostile, arms crossed, and James, next to him, seems distinctly uncomfortable.

John forces himself to think rationally and to not respond to Jefferson’s hostility with his own aggression. “So you did get my note. I was starting to wonder if you were coming.” He takes a few steps toward the two other boys. “I’m not one hundred percent sure of the details, but I do remember Charles Lee knocking me to the floor of the bathroom and assaulting me with a heavy backpack.” This prompts an expression that John’s never seen Jefferson make, some mix of pity, surprise, and confusion. He’s much less composed than he’d clearly like to be, and he shifts his weight between his feet.

“That… that sounds awful, really, but… what does that have to do with me?” Jefferson asks, but his tone holds an edge.

“Well, for one, your boyfriend found me unconscious on the floor and escorted me to the nurse,” John says. Jefferson’s eyebrows furrow, and he turns to James for answers.

“That’s true,” James sighs, gently massaging his temples.

Jefferson gapes at him. “When was this?” he asks, the words hushed but not so much so that John can’t hear him speak.

“It happened last Wednesday,” James says, voice even and measured. Everything about him, from his demeanor (calm) and height (short) to his choice in clothing (simple outfits in dull colors), is the opposite of Jefferson, who has a huge attitude at all times, is one of the tallest people John knows, and refuses to wear any outfit that doesn't include an expensive, obnoxious magenta-colored jacket.

“You didn’t tell me,” Jefferson says slowly, stating the obvious. Judging by the shock coating his words, James usually tells him everything.

“No, I didn’t. You despise Hamilton, and I couldn’t be sure how you’d react if I told you I found his best friend passed out in the bathroom.” James stares defiantly at Jefferson, and John gathers that this is highly unusual for the two of them. “John, you said, ‘for one.’ Did you have a second point to make?”

“Yeah,” John says. “I couldn’t remember this at the time, but Lee said something. Something about you, actually, Jefferson.”

“What?”

“He said you told him I’m gay.” He’s been steeling himself since lunch for the moment when he’d have to say those words aloud, and he's able to hold his head high.

“What?” Jefferson says again. “First of all, I don’t recall saying anything of the sort, and second of all, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Lee and I don’t exactly get along well enough for me to tell him anything. It’s common knowledge that he’s homophobic, and it’s common knowledge that I’m not.”

“So…” John is having trouble following. “Aaron Burr didn’t break a promise of secrecy and tell you that I’m gay, and you didn’t tell Lee to go beat me up?”

“No,” Jefferson says forcefully. “I believe what happened,” he says through gritted teeth, “was that Lee heard me complaining about how Hamilton never glares back at me and instead he’s always gazing at you, ‘as if they’re in love or something,’ and took that to mean I was saying you were gay.”

“Wait, you actually complain about how Alex doesn’t glare back at you?” John asks, and Thomas splutters.

“That’s not the point,” he hisses. “The point is that I didn’t sic Lee on you.”

“Oh. Well. That’s good to know. Thank you for not siccing Lee on me,” John says, risking a joke. While Thomas rolls his eyes, he does smirk, and John considers that a win. “So you don’t hate me, then, only Alex?”

Thomas shudders. “It’s so weird that you call him ‘Alex,’” he mutters under his breath, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t hate you. I’m even friends with Lafayette, remember?”

“Could we be friends, then?” John even ventures to say. He’s feeling unusually brave today, and, well, Thomas seems like a decent guy. “James is nice, and you don’t seem like a complete asshole after all.”

Thomas narrows his eyes, as if contemplating whether or not to trust John, but his twinkling eyes give him away. He shrugs. “Sure, I guess.” He holds out a hand, and John shakes it, feeling some odd sense of pride and accomplishment. They go their separate ways, and John goes home.

"Wait, so is he gay?" Thomas asks James as they walk home, and James shrugs. "You're right, it's none of my business."

Chapter Text

John goes alone to the bathroom. His friends are all far too busy to accompany him, and that's alright. He does his business and washes his hands.

His guard is down, so when Lee corners him in the bathroom again, he doesn’t expect it, and isn’t prepared. He’s of half a mind to just sigh and walk away, but before he knows it, Lee’s taken a swing at him and added a bruise to his cheek. On top of… everything else.

John glances around. He's never tried to fight back, but things have been going slightly better for him lately, and he's gotten more confident. There doesn't seem to be anything he can use, so he raises his arms in front of him in preparation.

"What's going on?" says a low voice, calm but edging on dangerous. Someone else has entered the bathroom. Thomas' eyes glint as he glares at Lee, and John takes a deep, relieved breath.

"Why does it matter to you?" Lee sneers. "He's a fucking queer boy."

Next thing John knows, Thomas has Lee by the shirt collar and is lifting him off the ground like the absolute tall beanstalk he is. "What was that?" Thomas smiles with his teeth. It doesn't reach his eyes.

Lee scrabbles at Thomas' hand. "Please don't hurt me," he squeaks, and John feels a sick sense of satisfaction.

"Get out of here, John." Thomas doesn't look at him, simply nodding toward the door, and John takes his cue to leave.

Thomas doesn't return to lunch, and the next day, John learns a fight went down in the bathroom.

"Not only is Jefferson suspended, but they've closed down the bathroom by the cafeteria!" crows Alex. "Isn't that crazy?"

"Man, I wonder what mister high-and-mighty got into a brawl over," Hercules says. "I can't imagine him wanting to risk dirtying his coat."

Lafayette, noticeably, doesn't take part in the celebration over/making fun of Jefferson. After all, Thomas is his friend too, and John can't imagine how hard it must be for him to stay neutral and not pick sides.

"He was protecting me," John says suddenly, taking himself aback. Alex stares at him. John doesn't like the emotion in his green eyes. "It isn't fair that you're verbally bashing him when he did it to help me."

"What do you mean, he helped you?" Alex scoffs.

"He's my friend," John says.

"Your friend? Since when were you and Jefferson friends?"

"Thomas is nice, okay, to everyone but you, and that's the faults of both of you. You don't want to give him a chance, and why is that?" John's voice rises gradually in volume until he's yelling. People are staring. "I think he reminds himself of you. You see all your worst qualities in him, and you resent him for being better off financially. Half of your complaints are about his coat! And why? I think he wears it well!" Alex gapes at him, at a loss for words. "Charles Lee has been bullying me for years, and I never said anything. Guess what? Thomas helped me. I've never stood a chance against Lee, but yesterday I walked away with only a bruise on my cheek because Thomas. Was. There. And where were you?"

John leans in close. "Sure, you didn't know. Not an excuse. You never wondered about all the times I took forever in the bathroom, or the time I didn't go back to class after lunch. So yeah. Thomas is my friend, I know that for sure. But Alex? I'm not sure that you are." John leaves.

Alex watches him go, stunned and a little upset. He doesn't make any move to stop John.

There's an empty science classroom on the third floor. There aren't enough teachers to use that room this year, and so John sometimes goes there for some peace and quiet. He does love his friends, but they can be a bit much at best.

At least, it's supposed to be empty.

John almost laughs. All of the stools are upside down on the lab tables, all but one. There's a single stool with its legs on the floor and a lone figure quietly eating a salad.

James Madison glances up as John enters, and he smiles, gesturing to the stool next to him. "Care to join me?"

John grabs the stool by its legs. It's unwieldy, and he almost whacks James in the head before he can set it on the floor. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I almost took your head off with that chair."

"That's alright. As far as I know, my head is still attached to my neck, so your attempt was unsuccessful," James says, and it puts John at ease.

James is a good lunchmate. He's on the quieter side, but John doesn't mind. They eat together in silence, but this is better than John's original plan of being here alone and, who knows, probably crying under a table or something.

"I haven't seen you come up here before," James says finally as he finishes his salad and begins to gather his trash. He doesn't say it like a question, which gives John the option to tell him more or to keep to himself.

"I like it up here," he says. "Do you come here often?"

"Not usually." James pauses by the window on his way back from the trash can. "I spend most of my time with Thomas, you know. I'm not sure he'd know what to do without me anymore." A bird flutters by, and James leans on the windowsill. "Truthfully, I'm not sure I'd know what to do without him either."

James turns away from the window, rejoining John at their shared lab table. "Is there a particular reason you're joining me today?"

John buries his face in his hands. "Alex was being a dick and making fun of Thomas, who not only is suspended, so isn't here to defend himself, but who also got suspended helping me. So I went off at Alex. And then I fled the cafeteria."

"Is that what happened? Thomas has been eyeing Charles Lee suspiciously ever since you told him what happened, and yesterday he followed Lee out of the cafeteria."

"He's… he's been keeping an eye on Lee?" John asks. (The word Alex would probably use to describe John's current emotional state is "flummoxed," a little voice in the back of his head chimes up to tell him.)

James nods. "He always tries to seem tough, but that's only because he knows from experience that people will pick on him for his weaknesses. He's always had a soft spot for people he feels like he can watch over. He's got nine siblings, after all. And the first time I met him, he saved me from a bully, believe it or not." James' eyes crinkle at the thought, presumably remembering the moment in time, perfectly preserved in his memory. "He hasn't changed much."

John can't help but marvel at the soft expression on James' face, how utterly relaxed he is when talking about his boyfriend. "You really love him, don't you?"

James smiles as if he knows something John doesn't. "I do." John thinks he's going to leave it at that, but he turns to John.

From John's few encounters with James, he's noticed that James has a habit of sitting or standing parallel to and not facing his conversation partners. But now James is facing John, and somehow, just like that, the atmosphere in the room is completely different.

"John, you don't have to answer," James articulates carefully. "You remind me of myself, in certain ways. I suppose what I'm trying to say is, are you in love with your best friend?"

John almost chokes, but unlike last week, it doesn't devolve in a coughing fit, a mortal battle for his very life. He lifts his plastic disposable water bottle to his lips (yeah, yeah, he really ought to purchase a reusable one, but it's never a good time) and gulps down some of the clear liquid. This also earns him a few seconds to will his heartbeat to slow, lest he have a heart attack.

"Sorry, was that too personal?" James asks, appearing mildly concerned, and John waves away his question.

"No, it's fine, I guess, it's just… no one's ever asked me that," he admits. "I know I'm not hiding it that well, but I thought I was hiding it better than that." He pretends he isn't disappointed in his acting skills. After all, he's pretended away much worse, and no one's ever attempted to call him out on any of that before. His hair is coming loose from its loosely-done ponytail, and he runs his hand through it in an ineffective attempt to keep the loose strands out of his face. "I never really answered your question, huh? The answer is, uh, yeah, I guess." He's thoroughly unprepared to have this conversation, but James Madison is as good a person to talk to as any. He gives off the impression that he's trustworthy, and he's also more detached from the situation than any of John's other friends.

James hums, content with only that. "Thomas wants me to tell you that 'Lee won't be bothering you anymore.'" Despite the fact that James and Thomas sound nothing alike, James can do a remarkably accurate impression of his boyfriend's voice, and John takes a moment to be impressed.

"Tell him I said thank you," John says.

"You could tell him yourself," James says much more gently than John is sure you're supposed to say those words. "I could give you his phone number."

"I don't see why not," John says, surrendering his phone to James. He can't see what James is doing, but James hands the phone back without too much of a wait.

"I hope it's alright that I gave you my own number as well," James says, and John can't believe he never knew how overwhelmingly considerate this person is.

"Of course it's alright," he says. The two new contacts aren't hard to find, considering the contact names are simply "Thomas Jefferson" and "James Madison." John's probably going to change that at some point, he thinks, looking at some of his other contacts—Tol French Baguette 🥖 (Lafayette), Big Dude (Hercules), Queen (Angelica Schuyler), Goddess (Eliza), The Third Blind Mouse (Maggie Schuyler), and Ham 🐖.

John sends a simple message to Thomas. hey.

Thomas replies immediately. As he's suspended, he must not have much to do. hello, who is this

Turtle Boy: John laurens

mac-n-bees: oh hey

Chapter Text

mac-n-bees: did james pass my message along

Turtle Boy: he did

Turtle Boy: i wanted to say thanks so james gave me your number

Turtle Boy: he also said smth about you having a soft spot for people you can look after or something

mac-n-bees: i trusted him

mac-n-bees: i can't believe he would betray me like that

mac-n-bees added Turtle Boy and jamm to the group chat "et tu brute."

John glances up at James, who's utterly baffled as he pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket. John stifles a snicker.

mac-n-bees: i can't believe you've done this

Turtle Boy: did that have a british accent in your head or

mac-n-bees: okay fine maybe i was referencing a vine sdhjgs

mac-n-bees: but james you've betrAyed me

jamm: i'm sorry wait what did I do

mac-n-bees: you talked about me to john as if i was anything less than a bad bitch, a queen, and an icon

jamm: I apologize

(James doesn't look terribly sorry. He probably has to deal with Thomas being like this all the time. He rolls his eyes affectionately.)

mac-n-bees: imwatchingyou.gif

Turtle Boy: i can't help but feel like im intruding on something here

Turtle Boy: maybe i should just go

mac-n-bees: no youre not intruding :) don't you dare leave :)

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: mild distress

mac-n-bees: hahaha

mac-n-bees: no seriously you're not allowed to go

Turtle Boy: ,,,,whatever you say

group chat "Fam", 4 online (Alex, and Maggie, Angelica, herc), 3 offline (eliza, laf, Turtle Boy)

Angelica: I heard the yelling from across the cafeteria, what did you do, boy???

Alex: turns out tjeffs has been busy lately getting close with my friends

and Maggie: did Alex get mad

herc: i think he had a lot of pent up emotions and they just came out as anger

Alex: i dont want to talk about it

Alex: not without john here anyway

private chat, 1 online (Alex), 1 offline (Turtle Boy)

Alex: John I'm so sorry

Alex: I've been really shitty

Alex: I know

Alex: you probably won't talk to me here since you're ignoring me in person too

Alex: but I've been thinking about what you said and

Alex: as hard as this is for me

Alex: I think you might be right

Alex: ……

Alex: I'm sorry

Alex: tell Jefferson that Im willing to start

Alex: maybe not a friendship exactly

Alex: but a civil acquaintanceship

Alex: as long as he's willing to put in the effort himself

Alex: is that okay

Alex: ,,,,,,

Alex: you have every right not to want to talk to me and I understand that

Alex: but you're my best friend, you know

Alex: Gil and Hercules are fun and all, but

Alex: they're not you

Alex: ,,,

Alex: I miss you

Alex is offline.

private chat, 2 online (mac-n-bees, Turtle Boy)

Turtle Boy: you wouldn't believe this but

Turtle Boy: Alex texted me

mac-n-bees: why's that hard to believe the boy is infatuated with you

Turtle Boy: ahgshdhd

Turtle Boy: no it's what he texted me that's unbelievable

mac-n-bees: oh???👀

Turtle Boy: he says he's sorry, first of all

Turtle Boy: he said it at least three times

Turtle Boy: then he said it's hard for him to admit but maybe what I said was right

Turtle Boy: and then he said he's willing to attempt a "civil acquaintanceship" with you

mac-n-bees: hUh

mac-n-bees: are you sure that's the real Hamilton cause that’s really sus

Turtle Boy: fairly certain, yes

Turtle Boy: who else would it be

Turtle Boy: a Broadway actor

mac-n-bees: oddly specific but ok

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,

mac-n-bees: ,,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,

mac-n-bees: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: so?

mac-n-bees: "so" what

Turtle Boy: omg are you willing to try getting along with your mortal enemy for the sake of your poor mutual friends

mac-n-bees: wait "friends"?

Turtle Boy: yes

Turtle Boy: you know, the people you choose to spend time with

mac-n-bees: you mean you and Lafayette?

Turtle Boy: yes

mac-n-bees: you're right, I don't believe he said that

mac-n-bees: but I will give it a try

mac-n-bees: only cause he's so mopey because you won't talk to him, he's no fun

Turtle Boy: oh and no more arguing

mac-n-bees: no

mac-n-bees: more

mac-n-bees: arguing??

mac-n-bees: not at all???

mac-n-bees: not even the playful kind????

Turtle Boy: hm let me think

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Turtle Boy: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

mac-n-bees: wtf john stop thinking

Turtle Boy: (oh if only~)

Turtle Boy: friendly arguing is allowed but if you get into a fight I'm telling James

mac-n-bees: g asp

mac-n-bees: you wouldn't dare

Turtle Boy: hehehe

Turtle Boy: oh, but I would

Turtle Boy: don't you dare underestimate me

mac-n-bees: fine w/e

mac-n-bees: man I can't wait to finally be all kumbaya holding hands and frolicking through fields with my mortal enemy

Turtle Boy: :P tough luck sir

Turtle Boy is offline.

mac-n-bees: well bye then i guess

mac-n-bees: ru de,,,,

Chapter Text

Alex groans, throwing his pencil down onto his desk as if it had somehow insulted his entire family. “Fuck,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. John tells Alex not to pull at his hair when he’s frustrated, but Alex honestly can’t bring himself to care right now. He’d had a good streak, but this single fucking essay is somehow getting the better of him.

Someone knocks on his bedroom door. “Alexander?”

“Yes?” he says, putting some effort into not snapping at his mom and forcing a not-so-convincing smile.

She opens the door and frowns, hands on her hips. “Are you working too hard again? What have I told you about taking breaks, hon?”

“That I get irritable and stressed when I don’t take breaks,” Alex grumbles, repeating her words back to her. “And that nobody likes to be around me when I’m like that.”

Martha looks offended. “I never said the last part.”

“I know, but I understand some social cues,” he says, and she lets it go.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she tells him.

“Wait, who?” Martha winks, closing the door. “Mom! Who is it?”

She always does this, he thinks as he trudges to the door. Why won’t she ever tell him who the mysterious visitor is? It’s not like it’s that hard or anything, just a couple extra words. I mean, how excited should he be that someone’s here? George always says who’s here if he knows who it is, and if he doesn’t, he describes the person to the best of his abilities. See, that gives Alex the chance to either actually get excited or to pretend he’s excited before he gets to the door. When he doesn’t know, there’s the chance he’ll offend someone with his reaction, and, well…

Alex opens the door with a huff. If he’d been holding anything, he certainly would’ve dropped it, but as it is, his hands are empty.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he murmurs.

He couldn’t be happier to see his best friend.

John looks Alex up and down, and he is conscious of the fact that he looks like a mess. He hasn’t been sleeping much, so the ever-present dark circles under his eyes are darker than is typical for him, and he’s wearing his reading glasses because today, he’s just so tired that he can’t see. His hair is a disaster because he keeps yanking on it whenever he gets frustrated, and he’s dressed in a secondhand oversize t-shirt and sweatpants that double as pajamas.

In contrast, John looks great. His curly brown hair is down today, as opposed to in its usual ponytail. His eyes are bright and energetic, and it almost seems like John’s put more effort into his outfit than usual, although Alex wouldn’t have any clue why that would be, so it’s probably his imagination.

John looks Alex up and down. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same thing about you,” he says, voice fond, and, oh, Alex had missed him. John had only stopped talking to him for four and a half days, but Alex missed John so much. (Well, it was technically four days and 15 hours, if Alex could get over his embarrassment long enough to admit to himself he was tallying the hours. That’s… totally normal. Shut up.)

Alex intends to say something normal in reply, but instead, when he opens his mouth, he promptly starts crying. John’s eyebrows rise, but he pulls Alex into a hug all the same, and Alex sobs like a child.

“Could we take this inside?” John says after an indeterminate amount of time, and Alex realizes the front porch probably isn’t the best place to have a tearful reunion with a friend when your neighbors are the type who like to stick their nose into other people’s business. Besides, they’re going to let all the bugs in. He pulls away from John, taking John by the wrist and lightly tugging him inside.

They settle in the living room. John goes to sit opposite Alex, but changes course to claim the cushion next to him. He tactfully counts the ceiling tiles as Alex gets his tear ducts under control and wipes his face.

“So, you’ve missed me?” John says once the polite silence has lapsed into a comfortable one. His tone is teasing, but Alex can’t let that bother him. After all, they’re friends, and friends tease each other all the time. Why would it be any different with John than, say, Hercules?

“Yeah, I have.” He’s tired, but he won’t let that stop him from smiling for the person he cares about more than anything else in the world. “Do you… accept my apology?”

John’s eyes scrutinize Alex, and the longer this goes on, the more inferior he starts to feel. Finally, he speaks. “I accept your apology. I mean, what else could I do? Refuse?” He laughs, then he touches the back of his neck—a nervous habit.

It’s a little reassuring to Alex, whose world pretty much revolves around John, but whose world has been rapidly changing in the past few months. Beneath his new, more confident demeanor (he deserves it, he deserves confidence), John’s still the same person he always was. Well, no, that’s not necessarily true, Alex reflects. He’s grown as a person. But he’s still Alex's John. He’s not changing so fast he’s gonna leave Alex in the dust, and he’s definitely not going anywhere.

“What are you thinking about?” John asks. His eyes observe Alex with warmth.

“Oh, uh.” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts into a more coherent, understandable train of thought that John can follow, rather than the tangled ball of yarn it always turns out to be in his head. “Four years is so long, huh? We’re not the same people we were when we met.” It comes out a little sadder than he’d meant, but he doesn’t know how to fix that. “We’ve all changed. But I mean, lately you’ve been making a lot of progress. I don’t know what’s happening in your head or in your life, but I can see it.” Whatever he’s saying, it’ll no doubt end him saying something weird and sappy, but he can’t stop talking. “You’re growing into John Laurens as a person, and it really suits you.” There it is. The weird, sappy, overly personal statement.

John doesn't respond the way Alex expects him to, which goes to show how much time they've spent apart lately. On the one hand, he's proud of John, but on the other hand, he longs for the simplicity of the easy, uncomplicated relationship they used to have.

Alex expects John to make some sort of confused face, tell him he's being strange again, but John takes his hand, and, oh yeah, that's been happening more recently.

"You think too much," John says gently.

"I know," Alex says.

"What you said, though—it does make me feel… I don't know, reassured. Hey, is this helping?" He's referring to the hand-holding.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Oh!" John exclaims—a figurative lightbulb moment. "I almost forgot. Thomas said he'd be cool with trying to be casual acquaintances with you." Alex barely keeps his face from scrunching up at the mere mention of his rival, not to mention John calling Alex's rival by his first name.

Alex quashes any semblance of jealousy he might feel at that thought, because why would he be jealous of Jefferson? Ridiculous.

"That's great," he says, and John rolls his eyes at the bitter way Alex speaks. "I mean, that's great!" he repeats, this time putting on a false façade of cheeriness that's far too exaggerated to fool anyone, let alone John, but it's worth it when John shakes his head and his curls swish and he's just so pretty.

"Promise me you'll actually try," John says, speaking slowly like he's talking to a child.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, I promise," Alex says, eager to talk to John about anything other than his rival. John recognizes that he won't get a more conclusive answer and accepts the half-assed promise Alex made.

"Are you doing okay?" John questions, obviously referring to the everything of Alex's appearance.

Alex forcibly fixes his posture. The greater the blood flow to his brain, the better. He can't afford to give in to exhaustion. "Yeah, I'm fine." He winces. Out of every lie he's told today, that was the least convincing.

"Okay, no, how much sleep did you get last night?" John's eyes narrow.

"...two hours and sixteen minutes," he says, and John stares at him, waiting for him to say "sike." But that, at least, is true, is fact.

"Alexander!" John scolds. "And how much sleep did you get yesterday? If you don't say a normal number, I swear…"

Alex squints as he tries to remember what time he woke up. "I think I got four hours?"

John groans. "Oh my god." He hauls Alex to his feet and proceeds to drag him down the hall. "I am going to make you sleep, even if I have to personally cuddle you to sleep." He points at Alex's bed, and Alex stares at him.

"I have homework—" he says weakly, but John won't hear it.

"No excuses, you're going to pass out. Bed. Now."

Alex follows orders, crawling into bed, but he looks up at John with hopeful eyes. "What you said about cuddling…? Did you… mean that?"

John, despite his crossed arms, can't withstand Alex's pleading expression, and he softens. "Alright."

Alex tells himself that lots of people cuddle with their friends as John climbs under the covers next to him. John wiggles under the covers, trying to get comfortable.

They're kinda close, Alex thinks, and… huh. He's never noticed the freckles on the tips of John's ears. Have those always been there?

John sighs contentedly as he finds the optimal position for lying on his side, and his eyes open.

Usually when you'd think of brown eyes, you'd think of dark brown in a solid shade, kinda like the color of a tree trunk, but John's eyes are something else. They're definitely brown, but rather than oak brown, it's more like someone thoroughly stirred honey into their tea. There's also a darker ring of brown around the edge of the iris, and sometimes Alex can't believe John is a real person.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey," John says back, just as quietly.

They look at each other for a solid minute before they burst out laughing. It doesn't happen all at once. At first, they're just gazing into each other's eyes, and then slowly, little by little, they start to crack, first smiling and then progressing to full-on giggling. Giggling.  Alex can't say he's ever giggled a day in his life before now.

"Oh, your glasses," John says, wiping at his eyes. He still sounds like he's a little low on oxygen, but it sounds exactly the way Alex feels as he gasps for breath. Speaking of breath, as John reaches out, Alex can't help but hold his breath. John removes his glasses, setting them on the bookshelf. "That's better. You can't sleep with those on." Seemingly pleased, he wraps his arms around Alex, and Alex can't move. John lifts his head from where he'd buried it in Alex's shoulder. "Weren't we gonna cuddle?" His voice is low, which in and of itself is dangerous, but there's a hint of teasing too, and Alex still tries futilely to ignore all the signs he's been ignoring for months.

He swallows, and, with immense effort, is able to move his limbs to embrace John. He's never cuddled anyone before, but… this is nice. John's hair tickles his neck, and he can feel the rise and fall of John's chest as he breathes, in tandem with the sound of breath exhaled from John's facial orifices.

(People always tell him to stop using that word. But it's handy. And he likes it. So there.)

It's all too easy to relax into John's arms, and he's asleep in a flash.

John smiles, opening his eyes a little to peek as he strokes Alex's hair. He takes a quick photo—this isn't weird or creepy, and, well, he'd delete it if Alex ever asked him to; although Alex would have to know about it first in order to ask him to delete it and John doesn't plan to tell him.

When Martha walks by her son's room half an hour after he'd let in his guest, she exhales slightly, a little relieved and a little affectionate at the sight of her son and his closest friend snuggling in their sleep. Only with John would Alex ever do this, and as she turns the handle slowly to avoid letting the door click shut, she hopes nothing will ever come between them.

Chapter Text

John can't stop thinking. As usual.

His current insistent thought is the memory of cuddling with a sleeping Alex, of Alex's soft snoring and consistent breaths luring him into the gentle unconscious as well, and he buries his face in his hands to hide how red it is. Nobody is around to see it, but still. John feels exposed.

Martha knocks on his door—he knows it's her, she taps lightly three times, which is different from Jemmy's loud five-knock rhythm or Harry's restrained four-knock beat or the way Polly's knocks are so light against the wood that he sometimes doesn't hear it right away—and he hurriedly composes himself as he tells her to come in.

"Hey, Jack, do you think you could help me with—" She stops, cheery expression quickly giving way to curiosity, the same all-consuming curiosity each of her siblings has and the same curiosity his mother had. He must not have looked innocuous enough—are his cheeks still red?

"Hold on," she says. "Something's up." She glances surreptitiously down the hallway and then closes the door softly. "Whatever it is, you have to tell me."

"Mar, did you want me to help you with your homework?" John says, referring to the poorly-secured bundle of paper tucked under her arm.

"That's not important right now, I want to hear your secret first." She grins conspiratorially, and he knows he can't get out of this now.

"What do you want to know?" Maybe it'll do him some good to get his thoughts out of his head.

"Is there a boy?" She whispers the last few words as if she's saying something naughty, and there's a twinge of sadness that she's been taught they have to live that way.

"Yes," John says, and her eyes light up.

"Really? What's he like?" She plops down dramatically onto his bed, letting go of the pile of paper, which, mercifully, stays together.

"It's not that exciting," he warns.

"Tell me!" she says pleadingly. That's funny, she and Alex make the same face to get what they want. And it really does work, on him, at least.

"Alright. Get comfy." She squirms in her spot until she's infused the mattress with butt warmth, then stills as she waits for John to begin. "It's… it's Alex, actually. Like I said, not that exciting."

"You fell in love with your best friend?" she asks.

He laughs, smoothing back the hairs that stick to her forehead. "Yeah. It happens more than you'd think."

"You love Alex?" she asks, and his breath catches in his throat. He's never heard it said aloud like that.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he says.

"Does he like you?" she asks, all big eyes and innocence, and while she's only two years younger than him, the gap currently feels a lot larger.

"I don't know." He doesn't. He knows Alex likes him as a friend, likes spending time with him, but does Alex like spending time with John more than Hercules? He doesn't know.

He thinks about the Cuddle Incident. He needs to get his feelings out somehow. "Hey, the other day I went over to Alex's house," he says, and she nods, hanging on to every word he says. "He refuses to sleep sometimes, he always says he's got work to do and so somehow that's more important than his health or sanity." He shakes his head. Truly, how does Alexander Hamilton even function? "Anyway, I promised him that if he went to bed, I'd cuddle with him." And John's so deep into this, into these feelings, sometimes he feels like he's drowning, but right now it feels like a hug, cozy and serotonin-inducing. "So I did. We both fell asleep, but he fell asleep first. He was so tired."

"Think you're gonna get married?" Martha asks.

"I hope so," John says, allowing himself a moment to imagine before he shakes his head, clearing out the thought. "But with father, you know that might not be an option."

Martha stares at him. "I just don't think it's fair!" She throws her hands up in the air in frustration. "Girls get to like boys, and boys get to like girls, but you can't like Alex."

She's almost madder about it at this point than he is, and he ruffles her hair. She swats away his hand, crossing her arms. "I'm not a little kid, Jack!"

"I know, Mar, it's a habit," he says. "And no, it's… it's not fair, is it?" It's been a fact of his life for so long, that John isn't allowed to care for other boys like most boys care for girls, that he hasn't even stopped to think about it in a while. "I'm glad you have your priorities straight."

The conversation peters out, and Martha can't think of things to talk about fast enough and is forced to let John help her with her homework.

While it’s true Henry can stop John from dating Alex, he can’t stop John from thinking about Alex and Alex’s hair and Alex’s eyes and dating Alex. That’s all he has, after all, and he derives a sense of defiant happiness from the memories and his imagination. It’s his, at least. One thing is his. Even if Alex can’t be.

Now that Martha’s sparked his imagination, John lets himself wonder what his and Alex’s hypothetical wedding would be like. Which one of them would walk down the aisle? John? Would either of them actually walk down the aisle at all, or would they do away with the weird, vaguely heteronormative tradition altogether?

Who would propose? What would the rings look like? The diamond(s) wouldn’t be very big, since it’s only decorative and at a certain point it’s just uselessly large and also probably substantially heavy.

Their groomsmen would be Hercules and Lafayette, and their groomswomen—the gender binary is overrated—would be all three of the Schuyler Sisters.

Alex’s hair would be in a low ponytail like usual, but the shorter bits—are those bangs?—would be gelled back. John would somehow manage a bun with little dangly loose curls at the front and it would be lovely.

In his head, everything is perfect.

What Henry Laurens doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Chapter Text

John isn’t the only one who gets pestered about a boy. Apparently Martha had seen the two of them cuddling, and once word gets around to Lafayette and even to George—it’s hard to have a secret in this family—no one will stop asking Alex about it.

When Laf asks him over dinner if there’s anyone he likes—they’re all getting less and less subtle with every attempt—he’s had enough. Alex pushes himself to his feet.

“Guys!” he shouts, and Laf instantly looks like a scolded puppy, all big, sad eyes and pout, and that makes Alex feel a little bad, but that doesn’t mean that he's changed his mind about yelling at them for this. “Do you think you could stop asking me about my love life, aka lack thereof?  There’s nothing, fucking nothing, happening with me and John. Okay?!” He abandons his half-eaten pasta at the table, but turns around halfway down the hallway. He’s still hungry. He retrieves his pasta and goes to his room.

Alex eats his pasta alone, frustrated and pissed off. He’d love to have a secret—not that he has anything that could qualify as a secret.  Just… hypothetically. If he did have a secret. He’d really like everyone else not knowing.

His phone vibrates, and he picks it up off the couch cushion next to him. There’s a text from Laf. It says, Je suis desole, Alexander :(

Alex sighs. On the one hand, he’s still mad, absolutely fed up with all of the questions, but on the other hand, they're his family, aren't they?

When Alex had first come to live with the Washingtons, Martha and George had been wonderful to him, and how had he repaid them? By getting into fistfights at school, and then getting into verbal fights at home over the fights he’d had at school. It hadn’t been entirely his fault—he was going through a lot— but sometimes he still feels bad.

He’d gotten suspended for a particularly bad fistfight a couple of months after going to live with the Washingtons, and Martha and George had decided that was the final straw. They’d sat him down in the living room and asked him if he wanted a different placement, “maybe some other family would be better for you.” But he didn’t want that, he’d realized right then, he liked  it here. Much more than any of his previous placements, anyway. So they’d given him a second chance, and he’d cleaned up his act. He stopped getting into fights and started showing self-restraint. He went to therapy, partially against his will at first, but it did help.

The Washingtons didn’t have to give him that second chance, and Alex knows that. They could’ve pawned him off to some other family, made him someone else’s problem, but they didn’t. Instead, they’d worked with him, made compromises, helped him adjust. And on the first birthday he’d spent with them, they’d asked Alex if he wanted them to adopt him.

Alex remembers it clearly. He’d started crying immediately, and Martha had scooped him up into a hug that George soon joined. He’d stammered “yes” the best he could, and they’d beamed. He’s pretty sure he saw Martha wiping away a few tears of her own out of the corner of his eye.

Lafayette had come over from France as an exchange student three years ago, and while he’d originally stayed with Hercules’ family, Alex had felt an instant kinship the moment they’d locked eyes. Laf became his brother, what, a year and a half ago? Something like that. But Alex, who’s never been one for instant connections or quick emotional ties, can’t really imagine Laf not  being his brother anymore.

He taps the side of his phone as he thinks, but he already knows what he’s going to say. After the first message, Laf has added will you forgive me? :( , and Alex shakes his head. He types out, youre my little brother dummy, and then, of course, in quick succession, and Laf sends back, we are both 17 alex, and Alex says, shush, my birthday is in january and yours is in september, so there :P.

Alex finishes his pasta in the next few minutes, and he’s trying to figure out is there space on the desk for me to leave this bowl because I don’t want to take it to the kitchen right now  when there’s a tentative knock on his door. He manages to precariously balance the bowl on top of a stack of paper on his desk and makes his way over to the door.

Lafayette is standing outside his bedroom door, looking morose, and he fixes his posture as soon as he sees Alex. “Hello,” he says, sounding not at all certain.

“Hi,” Alex says. Neither of them moves. “Do you wanna come in?” he says pointedly, and Laf gets the message.

Once they’re both being comfortably absorbed by the couch, Laf speaks. “I could tell you a secret?”

“You don’t have to,” Alex says.

“I tell you about my love life as an apology for bothering you about yours,” Laf presses.

“Okay, sure, if you want.” Alex doesn’t want Laf to feel pressured to tell him anything, but he’s also getting increasingly curious about what Laf’s gonna tell him.

“Okay.” Laf looks intensely at the far wall as if it’s challenged him to a staring contest, and Alex tries to figure out if Laf can see something he can’t (is his room haunted?? ) or if Laf is just staring at a plain wall. “Here is a secret. I have a crush.”

Alex sits up quickly. “Wait, really?” Laf nods. “Who?”

“Hercules,” Laf says, and Alex gasps. “Don’t tell him! Please.”

“I won’t,” Alex says. “You’re my bro, Gil. I promise not to tell him.” Laf relaxes, relieved. “But damn, though. Herc.” He turns to Laf. “How long?”

“Since last year,” Laf says, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Wow.” Alex does the facial equivalent of a shrug, a sort of who knew. (When did people start shrugging? Who did it first, and when did it become a widespread thing?) “I had no idea.”

“Which is why it is a secret,” Laf says lightly, and Alex concedes a point to him—he isn’t wrong. “Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that if, hypothetically, you did like John… that would be okay?” Laf says, and Alex refuses to make eye contact. He doesn’t think he can handle the soft expression in Laf’s eyes right now.

“Yeah,” he says, examining the carpet. He doesn’t take Laf’s words to heart.

Laf purses his lips. “Well, I tried, I cannot get through to you.” He stands to leave, but whirls around when a pillow hits him in the back. “Did you throw this?” he asks, eyes blazing, voice low.

“Yeah, I did,” grins Alex, ready to grab another pillow at a moment’s notice.

“You do realize this means war?”

“Bring it.” Alex sticks out his tongue. A well-aimed pillow hits him directly in the face, and he splutters at the taste. He grabs the pillow nearest him just as Laf lunges for a pillow on the bed.

George and Martha are reading in the living room on opposite couches. Martha glances up at George over her book, and they smile at the sound of laughter coming from above.

Chapter Text

John is really bad with birthdays. He has four siblings and several friends, but for the life of him, he cannot remember the dates. He has them in his calendar on his phone, which helps, but sometimes he forgets.

Alex’s birthday is in January. The eleventh, in fact. It takes until January eighth for John to realize, giving him absolutely no time to get a present, but he can’t just not give his best friend a present on his birthday.

Sure, before winter break, they’d all exchanged small, inexpensive gifts in the spirit of the holiday, but this is Alex’s day. A small gift isn’t going to cut it.

John spends the rest of the day brainstorming. He goes through online lists, then makes a few of his own, but nothing fits. A person like Alex deserves a particular kind of gift, but what is it?

Then John has an idea. He feels a little bad that it involves a minor breach of privacy, but if all goes well, Alex will forgive him.

He hopes.

Lafayette answers his texts immediately, knowing exactly what John needs. John, in his excitement, says he could kiss Lafayette, and Lafayette says he’s very flattered but not interested, and John laughs.

John toils for hours, only taking short food, water, and bathroom breaks. He sticks out his tongue too much as he focuses, and despite his precision, he still makes a mess.

Finally, it’s finished. He only pauses a moment to survey his work with pride. John has a snack, drinks some more water, and then collapses into bed without even changing his clothes.

January 11.

Alex loathes parties with his entire being, a fact John has had to learn from experience, but Alex loves gifts. He likes to feel self-important, and because they’re celebrating the existence of their friend, John, Lafayette, and Hercules all tolerate this with only the most minimal amount of sour looks.

Lafayette and Hercules give their gifts to Alex at lunch. Laf’s gift is intimidatingly large—how did he even transport it to school? Also why? Alex and Laf live literally across the hallway from each other, why bother bringing a giant box to school?—and the wrapping paper is patterned with little drawings of lemons. John has very conflicted feelings about this package, even before Alex opens it.

Alex grabs the box, dragging it across the table with surprising ease, so maybe it isn’t as heavy as it looks. He’s not the type to preserve wrapping paper, far too eager to get to what’s inside to bother being neat about it. He decimates the little cartoon lemons, and John is mildly disappointed.

Alex peels the tape off, opening the box flaps. His eyes widen, and he grins at Laf. “You didn’t.”

Laf winks. “I did.”

Out of the large box, Alex pulls a dark green velvet jacket, and he doesn’t waste any time pulling it on over his gray hoodie. “Gil, you’re the greatest.” He shows John and Hercules the other contents of the box—an emerald green suit, which he will no doubt put on as soon as he gets home and then lounge around the house in.

Once the box is off of the table and out of the way, Hercules sets a small bag in front of Alex. Alex yanks the tissue paper out of the bag with far too much glee, extracting what looks like an ordinary pen.

“Oh, neat! Is this a space pen?” Herc nods. “Sweet, thank you so much!”

“What’s a space pen?” John asks.

“You can write with it at any angle, even upside down, and it’ll work.” Alex turns to John. “Hey, where’s your gift?”

“It’s at my house,” admits John. “It’s not something I can bring to school. You’re going to have to come get it.”

“I see.” Alex examines John carefully, and John doesn’t know what to make of it. “Will your dad be home?”

Ah. “No, he’ll be at work until five.”

“Okay.”

"You can come over at 3:45. I'm going to need some extra time before you get there."

John really does need that extra time. As he surveys his room, he realizes with horror that it's a mess. Alex can't see this, especially not the first time he comes over to John's house.

He sets to work, hurriedly grabbing things off of the floor and shoving them in the junk drawer. He only has twenty minutes to rectify this, and he works like his life is on the line.

John scrambles down the stairs, passing Harry, who gives him a confused look. He arrives in the foyer just as the doorbell rings.

"Hi," he says as he opens the door.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks. He's still wearing his green jacket over his sweatshirt, John notes.

"Oh, I'm… I'm fine, I just ran down the stairs," John says in between panting. "It's fine, I'll be fine in a minute. Please come in." He ushers Alex inside. If the neighbors see, they might tell his father.

"You know, I thought I had the wrong house at first." Alex cranes his neck back to examine the chandelier. "I knew you went to a fancy private school before you came to our school, but I didn't know you were rich."

John snorts. "School is the place where I can pretend I'm normal. Sometimes I like not having to be constantly reminded that my father's reputation hinges on whether my siblings and I are well-behaved in public."

"Seriously?" Alex asks. John shrugs.

"Jacky?" Polly peeks tentatively around the corner from the bottom of the stairs. "Who is that?"

Alex moves very quickly, crouching in front of Polly. "Hi, I'm Alexander, but you can call me Alex! You're… Polly, right?"

Polly visibly relaxes, and John's heart swells. "Hi, Alex."

"Ah, the mysterious Alex, we meet at last." Martha descends the stairs behind her sister, ruffling Polly's hair. "Hi. I'm Martha, John's sister."

"You're the one who plays violin, right?" Alex stands, holding out a hand, and Martha shakes it vigorously.

"Aw, does Jacky talk about me?" She looks over at John. He frowns, and she sticks out her tongue.

"Where's Jemmy?" John asks. Harry's in his room, John remembers passing him on the stairs, but Jemmy's current whereabouts are a mystery.

"I think he's outside," Martha says. Her hand rests on Polly's head. "I was just about to go check on him."

"I'll go, I can introduce him to Alex," John says.

"Alright," Martha says. She signs something with her hands that makes John turn red. (They'd learned sign language so they could communicate under the table during all of the fancy dinners their father dragged them along to.)

"Come on, Alex." John grabs Alex's hand, pulling him through the house and out the back door.

"What did she do?" Alex asks curiously.

"We know sign language, her and me. She signed something to me." John can't look at Alex.

"You're, uh… you're kind of hurting my hand," Alex says.

"Shit, sorry." John lets go, trusting Alex to follow him. He heads for the tree, the big one in the backyard that Jemmy likes to climb most.

John stands underneath the tree, and, sure enough, when he looks up, he can see Jemmy perched on a branch above him. He's too high. John pushes the thought—and the panic—away.

"Hey, Jemmy, can you come down?" he calls up to him. His brother smiles when he sees John. The branch shakes as he climbs along it. A few minutes later, Jemmy scrambles down the trunk and lands on the ground safely, and John can breathe at last.

"Hey, you little menace." He puts a hand on Jemmy's shoulder to hide that he's shaking.

"Who are you?" Jemmy asks, staring up at Alex with wide brown eyes.

"Hi, I'm Alex." Alex grins at Jemmy. Jemmy smiles back, showing his missing tooth, and, miraculously, this seems to slow John's heart rate back to a normal speed.

"I'm Jemmy."

"I know."

"Are you magic?" Jemmy whispers, and Alex chuckles.

"No, I'm not, sadly. But I am a friend of your brother, and he talks about you sometimes." Alex has a gift with children, apparently, and John is just now learning this. He archives this information for later.

"Cool."

"You like to climb, huh? You were just like a monkey," Alex says, and Jemmy looks at Alex like he's the ice cream man.

"I love climbing! And Jacky always says I'm good at it!"

"You're great at it, bud." John ruffles Jemmy's hair. "Do you think you could stay where Martha can see you?"

Jemmy thinks about this, and then pouts. "I guess…"

"I think I saw a lizard by the front porch yesterday," John says, and Jemmy's excitement is back.

"I'm gonna go look for lizards by the porch!" He runs off. John watches him go, and Alex watches John.

"Your family seems wonderful," Alex says softly, and when John turns, he notices that Alex is gazing at him.

"Yeah, they're a blessing, honestly," John says. "Let's go inside?"

"I'll do whatever you say. This is your house, after all." Alex links arms with John, and they walk together to the back door.

John doesn't lead Alex directly to his room. Instead, he pauses outside another one of the six doors lining the second floor hallway. He knocks, and an irritated, "Come in," comes from inside.

"What do you want?" Harry asks once John's pushed the door open. He's facing away from the door, half-slumped over as he stares at his phone.

"Wow. No need to be so rude, I have a guest over." John crosses his arms, and Harry turns in his chair to face John.

"Hi," Alex says.

"Hi," Harry echoes. He sounds slightly less agitated now.

"You're Harry?" Alex asks, and Harry nods. "I'm Alex. Nice to meet you."

Harry looks at Alex for a solid minute. "You're not so bad," he says at last. He goes back to his phone, and John takes this as a cue to leave.

That went well, considering Harry doesn't like people at all. Alex really knows how to charm a Laurens.

He doesn't let himself stop in front of his door, pushing it open before he can get nervous again. Alex waits for John, and he gestures for Alex to go in ahead of him.

Alex spots his present right away. His breath hitches, and he stops.

John bites his lip. This is it, the deciding factor. He’s convinced himself this is fine over and over for several days, but it’s all up to Alex now.

“Did…” Alex is choked up, and he clears his throat. “Did you paint this?”

“Yeah,” John says, since Alex doesn’t seem as though he wants to look away anytime soon. Which is probably a good sign…?

“It’s…” Alex approaches the painting, and he lightly brushes his fingers against the painted image of his mother’s face. Not Martha Washington. His other mom. His first mom. “John, I love it.” John, who’d taken a few steps forward to stand just behind Alex, suddenly finds himself enveloped in a hug. Alex smells nice, like mint and chocolate. John’s positive Alex is crying.

John doesn’t look at Alex’s face until Alex is able to wipe his face dry.

“Thanks,” Alex murmurs into John’s shoulder. He pulls away. “I thought nothing could top the emerald green suit, but…” He laughs shakily, gesturing at the painting. “How did you know what she looked like?”

“I may have gone behind your back and talked to Lafayette,” John admits. “I asked him about your mom. He said you had an old picture of her that you kept in a drawer—he’d seen it once—and he snuck into your room and took a picture of the picture and sent it to me. Also. Sorry. For invading your privacy like that.”

Alex inhales deeply, still shaky. “Under any other circumstances, I would be mad, but you made such a perfect likeness of her using one photo from years ago, and… I can’t hold this against you.” He smiles. “Thanks for giving me the best birthday in years, John.”

“I don’t think you can give me that much credit,” John protests. “I mean, I didn’t even remember your birthday until three days ago.”

Alex shakes his head. “You did this in three days?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s fucking amazing. You should make art for a living. People would pay for this kind of thing, you know.”

“I’m not allowed,” John says. “I have to be a lawyer or a politician like my father.”

There’s a shadow across Alex’s face. “Did he tell you that?” John nods, and Alex scoffs. He mutters something John can’t quite hear, but it sounds like “That piece of shit.” “What harm would you being an artist cause?”

“He wants me to carry on his legacy or whatever, as the oldest son,” John says. He’s heard those words enough times to quote them exactly, but he throws an “or whatever” on the end to pretend as though he hasn’t.

Alex sighs. “That is incredibly frustrating, and I’m not even the person he says that to. I’m starting to not like your father.”

“You’d be right not to,” John says darkly.

Alex doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Thanks again,” he says after a few minutes of silence have elapsed. “I liked meeting your siblings, that was cool. I think I’m gonna take this home now. See you at school?”

“See you at school,” John says. Alex carries the painting down the stairs and out the door, and by the time John’s father is home, there’s no evidence John brought a friend home.

Chapter Text

Lafayette isn't bad at keeping secrets. He might be a bit of a gossip, but he can keep his mouth shut when he needs to.

He's also good at pretending. He supposes that, by now, he's done so much pretending he qualifies as an actor.

Most of Lafayette's pretending happens around Hercules. Whenever Hercules laughs at one of Lafayette's jokes and the corners of his eyes crinkle, or when he wraps an arm around Lafayette's shoulders and leans in conspiratorially close, or when their hands brush, Lafayette pretends. He pretends he isn't hopelessly in love with Hercules. He pretends that he's only reasonably happy that Hercules is happy and not that it makes his whole day whenever Hercules smiles.

It's tiring, really.

Lafayette isn't one who spends a lot of time imagining possible futures with people he likes. With Hercules, he spends a lot of time remembering what it was like before he was in love, back when he was staying in Hercules' room every night, back when they could engage in casual touch without his heart racing.

Lafayette knows he has no chance with Hercules. Not only is Hercules his best friend (he can't ruin that, nothing is worth that), but he's also the most popular of their little group. He's muscular, he's handsome, he's sweet, and he has an adorable laugh. Who wouldn't love him?

Lafayette despises Valentine's Day. Don't get him wrong, he'd eat all the chocolate in the world if Martha would let him, but he shudders whenever someone mentions they have plans February 14. He's all for romance normally, but that day is hell.

In France, the holiday focuses more on love than in America. He never gave his friends valentines, that's not how it works. Maybe if he were someone else (someone not from France?) he might not have such a strong association with the holiday and romance, but as it is…

He walks to Hercules' locker with him. He looks away when Hercules puts in his combination. He knows what to expect by now.

"Holy shit," Hercules says, and Lafayette looks. Sure enough, there's a small pile of cards and candy that people shoved through the slats in the locker, and there's a bitter taste in his mouth. Hercules laughs, catching a giant KitKat bar as it starts to fall. "What is all this?"

"Well, you're very attractive, it's no wonder people like you," Lafayette says a little too nonchalantly, examining his nails.

"I mean… I guess," Hercules says, trying to figure out the best way to get his book from underneath the pile without knocking everything down. He succeeds in shoving everything back a bit and wiggling his book out, and he closes his locker, obscuring the offensive pile from sight.

"I'm sure you've got lots of admirers too," Hercules says as they start walking again, this time to Lafayette's locker, and Lafayette makes the conscious effort to keep his breathing even, as it wants to catch in his throat.

"I doubt that." He waves away the idea with one hand.

"No, really. You're tall—"

"That means nothing, so are you."

"—and you've got great hair—"

"Says who?"

"—and your voice is kind of amazing," Hercules finishes, despite his many interruptions. 

Lafayette sneaks a glance at him, but Hercules is watching him. They make eye contact, and then Lafayette looks away. "What does that mean?"

"You're French."

"I already know that." Maybe he's being a little too hard on Hercules, but he has to shut this down quickly before it gets his hopes up, because getting his hopes up will only lead to the inevitable crushing disappointment when the feelings are one-sided.

"I'm not finished," says Hercules, exasperated. "Dude, there's just something about the way you speak that makes people listen. I don't know if it's the accent itself or if it's something you do with it when you talk, but have you ever noticed that no one interrupts you? I have no clue how you do it, but when you talk, I always want to hear what you're going to say. It's really cool."

Lafayette doesn't know what to say to that, what are you supposed to say to that? He mutters, "Thanks," but now they've reached his locker. He inputs his passcode and opens his locker.

To his surprise, Hercules was right. There's another small pile of candy and cards in his locker, too.

"Hey, would you look at that?" Hercules smirks, resting his arm on Lafayette's shoulder. "What did I tell you? Admirers, admirers everywhere."

"...are you referencing the Toy Story meme?"

"Yes, absolutely." He loves Hercules.

Lafayette ignores the Valentine's Day gifts, roughly pulling his notebook out from underneath them and knocking a few candies to the floor. Hercules frowns, bending down to pick them up when Lafayette doesn't.

"You dropped these," he says.

"I don't care," Lafayette says.

"Dude, are you okay? You seem pissed today," Hercules says, eying the hard candies he'd picked up. "Did I do something?"

"No," snaps Lafayette, and slams his locker a little too hard. "It's fine," he says more quietly.

"If you say so."

"You might as well eat the candy you picked up. I know you want to," he says, and Hercules, stunned, watches Lafayette stride away without another word or even a glance back.

"Hey," Herc says, sliding onto the bench next to Alex. He sets his lunch down on the table and nods at John and Aaron Burr. Laf isn't here yet. "I wanted to ask about Lafayette."

"What? Is something wrong?" Alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. "He seemed fine this morning. Maybe a little grumpy, he glared at his toast a couple of times but that's normal right after he wakes up."

"He's been kind of short-tempered, and everything he says is clipped," Herc says. "I don't know what's wrong. I asked him about it, and then I asked if it was something I  did, and he slammed his locker shut."

"That's weird," Alex says. "Do you want me to see if I can get him to tell me anything?"

Herc stares at the table. "I mean, I guess, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Course not, he's my brother." The conversation ends there, with nobody having anything more to say and no one having any idea about what pissed in Lafayette's cereal.

Lafayette comes in a few minutes later, sitting on the other side of John, across from Alex instead of across from Herc like he usually does, and Herc is significantly put out. Lafayette said it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but what else could it be? After all, Lafayette immediately starts chattering animatedly to Alex and John, a stark contrast with his earlier behavior.

The conversation stops abruptly, devolving into hushed whispers, and Herc looks around. There's a girl with box braids approaching the table, and Aaron, quite frankly, looks like he's going to shit himself.

"Hey, Aaron," the girl says once she's close enough to start a conversation.

"Hi," Burr says, seemingly barely capable of speech or even coherent thought at the present moment.

The girl laughs softly. "You never call me by my name," she says reproachfully. "You haven't forgotten, right? Theodosia?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Burr says, and though he's capable of full sentences again, he's oddly monotone. "Hi, Theodosia."

"Okay, that's better." She puts her hands on her hips, and Herc now remembers teasing Burr about this girl right after Burr transferred. "I wanted to know if you're free tonight."

Burr blinks. "What?" Herc feels bad for him.

"Do you want to go on a date with me tonight? I've got tickets to a movie," she says again, and Herc envies her confidence.

Burr takes a long moment to figure out how to speak. "Um, yes. Yes! I would like to go on a date with you." He blushes, and Theodosia grins.

"Wonderful. I'll text you about the details later, then, since you have my number. See you tonight." Theodosia kisses Burr's forehead before she leaves to sit with the Schuylers again. Burr turns dazedly back to the table.

"Damn," Alex says. "Look at you, getting all the girls."

"Shut up, Hamilton," Burr says, but he's starting to smile as it hits him that the girl he likes asked him out.

"That's the girl you pointed out before, right?" John asks, and Burr nods. "What's she like? Other than frustratingly confident."

"Leave some for the rest of us," Lafayette mumbles, resting his chin on his arms and his arms on the table, and Herc looks at him.

"You say that like you're not one of the most confident people we know," Alex says, but Lafayette doesn't brighten up at all. Something is definitely wrong.

"Theodosia is… well, she's hard to describe," Burr says, taking the opportunity to speak and lessen the awkwardness by changing the subject back. "She does have more confidence than any one person needs, but it suits her."

"No wonder she hangs out with Angelica." Alex rolls his eyes. "They sound like two peas in a pod."

The conversation moves on, but Herc's attention is stuck on Lafayette. Herc watches him the entirety of lunch, but Lafayette doesn't look at him once.

They're friends, aren't they?

Hercules isn't so sure.

Chapter Text

When Lafayette gets up to leave at the end of lunch, Herc calls out to him, but Lafayette doesn't even pause. Herc makes eye contact with John, who offers a sympathetic glance and a shrug.

"See, that's not normal," Herc says. "Something is fucking wrong, and I am going to find out what it is if it's the last thing I do."

Herc doesn't have any classes after lunch with Lafayette, so Herc passes the time during boring lesson after boring lesson thinking about him.

When the bell rings, Herc sprints all the way across campus to Lafayette's sixth period classroom, but he's too late. Lafayette is already gone. He groans, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

This has gone on too long. Lafayette is his friend, and while he has the right to not tell Herc everything about his life, he's still pretending nothing is even wrong, which, in Herc's opinion, is going too fucking far.

He doesn't walk home. Instead, his feet take the long-familiar path to the Washingtons'.

George answers the door when Herc knocks.

"Hercules," he says. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"That's not true, I was here last month," Herc reminds him.

"That's right. But Gilbert hasn't talked about you in a while. Maybe that's why. How are you doing?" George asks, letting Herc in and closing the door.

"I'm fine, sir," Herc says truthfully. He's fine. Lafayette's the one who's not.

"Call me George, not 'sir,'" George corrects sternly. "How many times?"

"Sorry," Herc says. "Can I see Laf?"

"Yes, of course," George says, mildly confused. "Why wouldn't you be able to?"

Herc sighs. He doesn't really want to get into it right now, especially since he doesn't quite know the reason himself. "I don't know. Never mind." He passes George, climbing the stairs to Lafayette's room.

Herc knocks, and there's no response. He frowns, turning to Alex's door. He knocks, and Alex says, "Come in."

When Herc opens the door, Alex is sitting on the couch, playing a game on his console by himself. Some sort of 2D boss fight. He pauses when he sees Herc.

"Hey," he says. "What's up, Herc?"

"What's wrong with Lafayette?" Herc asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I knocked and he didn't answer."

Alex looks worried. "Martha picked us up after school. He went straight to his room and slammed the door."

"Is it locked?" Herc asks.

"I'm not sure, actually."

"Okay, thanks, Alex." Herc leaves Alex to his game. He stares at the door, knocking one more time just to make sure. There's still no reply, and he convinces himself he's allowed to open the door because he's worried about Lafayette.

The room is dark, and Herc squints around the room, locating what must be the crumpled form of Lafayette on the bed. "Laf?" he says softly, and Lafayette looks up.

"Hercules?" he asks, tears streaming down his face. "What are you doing here?"

Herc moves to join Lafayette on the bed. "Are you okay? You never did answer me earlier."

"Hey, no, I said I was fine," protests Lafayette.

"Well, you're clearly not," Herc points out. Lafayette sniffles. "I don't need you to tell me what's wrong if you don't want to, but I at least need to know if it has to do with me."

Lafayette looks at him sadly. "Yes."

Herc pulls his friend into a hug. He's had enough. He's going to comfort Lafayette one way or another, whether or not he tells Herc what he did wrong.

"It's Valentine's Day," Lafayette says after a moment, muffled against Herc's shoulder.

"Yes?" Herc says. "Is that why you're crying?"

"Sort of," admits Lafayette, wiping at his eyes. He's stopped crying now, to Herc's relief.

Then something happens in the near-dark of Lafayette's room. Lafayette looks at Herc, and Herc looks back, and…

Well, he sort of understands now, doesn't he?

He understands everything all at once. The lingering touches, the long gazes when he thinks Herc isn't looking. The irritation over Valentine's Day and over how many valentines Herc received.

"Oh."

Herc knows, and Lafayette knows that he knows, and it just sort of happens. One moment they're gazing into each other's eyes. They next, they're… well, they're kissing.

"Sorry," Lafayette says once they separate. He sniffles again.

"No, stop apologizing," Herc says.

"No, I meant… that must have been kind of wet." Lafayette gestures to the half-dried teartracks on his cheeks.

"Oh," Herc says. "I thought you were… I thought you were apologizing for kissing me. Because… you definitely don't have to apologize for that."  He worries he's making it awkward, and Lafayette takes his hand.

"So… it is not one-sided?" Lafayette asks, and he sounds so hopeful that Herc wants to cry.

"It's not one-sided," Herc says, choked up.

"Are you… are you about to cry?" Lafayette asks, squinting at him in the poor light.

"Shut up," Herc says, but he is and he can't keep it inside. He throws himself at Lafayette, and Lafayette accepts the embrace wholeheartedly, even rubbing his back until he stops crying.

"Jeez," Herc says. He goes to wipe at his face, but Lafayette beats him to it. He carefully uses one thumb to wipe away the tears under each eye, and Herc fucking loves him.

Lafayette freezes. Shit. Herc… might have said that last part out loud. "You love me?"

"Um. Yeah." Lafayette kisses him again, this time slightly more heatedly, and then they collapse onto the bed next to each other. They lay on their sides, facing one another, and they share the pillow. Lafayette's hand is between them, and Herc grabs it.

"It's kind of dark in here," he says.

"Oh, yeah." Lafayette laughs self-consciously. (Hercules loves him.)

Lafayette untangles his fingers from Herc's as he stands, and it's possible Herc whines. "I'll be right back." There's some noises—Herc can barely make out Lafayette's silhouette—and then a warm light floods the room.

Lafayette walks back to the bed, repositions himself, and entwines his fingers with Herc's again. "See? I said I would not be long." And now Herc can see the unrestrained, adoring way Lafayette looks at him, and he can't believe he didn't realize sooner.

"I'm so fucking stupid," he says aloud.

"Stop," Lafayette says. "Just don't. You are not stupid, you are very smart."

"I can't believe  it took me two years to realize I was in love with you," Herc groans.

"Two years?" Lafayette's voice is soft.

"Yeah?" Herc says. He squeezes Lafayette's hand.

"For me, it was one year," Lafayette says. He pauses for a moment before moving closer. "I want to cuddle," he mumbles, and Herc is more than happy to oblige, despite his not-at-all conspicuous blush. (Hercules loves Lafayette.)

They talk and cuddle for hours. Hercules loves Lafayette so much. Lafayette loves Hercules more than he even knows how to express. He lets himself imagine futures with Hercules, and when Hercules asks what he's thinking about, he dodges the question, instead chuckling and pressing a kiss into Hercules' hair to make him blush.

Lafayette doesn't hate Valentine's Day anymore.

In the room across the hall, Alex has just lost another round. He sets down the controller, picking up the card and the bag of candy from the floor where he'd left it earlier, thrown it to the floor in a fit of frustration and disappointment. He rereads the card. My dear Laurens, it says, and Alex cries. He sobs. And it falls on deaf ears.

Chapter Text

John texts Thomas under the table all throughout History. He's proving to be a surprisingly fun conversationalist, even if he keeps talking about how much he loves his boyfriend.

mac-n-bees: james is so short though and he's,,,,, adorable

Turtle Boy: i know

Turtle Boy: you said that last week

mac-n-bees: yeah well he was cute last week too

mac-n-bees: so suffer~

John stifles a laugh as he walks to lunch. He makes eye contact with Thomas across the cafeteria, and Thomas winks.

Alex is already there, and John sits across from him. He seems deep in thought as he works on whatever’s in front of him, and John, not wanting to disturb him, doesn’t say a word.

John’s halfway through his tuna when the other half of their group arrives. Lafayette and Hercules are holding hands, though, and he nudges Alex under the table. Alex’s attention shifts to John—he’s grumpy, John was right not to disturb him, but Alex just might want to see this.

“What?” Alex asks, and John jerks his head toward their approaching friends. Alex looks in that direction. ”Oh."

“Hello,” Laf says. Herc sits next to him instead of across from him like usual, so now John has the whole bench to himself. “Scoot, Alexander. I need to sit next to Hercules so I can hold his hand.” Alex, deeply offended, shoves his work and his lunch across the table, and John moves over to make room for him.

“So,” John says.

“So?” Herc asks, eyebrow raised as if daring John to point out the fact that he’s holding hands with his best friend.

John clears his throat. ”So.”

“Oh my god.” Alex throws down his pen. “What John is trying to say is, are you two dating? And for how long, since when? And most importantly, where was I when this happened?"

“That’s a lot of questions that all depend on the answer to the first one being yes,” Herc observes unhelpfully.

“To answer your question, Alex, yes, we are.” Laf beams at a Herc who isn't looking and so is none the wiser, and that strikes John as adorable. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before, but they make a cute couple. “Secondly, it was Valentine’s Day.”

“When you were acting all weird to Herc?” Alex says pointedly.

“Yes. I liked him, a lot, and I was angry and jealous at the people who gave him gifts,” Laf says, and Herc squeezes his hand. He looks at his boyfriend gratefully and kisses his forehead. “Thank you, dear.”

“Dear?” splutters Herc. His face couldn’t be more red.

“Oui, dear.”  Laf seems awfully pleased with himself and the fact he made Herc blush.

“Well, congrats,” John says. He really means it. “You two seem to really like each other.”

“We do,” Laf says softly, and even someone who’d never met him before could see how much he loves Herc solely from his heart eyes.

“Okay, disgusting cuteness aside, you didn’t tell me,” Alex says. “I’m your brother, or did you forget? Valentine's Day was literally a month ago.”

“I did not forget,” Laf says smoothly. “I wanted to have a secret for myself.”

Alex sighs. “I know the feeling.”

John has never been the nosy type, and he knows it’s absolutely none of his business, but… Alex has a secret?

He shakes his head. Not the time nor the point.

He changes the subject. “Hey, have any of you seen Burr today?”

“Yeah, I saw him in U.S. gov before lunch, but he left without me,” Alex says. “Why?”

“He’s not sitting with us, and he’s not sitting with Thomas,” John says. Alex makes a face at his use of “Thomas,” but wisely decides not to comment.

“You have overlooked something,” Laf says far too smugly. “I think his date must have gone well.” He gestures to the far right side of the cafeteria, where Aaron is sitting next to Theodosia. He laughs at something she says, and she rests her hand on his arm.

"Good for him," Alex says, propping up his head on his arm. "It seems like romance is in the air this year, huh?"

It does. Now if only it could work in his favor.

John's phone vibrates again. Another text from Thomas.

mac-n-bees: is hamilton at least interesting idfk

mac-n-bees: im having trouble imagining it

John chuckles.

Turtle Boy: he's very energetic at least

Turtle Boy: lunch is never boring

Turtle Boy: there's always something for him to discuss at length

"Who are you texting?" Alex asks, trying to read over John's shoulder but evidently failing.

"Thomas."

"Why? He can't be that interesting!" Alex crosses his arms.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're jealous," Herc says, and Alex splutters.

"What? I'm not!"

"Sure you're not," Laf says, and Alex falls silent, suddenly very  busy working.

"If it makes you feel any better, he's taken," John reminds Alex.

"Whatever." Alex doesn't look up.

He might actually be jealous. What should John do with this information?

John scans Alex's paper, but he can't make out many of the words. Do Alex's teachers accept his handwriting like this, or does he have to rewrite everything before he turns it in?

“What are you doing?” he asks finally.

“Essay,” Alex grunts.

“Which class?”

“French.”

“They gave you an essay in French?” John asks.

“It’s optional.” Alex hasn’t stopped writing once.

“Then why are you doing it now?” John waits until the perfect moment. Alex’s pen pauses, and John pounces, snatching the pen away.

“Hey, no, give that back,” Alex says, and John hides the pen in his backpack. “I need to write this, John!”

“It’s extra credit!” John says. “You have at least a 95% in all of your classes, you don’t need this!”

Alex glares at him like a kid who’s been denied candy. “Well, what if I do this?” He reaches for his pencil pouch, and it occurs to John that he probably has more than one pen.

“Shit.” John lunges, knocking the pencil pouch to the floor and out of Alex’s reach, and Alex blinks slowly in a way that tells John he’s very offended by this. John sticks his tongue out at Alex as he retrieves the pencil pouch. “Hold onto this.” He hands the pencil pouch to Lafayette, who takes it with an amused expression.

“I can’t believe this,” Alex mutters. “Betrayed by my own brother and best friend.”

“Hey, I don’t have any part in that,” Hercules points out, and Alex nods.

“And I appreciate you for that.”

Alex is adorable when he’s grumpy. He slumps, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s pouting, and his hair falls over his face, half-casting it in shadow.

John takes a small risk. While Alex is distracted, He reaches out, tucking some of Alex’s hair behind his ear. Alex freezes, all except for his eyes, which snap to his left to look at John.

John raises one eyebrow, allowing himself a small smirk, and Alex gets even redder. Lafayette looks between them curiously, eyes slightly narrowed.

“What time is it?” Alex asks finally, looking away and clearing his throat.

“12:45,” John says, taking pity on Alex.

“Lunch is almost over, then.” Subdued, Alex takes a folder out of his backpack and neatly slides the essay in. “Could I have my things back now.”

John and Lafayette exchange a questioning glance, and Laf hands the pencil pouch back to John. John puts the pen in, and gives it back to Alex. Alex sets the pencil pouch on top of his binder, zipping his backpack. The bell rings right on time, and Alex leaves without a word.

Chapter Text

There’s nothing between Alex and John. Nothing. That’s what Alex tells himself as he wanders dazedly to his next class.

But if that were true, then what should he call what just happened? And why would he react like that?

The bell rings and the teacher starts speaking, but Alex, for once, isn’t listening. Instead, his mind keeps going back to the way John smirked at him.

Alex can think his best friend is beautiful without having a crush on him. He doesn’t have a crush on his best friend. That’s all John is to him. His best friend. Nothing more.

Lafayette mercifully waits to interrogate Alex until they’re alone. Instead of asking while Martha is driving them home, he pushes Alex into his room and forces Alex to sit down.

“Look, Gil—” Alex starts, but Lafayette cuts him off.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about this, Alexander, but I at least need to know. You seemed… pretty flustered earlier.”

“So?”

Laf sighs. “Alex. Do you like John?”

“Of course I like him, he’s my best friend.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Alex glares at his brother. “I don’t fucking know, Laf!”

Laf’s eyes widen. “Oh, Alexander, I’m sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” Alex says. Why does Laf look so concerned?

“I would not have asked if I thought it would make you cry.” Wait, cry? Alex isn’t crying, right?

But when he touches his cheek, his fingers come away wet. “Oh.”

“Can I hug you, mon frere?” Laf asks, and Alex nods.

The hug feels nice. For once, Alex can appreciate how tall Laf is, it means Alex can rest his head on Laf’s chest and listen to his heartbeat. (When it comes to Laf’s tall stature, usually Alex just gets frustrated over his own lack of height.) But this is nice.

After Alex stops crying, Laf lets Alex stay in his room. They both sit on the bed, not talking as they do their own work individually, but Alex appreciates Laf’s proximity nonetheless.

At five, Alex retires to his room across the hall. Normally he wouldn’t fall asleep until long after ten, but he’s so tired today that he makes the conscious effort to at least lay there with his eyes closed in the hopes he can nap before dinner.

Alex successfully falls asleep. During his nap, he dreams.

In his dream, he’s a lot older, judging by his hands, at least. They’re bigger and slightly more wrinkled. He finds himself in a house, not too big and not too small. Just right, in fact.

Alex decides to look around the place. There’s one room with a TV and a couch and a window with a view of the snowy street outside. The cupboards in the kitchen are well-worn, and it adds to the feeling the house has of being lived in. There’s more than one bathroom.

Alex takes the stairs down to the lower level and stops in the hallway. The walls are lined with picture frames, and Alex examines the nearest one.

The photo depicts—well, a family, he realizes with a start. One of the two adults is definitely him, even with the wrinkles starting to form on his forehead. (Alex ought to frown less, he notes.) The other adult is someone Alex knows very well, and he smiles. John looks good for someone in his late thirties or early forties. He hasn’t changed at all.

As Alex shifts his gaze to the two other people in the photo, there’s a bang from somewhere else in the house. He follows the noise to the front door.

John bustles in carrying groceries and bundled in a winter coat, scarf, and a hat. He smiles a little tiredly at Alex, then turns to call back to someone outside. “Come on, you two, I’m going to let all the warm air out if you don’t hurry!”

A few moments later, two small figures hurtle through the door, and John closes it behind them. As they shake the snow out of their identical curly hair, Alex notices—they look exactly like John, all brown curls and freckles.

“You know who’s going to have to clean up the snow on the floor?” John huffs, rolling his eyes. He peels off his coat, kissing Alex on the cheek as he passes. “Alexander, our children are menaces.”

Our children.

Not mine. Not yours. Our. As in, Alex’s and John’s. Together.

“Hi, pa!” One of the kids, the boy, grabs Alex’s hand with his own tiny, gloved hand. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “We bought ice cream.”

“Philip!” John calls from the kitchen, where he’s presumably putting away the groceries he bought. “Are you bothering your father the way you bothered me for the past half an hour?”

Philip pouts. “No, I’m not! I told him we have ice cream!”

“Pip, that was a secret!” the girl says.

“Oops.” Philip turns back to Alex, hands on his hips. “Never mind, we don’t have any ice cream, they were out at the store!” He scrunches up his face. “Was that good, Frances?” he whispers to the girl.

“Well, if you’re done, could you take off your snow clothes and come help me put things away?” John calls. “If you’re quick, you can have some of the ice cream we definitely don’t have!” The twins hastily pull off their gloves and coats and race to the kitchen. Alex follows at a slower pace.

When Alex wakes up, it’s six pm. He squeezes his eyes shut, not ready for all of the light in his room. The image burned into his mind is of John and Philip and Frances—their two kids—talking and laughing as they put away groceries. John had shaken his head, but Alex was preoccupied with noticing how every little movement that the twins did was like a smaller version of John’s own movements.

Alex thinks he knows now. That dream was enough to help him figure it out.

Alexander Hamilton is in love with his best friend. He loves John.

He loves John.

Chapter Text

Alexander Hamilton is in love with his best friend. He loves John.

He loves John.

But…

What should Alex do now?

What to do with this information?

He could… tell John— no, fuck, no, bad, bad idea. Abort. No.

Alex does want to tell someone. But who?

Alex finds himself opening up his text messages, one finger hovering over eliza. Oh, why not?

Alex: hey i think im,, in love?????

He holds his breath. She responds in under a minute.

eliza: omg

eliza: omg wait

eliza: !!!

Alex: ,,hehe

Alex: betsey?

Alex: eliza??

Alex figures she must’ve gotten distracted. He falls back on the reliability of watching old YouTube memes for the twentieth time, and by the time Eliza shows up in the doorway of his room, he’s already forgotten he’d texted her.

“Hi,” she says, distinctly out of breath.

“Hi,” Alex says cautiously. “Did… did you run here?”

“I might have, yeah.” Despite how hard she’s panting and how pink her face is, Eliza’s eyes practically glow.

“Okay,” she says once she’s successfully restored her oxygen levels to normal. “First of all, Alex, it’s wonderful that you’re in love, and that’s incredibly exciting.”

“I know,” Alex says, picking at his fingers.

Eliza gives him a knowing look. “…who is it?”

Alex briefly wonders if there are any merits to feigning sudden-onset amnesia before concluding that would be too much effort and he ought to just tell her.

“It had better be who I think it is, sir, or I will riot.” Eliza grips his arm with a little too much enthusiasm, but Alex can forgive her. After all, he’d been just as excited when he found out she got a girlfriend.

“Wait, sir?”

Eliza mock-glares at him. “Do not make fun of my speech quirks. And don’t act like you don’t spend too much time on the internet either!”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Alex says. “So, it’s… Well, actually, before I tell you, who do you think it is?”

“Nice try.” Eliza rolls her eyes. “You can’t change the subject just like that.” Her gaze softens. “It’s John, isn’t it?”

Alex immediately begins avoiding eye contact like it’s the plague, and Eliza laughs. “I knew it!”

“I’m a little scared to ask, in case it was very obvious,” Alex says, “but how did you know?”

“Alex,” Eliza says. “Alexander.”

“Yes?”

“Alexander Hamilton-Washington.” She takes his hand. “I know you. You’re one of my closest friends. And you have the audacity to think I wouldn’t be able to pick up on the signs?”

Alex shrugs.

“Smh,” Eliza says.

“Did you say that out loud?” Alex asks, a little baffled.

“Yes, yes, I did,” Eliza says smugly.

Alex shakes his head. “Look, I’m very small, and I have no money. Can you imagine the kind of stress I am under?”

Eliza’s eyes twinkle. “Was that a John Mulaney quote?” Alex nods. “Thought so, you can’t sneak that by me.”

“Of course not,” Alex says, complete sincerity evidenced by the way he can hardly keep a straight face, and Eliza gently punches his arm.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she says.

“Ooh, somebody’s got an attitude now, huh?” Eliza misjudges how hard she drives her elbow into his side, and Alex doubles over (both from the pain and from laughter).

“Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,” she says, but he’s still wheezing, and she knows she hasn’t hurt him that badly.

Alex feels better. He's no closer to knowing what to do next, but Eliza helped, even if they didn't talk about anything deep or thought-provoking. She goes home not long after, at a perfectly normal pace this time, and he’s left with his thoughts.

Alex is a lot more upbeat now, enough that his family notices. After he laughs at one of Lafayette’s jokes so hard that he snorts, Martha turns to Laf.

“What do you think has him so cheerful, huh?” she asks quietly.

“I have no idea,” Laf marvels. He watches Alex sprint up the stairs with reckless abandon.

Alex isn’t ashamed to admit that he waits for John to arrive at school on Monday. John parks his car, locks it with a beep, and walks across the parking lot to the school’s sidewalk. His eyes widen when he sees Alex, who’s waving far too excitedly.

“Hey,” John says with a little laugh. “What’s gotten into you, then?”

“Oh, nothing,” Alex says. He smiles fondly at John, and John, despite his confusion, can’t help but smile back. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” John pretends like this doesn’t make him irrationally happy by looking away.

At lunch, Alex is arguing passionately with Aaron Burr. Aaron usually comes across as a passive person, but whatever Alex is saying—John can’t make out any words among the overlapping shouts—seems to have hit a nerve, because he’s even gesturing slightly, something Aaron doesn’t typically do.

In the midst of his yelling over Burr, Alex takes John’s hand. “Hey, what do you think, you agree with me, right?”

John stares at him.

“What?”

“You’re, uh, holding my hand.”

Alex looks down at their hands on the table for a prolonged period of time. “Oh.” He shrugs, but he doesn’t let go. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Uh, n-no, I don’t,” John says. “Oh, and yeah, I agree.” He still doesn’t know what Alex is arguing about or even for, but it’s worth the broad grin that spreads across Alex’s face as John agrees with him.

“See, Burr? John’s a rational person, and even he agrees!” Alex jumps back into his argument with greater vigor than before, but he doesn’t let go of John’s hand until the end of lunch.

The bell rings, and both John and Alex get abruptly to their feet.

“I, uh… see you in class?” Alex asks.

John is still keenly aware of their hands connected between them. “We don’t have any classes together after lunch.”

“No, I meant tomorrow, I guess?”

“In that case, sure.”

Alex untangles his fingers from John’s, and John thinks with disappointment that the moment is over. But Alex shifts his hold on John’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth and brushing his lips against the back of John’s hand, and—

That’s it. John is officially deceased. He’s dying. He’s flatlining. What is happening?

When Alex lets go of John’s hand, he turns bright red. “Uh… sorry,” he mutters, and then he darts away.

What just happened? John isn’t entirely sure. He can’t get over the slight scratchy feeling of Alex’s facial hair against his hand. Hercules gapes in pleased disbelief, and Lafayette looks as though Christmas has come early.

John rubs the back of his hand. “I have to get to class,” he says softly, still staring after the long-gone Alex. He grabs his backpack and leaves the cafeteria without another word.

Back at home, John screams into a pillow, having recently determined that his father is still at work. All this time, he’s thought he never had a chance with Alex, that Alex thought of him as just a friend, but… what the hell was that? That cannot be just a friend thing, who kisses their completely platonic friend’s hand?

Martha doesn’t knock, opening the door with no warning. “What was that?”

“Me screaming,” John says, muffled, into his pillow.

“I see.” John can practically hear her raised eyebrows. The mattress dips as she joins him on the bed. “And what are we screaming about today?”

“Boys.”

“Alex?”

“Alex.”

“What did he do?”

John lifts his head to look at his sister. “He kissed my hand today.”

“He didn’t,” Martha says, sounding positively shocked, and John appreciates the amount of emotion she’s invested in his not-relationship.

“He did.”

“Well? Then? He clearly likes you?” she says.

“I don’t know that,” John says, not sounding so convinced himself.

“But he could?” Martha is just as stubborn as he is, he thinks.

“I guess?”

“Well, how did it happen?” she asks, and John remembers that before the hand kiss, Alex actually held his hand for half an hour.

“Well, um, he was arguing with someone at lunch. A common occurrence. And he, uh, grabbed my hand. A less common occurrence. And when he realized he was holding my hand, he didn’t let go. For half an hour.” John turns over to lie on his back. “And at the end of lunch, he kissed my hand, let go, and then turned really red and ran out of there like the devil was on his tail.”

Martha purses her lips. “Look, Jack, I wasn’t there, and I’ve only met the guy once, but from what you described, I think there’s a decent chance he likes you.”

John traces the lines on the ceiling with his eyes. “So what? It’s not like I could ever date him.”

Martha lies down next to him. “Well, there’s knowing you can’t do anything to change the facts, and there’s taking it lying down, Jack.”

“What are you implying, exactly?” Something about her tone makes his hackles rise.

“I’m saying maybe you should stand up for yourself more!”

“Martha.” He barely keeps himself from snapping at her. “You know as well as I do that he wouldn’t let that happen. I’m not looking forward to getting a broken rib one of these days when he finds out that I haven’t stopped being gay after Francis.”

Martha smiles sadly. “I do know.” She finds his hand with her own without looking. “I miss mom. She wouldn’t have let him get away with this.”

“She would have been supportive,” John says. She’d never expressed an opinion one way or the other, but after Henry Laurens had caught John with Francis, John had mysteriously walked away without ending up in the hospital, and he has the feeling that their mother had a hand in the events of that day playing out as they had. “I know she would have been happy to hear I had a crush at all, even if it is on a boy.”

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m trying to… I don’t know, push you? I just… I need you to set the example, Jack. They all need you to do this… I need you to do this.” John hears Martha sniffle from beside him, and when he looks over, there are tears welling up in her eyes.

“Shit, Martha, are you okay?” She shakes her head, and he wraps his arms around her. As he holds his sister, something clicks. “…do you have a crush on a girl?” She nods, and he knows he’s hit the mark. “Oh, Mar.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I don’t know why I… I’m sorry, Jack.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he says firmly. “I’ll admit that I was a little frustrated before I knew why you were saying those things, but… no. You’re in the same position as me, except I have more power to change this situation and I haven’t even tried, so I have no right to be angry at you for that.”

John sighs. “I can’t promise you that it will be soon, but I can promise you that I’ll do everything I can, okay? For you.”

Martha smiles at him through her tears. People always say John looks like his mother. He can’t really see it. But in Martha, he sees it every day. Even though her eyes are more hazel than brown, and her hair is slightly fluffier than their mother’s. Martha has her smile.

John pulls her closer. “For you,” he repeats firmly. He can bear the pain of loving Alex and Alex never knowing, but he can’t let Martha feel that pain. She doesn’t deserve that, and he’ll do anything he can to make sure she doesn’t have to.

Chapter Text

Alex knows he’s in deep shit when, Monday afternoon, Lafayette shoves Alex into his room and forces him to sit in his desk chair for the second time that week.

“That? At lunch?” Laf is too excited to speak, and Alex has to remind him not to hyperventilate. “Right.” He takes a few deep breaths. "Je vais bien."

"Look, I'm going to save you the trouble." Alex holds up one hand, and Laf correctly interprets the signal to stop. "At lunch. I kissed John's hand."

"Oui, we all saw," Laf says. "Alex, mon frere, he seemed flustered.”

“So what?” Alex throws his hands up. “That doesn’t mean anything. If someone as attractive as me kissed my hand, I’d be flustered too, whether or not there was any sort of crush feelings involved.”

Laf rolls his eyes. “Modest as always.”

“You know me.” Alex pretends to flip his hair.

“But… I thought you didn’t have a crush on John?” Laf asks innocently, and Alex says a few choice swears in his head. Out loud he says nothing, but his expression must give him away, because Laf’s eyes widen. “Do you?!”

“I mean… yeah, I guess?” mumbles Alex, knowing full well that no good will come from this. His brother means well, but his excitable nature usually doesn’t lead to good things.

“Do you know what this means?” Laf clasps his hands. “We can go on double dates!”

“One: we’re not dating. Two: we’re not dating. Three: hey, you should ask Eliza, she’s got a girlfriend now—actually, wait, fiancee. Four: did I mention yet that I’m not dating John?”

“You don’t seem as excited by this as I thought you’d be.” Laf plops down to sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of Alex. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing important,” Alex says. “He probably doesn’t like me like that, and that’s fine. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” His mind keeps flipflopping back and forth between "it'll never happen" and "but imagine? what if it could?" and frankly, it's put him in a surly mood. "I’m very happy for you, and I'm glad it all worked out perfectly with Hercules, but me and John aren't like that. It wouldn't work."

Laf tilts his head, thinking. "Is there something here I'm missing?"

"Well, for one, he calls Jefferson by his first name.” Alex chuckles half-heartedly. “There is actually something, but it’s not mine to tell."

“On another note,” Laf says carefully, “how did you finally admit to yourself that you love John?”

“You’re not allowed to say anything about this. So I had a dream— No, shut up! I had this dream. I lived in a two-story house with John, my husband, and our two twin children who looked exactly like him, and I…”

“Awwww!” crows Laf. “That’s adorable! No, that’s everything.”

“It was adorable. They even moved the same way he did.”

Laf chuckles. “Do you often pay attention to the way John moves?”

“No, it’s just, when you spend a lot of time with one person, you kind of start to notice their subconscious habits. Are you telling me you don’t know the way Herc walks, or the way his laugh sounds? You couldn’t imagine it in your head right now if I asked?”

“Okay, you are right,” Laf concedes. “I don’t pay that much attention to it, but now that you mention it, you are correct.” His hands fidget in his lap. “If you don’t want to tell John, I’ll respect that.”

Alex breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Gil. I know it probably doesn't make much sense to you. You've always been a go-getter—hell, so have I—but this isn't a decision I can make lightly." He stops to think. "And on the other hand, I'm impulsive and stupid, so maybe I'll decide to make a move after all." He shrugs.

"Alexander, you are not stupid," Laf scolds. "You know that."

"I know," Alex says. "But knowing you're smart, and feeling like you're smart? Those are completely different things." He gets up and leaves, back to his own room.

Time for Alex to fail at one specific level of his favorite game. He's never won it, no matter how hard he tries. This game is one of his favorite de-stressors—it's a lot of fun to attack pixelated monsters—but until he passes this level, he just has to keep trying.

Distracted, Alex fails to notice one specific fireball cutting it a little close. He swears. He doesn't dodge it in time, and it nicks off a third of his HP, which, quite frankly, is bullshit. Alex knows this level like the back of his hand. So why can't he beat it?

In theory, he can survive the rest of the level on two-thirds HP, but in practice, it's much, much harder. In some ways, Alex's ADHD makes certain types of video games easier. He can focus on multiple parts of the screen at once, effectively avoiding attacks more easily, but when his ADHD distracts him, it's no good.

He really ought to tell Martha he needs a higher dose of ADHD meds, but he dreads visits to the doctor like nothing else. Hospitals scare him, even though the alternative to getting medical help is almost always worse. There's something about the white hallways, devoid of personality, or maybe the chemical smell lingering in every room. Or the patients waiting to die. The family members unaware that the news they're about to learn will ruin their lives.

No, Alex can't tell Martha, because that would require a visit to the doctor. It might be overdramatic or an overreaction to anyone else, but Alex would rather stand naked in a tiger enclosure wearing nothing but raw meat than spend any more time in a place like that.

Alex doesn't move his avatar quick enough, and the monster stomps on him, depleting his health bar to zero. His character looks surprised as he falls over, dead, and Alex slumps against the back of the couch, dropping his controller. He turns his head to the left, knowing full well what he'll see.

The painting—the one John made, the one of his mother—sits propped up against the wall. Alex hasn't let anyone else see it, brushes off the few questions about what John got him for his birthday. This is private. This is his.

It's the closest thing Alex will ever have to seeing her again, at least until he dies. Although, come to think of it, he isn't quite sure there's an afterlife either. (Video game characters have it so easy. They die and can be revived instantly. Real life isn't that merciful.) He's never been big on religion, it doesn't make sense to him, but he understands that, to other people, it provides a sense of comfort, of certainty, in a world that's otherwise uncertain and sometimes cruel. Alex knows that. He's been tossed around by the cruel hands of fate more than most.

What good is there in being morose, anyway? Alex has another family now, a mom, a dad, a brother. Just like before. (But yet, nothing like before.) So why should he complain?

Still, he can't help but wonder if he's done something wrong in order to deserve what happened.

Chapter Text

John squints at his phone. That can’t be right. But… no, the way it’s been worded really does read like Alex is asking him out on a date.

Alex: hey john!!

Alex: are u free later

Alex: theres this new ice cream place at the mall ive been meaning to try? wanna come w?

are herc and laf coming? John types out, cursing his shaky hands. He waits for the little blip that signals a new text.

Alex: nope, it’d be just us

“Be still, my beating heart,” John mutters under his breath. This kind of response is irrational, considering it isn’t even a date, he tells himself.

Turtle Boy: ok

Turtle Boy: what time

Alex: can i pick you up at one?

Turtle Boy: no

Shit. That no doubt came across wrong.

Turtle Boy:   i mean

Turtle Boy: could u pick me up around the corner

Turtle Boy: instead of you know

Turtle Boy: in front of my house

The pause before Alex answers is longer than usual.

Alex: sure

Turtle Boy: one sounds good

Alex: cool! it’s a date, then

Fuck.

Well.

Now John has to wonder if Alex meant “it’s a date” as in “we now have a very special, exclusive, romantic hang-out scheduled for later” or “a date” as in “that sounds like a plan.”

That is very specific wording if he didn’t mean it in a romantic way, but why on earth would someone, let alone Alex, be even vaguely interested in John in a romantic way? What does John have to offer that girls or other boys don’t have? He’s good with his hands, he supposes. He can paint. But why would someone value that in a partner?

John stands in front of the mirror. He puts his hands on his hips. No, he still looks lame, but now he looks like he’s pretending not to be lame, as opposed to looking not lame . He’s gonna need some help for this.

“He asked you out?” Martha practically squeals, and John has to shush her.

“I don’t know if it’s a date! I said that!”

“Do you want it to be a date?” she asks, eyes teasing.

“Yeah?”

“Then I’ve got a lot of work to do!” she says, not looking at all daunted by the task. “Let’s see…” She starts rummaging through John’s closet, stopping to wrinkle her nose. “What have you been wearing?” she asks incredulously.

“I don’t actually wear most of that stuff,” John says. He’s mildly uncomfortable with Martha rifling through his clothes, but he reminds himself that he desperately needs her help if he wants to impress Alex.

Why would he want to impress Alex? This probably isn’t a date—but it might be? but it can’t be, it isn’t, Alex wouldn’t ask him on a date—

“Hey.” Martha snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to John!”

“Sorry, what is it?” he asks.

“Come here, I want to see how this would look.” She beckons him over, and he moves to stand in front of her. Martha holds up a black turtleneck John doesn’t even remember owning. She appraises him for a moment, then shakes her head. “No, this isn’t right.”

This system seems to work for Martha. This goes on for a good twenty minutes, and while John is physically in the room, he’s barely present mentally.

“Okay, that should work!” Martha dumps a small pile of clothes in his arms. “Try that on. I’ll be out in the hallway.”

She really does know what she’s doing, John thinks as he looks at himself in the mirror once he’s put on the suggested clothing. Instead of his usual plain t-shirt and unbuttoned red flannel, he’s now wearing a gray sweater that fits a little loosely, falling so that it exposes the edges of his collarbones. Martha managed to find a comfortable pair of jeans in his closet that he hasn’t worn a million times, and the navy blue contrasts well with the light gray of the sweater.

“You can come in now,” he says, and when Martha swings the door open, she looks delighted.

“It looks even better than I thought!” she says. “But I’m not done.”

“What? What else is there?” John asks. He’s wearing nice clothing, which is the bare minimum. What now?

Martha grins evilly, and John feels fear in his heart. “I have to do your hair and makeup.”

“Oh, no, no thanks,” John says, edging away from his sister. He remembers last time.

“You can’t escape, Jack! I’m between you and the door!”

Fifteen minutes later, Martha has John sat down. She’d unfortunately managed to corner him, and once there was nowhere for him to go, there was no escape. He forces himself to sit still as she brushes his hair, and then she’s done brushing and she starts doing something else he can’t see.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Shush, you’ll distract me.”

Once she finishes his hair (he still doesn’t know what she did with it), she starts on his makeup. He flinches away from the makeup application utensils she shoves in his face, and she reprimands him until he stops squirming.

“Okay, done!” She stands back to survey her work. She grins. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna guide you to the mirror.” John doesn’t fully trust her to do this, but he keeps that thought to himself. She’s scolded him enough times already, after all. She puts her hands on his shoulders, and he lets her move him. “Now you can look.”

John opens his eyes. He’s… pleasantly surprised, actually. Martha pulled back the front of his hair so it doesn’t fall in his face, but left the rest loose, and his curls look neater today, somehow. She’s also lightly patted some blush on his cheeks, just enough to give a nice effect. He thinks he looks nice for once, a rare occurrence. Everything Martha did gives him a softer appearance, and he thinks idly that he ought to ask her for tips sometime. He almost looks... pretty. He certainly feels pretty.

“So?” She leans one elbow on his shoulder, which is a feat, considering she’s a good half a foot shorter than him. “What do you think?”

“Thanks,” he says, hugging her. She makes a surprised noise and wraps her own arms around him in turn.

Martha pulls away. “Now go enjoy your not-date with your not-boyfriend. Dad’s in his office and I don’t think he’ll be out for a while. I'll cover for you as much as I can, but depending on when you get back, he might not even notice you’re gone!”

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

John bounces ever so slightly on his toes, scanning the street for any sign of a car coming from either direction. He doesn’t know what kind of car Alex is going to pick him up with. Come to think of it, does Alex even have a car? John knows they both have their licenses, but the Washingtons have never had a garage, just a driveway, and the last time he was there, he’d only seen Martha’s car.

He gets so distracted wondering about Alex, cars, and Alex’s ability to drive a car, that he doesn’t even notice a car approaching until it stops right in front of him. Alex rolls down the passenger side window of Martha’s car. He must have borrowed it. Does Martha know this is a date? Is this a date?

“Hey. You didn’t wait long, right?”

“No, I’ve only been here for a few minutes.” John climbs into the passenger seat.

Alex watches him as he fumbles his seatbelt. John isn’t looking—obviously he’s too busy fumbling with his seatbelt—but if he was, he would have seen the soft expression on Alex’s face.

“You look good,” Alex says, and by the time John’s seatbelt clicks into place and he’s able to glance up, Alex has looked away out the window as if he’d never been gazing at John in the first place. And John is none the wiser.

“Thanks,” John says. “I didn’t really do anything, though. This was all my sister.”

“I’ll be sure to thank Martha the next time I see her, then.” Alex starts the car.

John takes a few seconds to “discreetly” look Alex up and down—and he almost chokes. He hadn’t noticed as he was getting in or struggling with his seatbelt, but Alex is wearing the green suit Lafayette had gotten him for his birthday. John knew Laf had gotten that for Alex, but he’d never really taken the time to think about what Alex wearing it would look like or mean. And… he looks good. Handsome. Dashing, even. John, with a full four inches on Alex, had never connected the word with him before—usually he’d pick “adorable”— but it can’t possibly fit him more than it does right now.

Alex looks amazing, and John is so gay and so deep in love that his internal dialogue since discovering Alex’s choice of formal attire has simply become extended, unbroken screaming.

“Don’t you think that’s a little unnecessary? We’re going to the mall,” he manages to say without letting any of his internal screaming escape.

“Probably, but doesn’t it look good?” Alex seems focused on the road. “Actually, though. Does it look good? Gil said it did. Martha said it did. But they’re my family, so I can’t trust them to give an honest answer.” Alex is surprisingly good at driving. John would have expected him to be reckless, like he is with everything else, but all the same he’s reassured that his life is in good hands.

“You look great,” John says, glancing at the center mirror. His brown eyes meet a pair of green ones, and he diverts his gaze in order to preserve his sanity and make sure he can stay coherent for the rest of the not-date.

The mall isn’t very far away from the Laurens estate, so the rest of the drive is quiet. Neither of them speak, and John fruitlessly attempts to quiet the screaming in his head, eventually giving up and figuring that it will have to be quiet at some point.

Alex pulls effortlessly into a parking space. “Here we are.” He unbuckles, and as John moves to do the same, Alex puts a hand on John’s so casually an onlooker might think they’d been dating for years. “Wait, I want to open the door for you.” John nods. Alex gets out and jogs around the car to John’s side, opening the door with a flourish. “M’sir.”

“M’sir?” John asks with a perplexed laugh.

“Like milady. I couldn’t think of the alternative.” Alex shrugs, in his emerald green suit that is already attracting the stares of other people getting in or out of their cars, and John couldn’t love him more.

“Well, thank you, good sir,” John says, getting out of the car.

Alex locks the car with a beep. “Shall we proceed, milord?” He holds out a hand to John, a smile playing across his lips, and John takes the offered hand with much less hesitation or second-guessing than the old John would have. “I figured it out,” Alex adds sheepishly.

“M’sir,” John says pointedly, grinning at Alex's mild embarrassment.

“Shut up,” Alex says, but he isn’t all that mad.

In any other circumstance, John would hate the stares of the other mallgoers. He’s never had this many people looking at him before, but then again, they’re not really looking at him, they’re focused on Alex’s unnecessarily green suit. And since it’s Alex, he’s willing to endure this. It’s not so bad when John’s holding his hand like this.

“Here’s the place,” Alex says once they arrive at the new ice cream place. He beams at John, and John squeezes his hand.

They get a table for two.

“Are you on a date?” the sweet-voiced waiter serving them asks. John notes their name tag—Hyacinth.

"Yeah," Alex says, mildly embarrassed but mostly pleased.

Hyacinth smiles. "I can tell you like each other. It's refreshing." They take Alex's order. "And you?"

John stops internally screaming long enough to speak. "Oh, cookies and cream, please." The waiter nods, writing it down, and then they pocket their notebook as they leave.

John thinks about drawing Alex's attention to the fact this is a date, but thinks better of it. He's not sure he could speak if it came to that particular topic. "What did you get?" he says instead.

"I got s'mores," Alex says. He'd let go of John's hand when they sat down, and he takes it again, rubbing the back of John's hand with one thumb. This is a date. It has to be.

When John glances up, Alex is staring at the table, and the tips of his ears are pink. John looks away. His face is warm.

Hyacinth brings their ice cream. Alex takes his hand back, and John can breathe again.

"So, how's your cookies and cream?" Alex asks around his spoon.

"You remembered what I ordered?" John asks.

Alex gives him a look, like what he'd just said was weird. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

John shrugs, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to avoid speaking. "It's good," he says after he swallows.

"That's good." Alex looks extremely content right now, and John can't take his eyes off Alex. Alex notices John looking. "What, do I have something on my face?"

"Oh, no," John says. "You just… you have a nice smile." He can't believe he just said that. Stupid, stupid, you've got Alex flustered.

"Shit." Alex examines his suit jacket, and John follows his gaze to realize there's a glob of ice cream on it. "Fuck. Is this gonna stain?"

"Oh, no," John says, but Alex seems so comically dejected that he can't help but laugh.

"John! Why are you laughing?" Alex chastises, feigning hurt.

"Sorry, you just looked so upset. It was kinda funny." He shrugs, and Alex lets out a dramatic prolonged sigh.

"I'm going to be walking around all day with ice cream on me," Alex says, mildly offended.

"Here, let me." John nudges his bowl to the side and out of the way. He leans across the table, napkin in hand, to deal with the worst of the ice cream spill. Alex is oddly quiet while he does this, and John wonders if Alex is remembering to breathe. "There, look. It's barely visible." He sits back.

"Thanks." Alex doesn't bother to double-check his jacket. He takes John's word for it, instead staring down at his ice cream with an expression John can't quite read.

"Yup."

After their ice cream, the two walk around the mall, occasionally stopping to look in shop windows but not intrigued enough by anything to step inside any shops.

Alex catches John staring wistfully at some animal charms in the window of a shop, the kind that hang from a backpack.

"Those are cute," Alex says from right behind John, and John jumps. He hadn't noticed Alex come up behind him, he hadn't even meant to stop walking.

"Yeah," John says. Hey, you know what else is cute? Alex, his brain supplies unhelpfully.

"You want one?" Alex asks.

John's considered it. He only noticed these charms a couple of minutes ago, and he's already imagined taking one home with him. But it just wouldn't work out.

John shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, they're cute, but it wouldn't really go with my backpack." He starts walking again. "Let's keep looking around." Alex follows, unconvinced, if his frown is anything to go by, but he lets it go.

They're by the food court when Alex stops.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he says. "I'll be quick. Wait here!" He jogs off. John watches him go, and then as soon as he's out of sight, John pulls out his phone and starts playing a game.

"I'm back," Alex says a few minutes later, and John looks up. He's bent over slightly as he pants, and he's holding a small gift bag. To John's dismay, he recognizes the name of the store printed on the bag.

"You didn't," he says.

"Oh, but I did!" Alex grins, and John decides to forgive him. (He's a little pink in the face, but John can attribute that to the physical exertion.) He pulls two charms out of the bag—a lion and a turtle. "This one's for me." Alex holds up the turtle. "Cause you like turtles. And… this one's for you. I mean, Gil always compares me to a lion. I figured we could match." He holds the lion out to John. John stares at the charm. Its little black eyes seem happy, and he takes it.

"It reminds me of you somehow," John says.

"The lion?" Alex asks.

"Yeah. Something about its face." John carries the charm in his hand past a few more stores, and then slips it into his pocket, hiding his small smile.

Alex checks his watch. "Damn, it's almost four already."

Shit. Panic shoots through John, and he regulates his breathing in the hopes Alex won't notice anything is up. It's already been three hours, and by now his father is bound to be suspicious. "I should get home," he says, relieved his voice remains steady.

Alex frowns. "Yeah, of course. But are you okay?" He gestures toward John's hand, and when he looks down, he sees that he's gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles are white.

"Fine." John forces a smile that's more of a grimace, but Alex must find it acceptable, as he doesn't ask any more questions, just changes course toward the parking lot.

Alex puts on music as he drives John home, which makes their silence feel more normal. John drums his fingers on the inside of the car door, and Alex hums softly as he drives.

Alex pulls up to the curb around the corner from John's home. "Here you are," he says, voice oddly blank. He seems to realize how he's coming across and amends it. "I had a nice time today."

John unbuckles without looking up. "Me too." He hates this stupid buckle. Is it broken? It must be, because it never works the two times John has tried to sit in the passenger seat. When he finally manages to unbuckle, he can't help but feel a sense of victory, like he won and the buckle lost. Maybe that's why he doesn't notice how close he is to Alex until Alex closes the gap.

John wants to say something, to do something, but he can't even gasp. He needs to get home immediately, but then again—Alex is kissing him. And he can't quite believe it. Hasn’t John been imagining this moment for ages? He wants to linger in this moment—the surprise, the elation, the adrenaline—but he knows he can't stay long.

He breaks the kiss, significantly lightheaded. "I have to go," he says. He can't explain further, but Alex seems to get it.

"See you at school?" Alex asks hopefully.

"See you," John says. He climbs out of the car, extremely aware of just how clumsy he is. He closes the car door, and Alex drives off.

John, caught up in his head and in blissful memories of Alex, doesn't notice right away.

Then, it registers.

Henry Laurens stands a few feet away, arms crossed, and he glowers. He saw.

John's never been so terrified in his life.

Chapter Text

"Get in the house, boy." Henry's voice is low with a hint of a growl, and John suppresses the shudder that goes down his spine. Henry walks two feet behind John the whole way to the front door, and John is reminded of a predator stalking its prey.

Henry forcefully pulls the door open, yanking John inside by the collar of his sweater, and John winces as he's flung against the wall.

Henry slams the door. "Don't you remember what I told you, boy?"

"Yes, father," John says as submissively as possible.

"Then what did I just see?" Henry snarls. Henry's shoulders are tensed, his hands fists, and John's heart rate skyrockets. (He's been conditioned for fear.)

"I know what I saw. You kissed a boy in that car." Henry's pupils are small, and it hits John that he's crossed a line this time. He's not going to get out of this alright.

"Are you a faggot?" Henry says, close to John's face, and John flinches. He can't speak. Henry slaps John across the face, hard. His head hits the wall, and John feels pathetic when he whimpers.

"I thought I told you to cut that shit out," Henry says. "I thought you were spending time with that Eliza girl."

John swallows. "She's a friend," he says with extreme difficulty. It hurts.

"That boy I saw you with—is he your boyfriend?" Henry spits. John shakes his head. "Oh, so you're a faggot and a whore, too? You kiss a lot of men, then?"

"N-no…" John says. Henry slams his hand against the wall next to John's head, and John tenses.

"What do you call that, then? Do you like him or something?" John, knowing every single thing he does only digs him deeper, nods. He's having difficulty breathing. Henry scoffs. "I didn't raise you to be like this."

"No, sir." John bows his head.

Henry turns. John thinks for a moment he's going to leave, but he realizes with horror that the lion charm is on the floor. It must have fallen out of his pocket when his father pushed him against the wall, and Henry has clearly noticed it.

Henry narrows his eyes. "This yours?" John nods again. "Hah." Henry examines the charm. He doesn't move for a solid minute. Then he glances up at John.

“Stay away from that boy.”

Henry deliberately brings his foot down on the charm, grinding it against the floor with his heel, and John cries out. The sound of the charm breaking echoes the way John feels, and as Henry leaves, he falls to the floor.

John can’t help the tears that fall from his eyes. It’s not as though Henry hurt him that badly this time, but somehow, this is worse. He scoops up the broken pieces of the lion charm in his hands, and the face smiles up at him, and his shoulders shake.

He doesn’t know how long he’s alone, but there’s a shuffling noise, and someone sits next to him. Martha puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at her, at a loss. She offers him a half-hearted half-smile. Polly, Jemmy, and even Harry soon join them on the floor of the foyer.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing anyone—Martha—says.

“I couldn’t do it,” John says. “I couldn’t stand up to him. I couldn’t even speak.” He wipes futilely at his face.

“That’s not your fault,” Martha says firmly.

“What happened?” Jemmy asks.

John blinks. The memories of his date seem a universe away now. “I went on a date today,” he says. “Father found out. He wasn’t happy.”

Polly peers at the broken pieces in John’s hands. “Did a boy give that to you?” John nods.

“Father broke it?” Martha says. John nods again. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

There’s a pause.

“Give it to me,” Harry pipes up suddenly. “I could try to fix it.”

“Really?” John sniffs.

“Yeah.” Harry holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers, and John carefully places the pieces in his hand.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

John appreciates the gesture, even if Harry isn’t typically the type to outwardly express his emotions. Yet another type of psychological damage caused by their father. Some days, like today, John wants to snap Henry Laurens’ neck for every horrible thing he’s done to their family.

“I hate him,” he says aloud.

“I know,” Martha says. “The feeling is mutual.”

“He’s supposed to be our father. He’s supposed to take care of us and protect us from the world, but it’s not the world that’s hurting us.” He wants to be more honest with them like this, he usually doesn’t get the chance to. That’s certainly not his fault, but he could still make more of an effort.

“You’re the one who takes care of us,” Polly says quietly.

It’s true.

John’s the one who brushes Polly’s hair before school, the one who helps his siblings get ready, the one who makes their sandwiches and pretends to be Henry Laurens to call them in sick. Henry has done nothing except hurt them, insult them, and cause them to live in fear.

“Yeah, Jack, if only you could adopt us,” Martha says, and John knows she’s joking, but the gears start to turn in his head.

Could he adopt them? He’s almost eighteen, so if they can all keep their heads down for a few more months…

“Jack?” Martha asks. “What are you thinking about?”

John shakes his head. It’s a promising idea, but now is not the time. “It’s nothing, sorry.” He wipes the last of his drying tears from his face with the sleeves of his sweater before glancing around at his siblings. “I want to keep you safe. It’s my main priority. Well, you guys are my priority.” He gently squishes Polly’s little cheeks, and she smiles. “You know that, right?”

“Of course we do, Jack,” Martha says, and though her voice is soft, her words hold conviction. “You do so much for us.”

Jemmy latches on to John’s stomach in a hug, and John starts to rub Jemmy’s back.

“We love you,” Jemmy mumbles into John’s sweater.

“I love you too,” John says. More than they’ll ever know. So much so that, if it came down to it, he’d sacrifice himself for any one of them in a heartbeat, without hesitation or a second thought. The only other person he feels that way about is Alex.

...he really ought to have told Alex how he feels by now.

In theory, the worst is over, if John can keep Alex a secret. That won’t be so hard. After all, John’s had many secrets over the years, and he’s held them all close to his chest. Only a few of those secrets has he been beaten over, once they’d been leaked to his father. But the rest, he’s never told a soul. So what’s another one?

Chapter Text

Alex goes home after his date feeling giddy. He full-on sings along to the radio when he would normally just hum—something he never does.

Once he gets home, Alex runs up the stairs, throwing himself onto his bed. He sighs, pleased with the day.

Sure, he hadn’t been able to tell John how he felt, but perhaps the kiss was sufficient. John certainly did seem flustered by it, after all.

Alex’s good mood lasts, until Monday.

Alex can’t find John before school. He’s absent in all of the classes they share, and he doesn’t join his friends for lunch. Alex’s mood sours quickly. There isn’t much else that would have such an instant effect on him.

“Have any of you seen John?” he asks the moment he reaches their lunch table. Lafayette, perplexed, shakes his head.

“No,” Hercules says. “Why?”

“I don’t think he came to school today.” He runs his fingers through his hair. John isn’t here to tell him to stop. “What about you?” He rounds on Aaron Burr, who’d chosen that day to sit at their table.

Burr looks up from his book. “Was there a question?”

Alex groans. “Yes, have you seen John today?”

“I can’t say I have,” Burr says, and promptly returns to his book.

“I’m sure he’s alright, Alex,” Laf says, attempting to be soothing, but Alex won’t accept that.

“You don’t know what I know about his home life, Gil.” Maybe it’s Alex’s dark tone, or the expression on his face, but Laf grows solemn.

“No, I don’t.”

Alex is restless. Neither his mind nor his body will still for even a moment, and he wastes away the time until the end of school playing with the turtle charm and plotting his next move. John’s father gets off of work at five PM, so if Alex hurries, he should have plenty of time to get there before Henry Laurens does. (He’s done his research. He'd sat down at his laptop on January eleventh, and with a few quick Google searches he was able to learn quite a lot about the politician.)

The bell rings, and Alex sprints out of the building, ignoring the annoyed yells of several teachers to slow down. He calls Lafayette, listening to the ringing for two minutes before Laf picks up.

“Alex?” Laf says. “Ou est-tu?”

“I have an errand to run,” Alex says.

There’s a pause. “Are you panting? Again, where are you? We’re waiting in the car for you.”

“I have an errand,” Alex says again. “I’ll be coming home late. Tell Martha to leave without me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. See you later, Gil.” He hangs up.

By now, Alex is extremely sweaty, and he hates this. He wants the world to know he hates this. He’s never been one for enjoying exercise—seriously, what kind of masochist would he have to be? do people actually like running?—and he isn’t about to start now. His backpack bounces against his back, causing him mild pain due all of the heavy books and piles of paper that are no doubt being thrown about, and he gets odd looks from passersby. But he doesn’t care. He won’t be able to get anything done until he knows for certain that his best friend is okay.

(And he wonders, although this certainly isn’t the main concern, what their relationship status is now. It isn’t like they’ve had the chance to discuss. But he won’t bring it up today.)

Alex bounds up the front steps, and he only comes to a halt when he hesitates with his fist an inch from the door. He’s come all this way for one sole purpose, but suddenly this doesn’t feel like a good idea anymore.

There’s a gate on the side of the house—well, perhaps mansion would be the more appropriate word to use. Alex tries the handle. Fortunately, it isn’t latched, and the gate swings open. He slips inside and closes it softly behind him.

As Alex runs across the yard to the back door, he can see Jemmy playing in the distance, and he surmises it was probably Jemmy who left the gate unlocked. And with any luck…

Sure enough, the back door is unlocked as well, and Alex silently thanks Jemmy for being a ten-year-old who doesn’t always think about locking doors. He’s successfully infiltrated the house, he thinks as he closes the door, and he just about has a heart attack when he turns around and someone is standing there.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Martha asks, a smirk on her lips. She lowers her voice. “You’re lucky father isn’t home yet.” Judging by her change in demeanor, lucky isn’t quite the right word. “You know where his room is?”

“He brought me up there last time,” Alex says. “Is he okay?”

Martha fixes her gaze on the wall to the left of Alex’s head. “I don’t think it’s my business to say. So go see him, and get out of here before five o’clock.”

Alex nods, and he’s off, up the stairs and down the hallway. He stops in front of the third door. He knocks.

“Go away,” comes the response, muffled through the wood. “I don’t want to talk any more, Martha.”

“If I’m not Martha, are you willing to talk?” Alex says. There’s some shuffling on the other side of the door, and then there’s John.

John, objectively, looks terrible. He’s still wearing the clothes from the previous day. His hair is down and tangled. His eyes are clearly swollen, and he’s holding something in his hands that Alex can’t quite see.

John may look awful, but Alex has never been more glad to see anyone in his life. He hugs John before John can even get a word in edgewise, and to his relief, John lets him.

They move to sit on John’s bed.

“Are you alright?” John asks, eyebrows furrowed. (What to make of this?)

“I’m fine,” Alex says. “I just ran like two miles. It’s fine. But I should be asking you that question.” He tilts his head, studying John intently.

John laughs in that tired way that indicates you’re trying to pretend your world isn’t falling apart around you as you watch it crumble to pieces.

It’s a very familiar laugh to Alex. He knows that laugh because he’s used it many times. Mostly before he came to live with the Washingtons. He doesn’t hear it much anymore, and it’s startling. It was in his arsenal of pretending it’s fine for so long, and to hear it from John…? It doesn’t give him a good feeling about all of this, and an unpleasant feeling gathers in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m fine, Alex,” John says. He’s now fidgeting with the thing he’d been holding earlier. It’s half-cupped in his hands, and Alex cranes his neck, trying to get a good look. John notices, and as he tries to hide whatever it is, he fumbles it. It falls to the floor.

It’s very familiar, although the last time Alex saw it, it had been in a much better shape than this. The lion charm is whole, although riddled with cracks, its small plastic face smiling despite the agony it must have gone through. Alex shifts his gaze to John, who comes across as panicked and anxious.

“What happened?” Alex asks as gently as he can.

John gulps. “I don’t know if I can tell you,” he says, voice pleading, and Alex’s heart breaks for him.

“I know your father hurts you,” he says, drawing attention to the still-pink hand mark on John’s cheek, and John flinches. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not going to make you tell me, but I would like to know, if you’re comfortable with telling me.”

John takes a deep, shuddering breath, and before he begins, Alex wraps his arms around John’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?” John asks.

“Let me do this?” Alex says. “I think you could use some comforting and positive physical contact right now, and this way, neither of us has to worry about eye contact.”

“That’s fair,” John says. He begins his story. He starts when his mother died, explaining how his father changed after that and how it led his siblings and himself to grow up in a constant sense of fear. “And he saw us yesterday, in the car,” John says, voice conveying his urgency. “I told him I’d stop, after the first time… But I can’t, I didn’t, I went and fell in love with you, and now he’s worse than ever. He smashed the lion.”

“I seriously want to cause him grievous bodily harm,” Alex says. He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Me too.”

“What did you mean by ‘the first time’?” Alex asks once he’d left a long enough pause.

“There was a boy, when I was younger,” John starts. “His name was Francis. My father caught me kissing him. I think my mother being there was the only thing that stopped me from ending up in the emergency room.”

“Oh my god,” Alex says. “That’s awful, John, holy shit. Have you talked to anyone about all of this?”

“Only Eliza,” he confesses.

“You’ve been struggling with this all on your own?” Alex is horrified.

“Not on my own,” John says. “He’s given my siblings significant psychological trauma too.”

“You have to tell someone about this,” Alex urges.

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. Anyone, an adult!” Alex throws his hands up in the air. John flinches. “Fuck. I… sorry.”

“Not your fault,” John says, a fake smile attempting to mask his fatigued state. His gaze shifts suddenly back to the charm on the floor. “I cried so much.”

“Because he saw us?” Alex asks, attempting to understand.

“A little, but mostly I think it was because of the charm,” John says. “It’s the only thing you’ve ever given me.” The only physical representation I have of how happy I feel when I’m with you. “And it’s ruined.”

“Really? The only thing?” Alex squints, trying to remember. Surely there must have been something else. But no. “I think you’re right, actually. Which is completely and utterly wrong, and I will rectify this as soon as I can.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to give me things,” John hastens to say, and Alex bites his tongue in order to prevent himself from admitting that he wrote an eloquent letter and prepared homemade candy to give to John on Valentine’s Day, and then didn’t, couldn’t give it to John in the end, and cried on the bed, the couch, and the floor for a solid hour that day. The card and the candy are hidden in his locked third drawer, along with the photo of his mother.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says instead. He stops resisting the urge to touch John’s hair—even when it’s tangled, it’s still so pretty—and with his fingers, gently combs a knot out of a section hanging in front of John’s face. John relaxes almost instantaneously, and Alex suppresses the weird sense of pride threatening to surface for favor of unbridled affection.

He doesn’t say, “I love you”—not yet. John’s not ready for that, and Alex isn’t going to be an asshole and turn this into being about them. This is about John, after all. The only reason Alex is here is because what happened to John on Saturday is indirectly his fault.

Instead, he listens, and he talks. He laughs, and he jokes. They cuddle—Alex is the big spoon, despite being the shorter of the two—and he carefully works to undo the knots in John’s hair.

Only once it’s half past four does Alex get up. John whines, and Alex chuckles. He presses a kiss to John’s forehead. “My dear Laurens, I’m afraid it’s time that I bid you adieu. I hope to see you soon, lest I fear I would die due to a lack of such a vital part of my life.” He’s not being all that dramatic. He really does feel that way. Alex pauses in the doorway. “Until tomorrow.” Then he’s gone.

Chapter Text

No one asks Alex about what happened, and he doesn’t tell a soul.

He next sees John on Wednesday. He’d spent the previous day lamenting the lack of cute brunettes in his life, and Lafayette had, rather unhelpfully, pointed out Eliza, seated at her usual table. Alex had rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, then had to sit down due to the quick onset of a dizzy spell (most likely a result of taking his eye-rolling too far).

Alex waits outside the school on Wednesday morning for a few minutes, under the waning hope John might suddenly appear, not unlike the sun, and grace his life with light and laughter—

Hey, that’s good, he ought to write that down.

Lo and behold, there he is. John pockets his phone as he steps onto the sidewalk.

“John!” Alex calls, once again with a grin far too wide and so much enthusiasm he might be drawing suspicion (but at the very least, he knows for sure he’s drawing dirty looks). John smiles the moment his eyes land on Alex, and to Alex’s utter relief, while it’s still a tired smile, it’s a real one.

“You look good,” Alex says. John’s hair is neatly combed and pulled back into a bun. His flannel sleeves are rolled up, for once. He’s smiling with such warmth that he really could rival the sun. And the handprint on his cheek is less visible. Alex would’ve missed it entirely if he hadn’t known it was there.

“Hi,” John says, as though mildly self-conscious. “Thanks.”

“What, you’re not going to return the compliment?” Alex says in the most obnoxious, obviously teasing way he can so that John knows he’s joking. He lightly bumps his shoulder against John’s.

“Oh, was I supposed to?” John asks slyly. Alex doesn’t know what his face does in that moment, but whatever it is makes John laugh, and he thanks the heavens for that.

Alex might be acting a little melodramatic about this—okay, more than a little—but he thinks it’s warranted. He’s come to terms with his romantic love for his best friend, asked his friend out on a successful date, and initiated a kiss both parties enjoyed. Never mind the fact John’s father saw. And John finally feels comfortable enough with Alex to tell him the secrets he’s been struggling under the weight of for years.

Not to mention, John’s in love with him too.

It may have been mid-mental breakdown, but John had said it once, aloud, and Alex keeps reminding himself that there’s probably not as much to it as he keeps reading into it.

But still. He deserves melodrama, and his ever-growing secret collection of sappy, eloquent love poems.

John stops. “I can’t remember if I locked the car.” He pulls out his keys, pressing one button, and there’s a faint honk from the parking lot. “Just making sure.” Keys aren’t the only thing hanging from John’s keychain. The lion charm dangles from the loop as well, conspicuously the largest object on the keychain.

“Do you want me to replace that?” Alex asks. “I can get one that’s not broken if you like.”

John looks at him, and then at the charm. He smiles at the little lion. (That’s adorable.) “No, thank you, but I appreciate the thought. In a way, this lion is kind of a representation of myself. I’ve been through a lot, but I always pick myself back up and put myself back together. It’s a nice reminder that I can be happy too.”

Alex knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that this is Very Very Bad and ethically sketchy, but he can’t help himself. John is just so happy and radiant and beautiful. He sneaks a picture with his phone when he thinks John isn’t paying attention, except, of course, John notices.

“Did you… did you just take a picture of me?” John’s eyes glint, and Alex realizes he’s made a huge mistake. “Without my permission?”

“I, uh, sorry, you were really beautiful, and I—” Alex squeaks defensively, hoping John won’t suddenly attack him or something to grab his phone, but he stops when John softens.

“You think I’m beautiful?” John asks, incredibly vulnerable in front of all these people, and Alex wants to scoop him up and hold him close and keep him safe and protect him from harm. But that wouldn’t be productive.

“Of course! Has no one told you you’re beautiful?” Alex asks, outraged at every single person in John’s life when John shakes his head. “Well, it’s true. You’re beautiful, you could be a model with those freckles and those fingers and that jawline…”

“Wait, my fingers?” John asks. “Why my fingers?”

“They’re very long and slender,” mutters Alex. “It’s sexy.”

John blushes and tries to hide behind his hair, then realizes it’s tied back, and just shrugs. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” says Alex nonchalantly. “It’s all true anyway. Why not compliment my favorite person?”

And maybe Alex started off too strong, because for the rest of the day, John turns mute around him. Several times they have short, faltering, “barely-could-be-considered-a-conversation”s under their breath, but that’s all.

“Okay, no, that’s enough,” Lafayette says. “What happened between you two?”

“Nothing,” John says far too quickly.

“What do you mean?” Alex asks in only the most suspicious way possible.

“Something’s changed,” Laf says accusatorily, all but literally pointing fingers. “Does this have something to do with why you vanished with Martha’s car for several hours on Saturday, came back late with no explanation, and went to sleep in your green suit?”

“Wait, what?” Hercules asks, interest peaked.

Alex sighs, turning to John. They don’t say a word, but they have an entire conversation with their expressions.

Alex raises an eyebrow. It’s up to you.

I mean, we both went on that date. We don’t have to mention my home life. John shrugs.

That’s true. But I’m still leaving the decision up to you. Alex tilts his head toward John.

John nods. Alex squeezes his hand under the table.

“We went on a date,” he says, far more smoothly than he thought himself capable of. “I picked John up at one. We drove to the mall to try the new ice cream place, then window shopped after. I dropped John off back home at four.”

Laf is thoroughly invested in this story, as the nosy gossip he is. He’s too kind to “spread” gossip to anyone who might actually spread it, but he isn’t above hearing it, or letting his friends know what he heard.

“I thought so!” Laf says. “You were in such a good mood the whole weekend.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be in a good mood?” Alex says, half-joking.

“That’s not what I meant—” Laf counters, but Alex starts arguing over him, a playful glint in his eye.

Herc frowns. He ignores his boyfriend and Alex’s arguing for favor of talking to John. “Hey, I don’t think any of us ever asked. Are you okay, John? Why did you miss school?”

“I was sick,” John replies simply. There are still faint dark circles under his eyes, and it must be a convincing enough answer, because Herc leaves it alone. “I’m feeling better now, though.”

John’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out under the table and smiles.

Alex: are you though

Turtle Boy: im fine

Turtle Boy: i promise

Turtle Boy: as fine as i can be right now

Alex: is there anything i can do

Turtle Boy: no

Turtle Boy: but ill tell you if i think of anything :)

Turtle Boy: i promise

Alex: :)

When Alex glances up from his phone, Lafayette is glaring at him. “Are you seriously texting him? We are right here.” He huffs. “Absolutely rude.”

Hercules puts a hand on Laf’s arm. “Babe—” He doesn’t get any further than that, as he’s forcibly halted by a swift kiss. Alex rolls his eyes at John, who shrugs.

“You ought to call me that more often,” a wide-eyed Laf says breathlessly.

“Ew. Disgusting. You’re my brother. Less of… that.” Alex gestures vaguely in the direction of his brother and his brother’s boyfriend.

“Maybe if you got a boyfriend, you wouldn’t be so uptight.” Laf examines his nails. Alex sneaks a glance at John, who seems distracted, looking at something on his phone.

“Maybe.” Alex coughs. “But I mean, who would I date anyway? All of the decent prospects I know are taken.” He doesn’t look at John, and no one bothers to correct him.

They have a couple of short, meaningless conversations, none of which John takes part in. He's still hunched over his phone, clearly reading something. Alex peeks over John's shoulder, but he can’t read a single word before John notices, panics, and shoves his phone in his pocket.

John stares at Alex, and Alex is startled by how desperately John's eyes plead for him not to tell anyone. It’s not like he even saw anything, but he half-smiles, and for good measure, he puts a hand on John's shoulder. John's shoulders, tight and tense, relax.

"You want a shoulder massage?" Alex asks.

"Uh… sure, why not?" says John, taken aback by the question. He turns on the bench so that he's better positioned. Alex places his hands on John's shoulders carefully.

"Wow. Those are some big knots." Even Alex doesn't usually have such large knots in his shoulders, but he understands, now that he knows the hidden context to John's stress. "Dude, doesn't it hurt?"

"Sometimes," mumbles John. "I've learned to ignore it."

Alex shakes his head. "Okay, no, if you need a massage, tell me, and I will give you a massage. I'd be happy to. Okay?" John nods.

"This feels nice," John says after a prolonged pause.

"I'm glad."

By the time he's finished and the bell rings, John's a lot more relaxed.

“Thanks,” John says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” Alex says. He blatantly ignores the way Hercules and Lafayette are smirking at each other. “See you tomorrow?” John nods.

Alex has Debate club today, and, to his relief, he’s able to finally take his mind off of John. He throws himself headfirst into a debate with Thomas Jefferson over whether America should have national healthcare. This time, Jefferson doesn’t make any pointed, overly personal jabs at him, to his pleased surprise, and Jefferson even stops Alex on the way back to his seat.

“You were good, just now,” Jefferson says. He feels awkward, if the way he shifts his weight slightly from foot to foot is any indicator.

Alex stares at him. “What?”

Jefferson sighs. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively. “Look, Hamilton, I’m making an effort. I told your friend John that I’d try, and if I remember correctly, so did you. And I thought you did well up there today.”

Alex processes. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. And… thanks for not, y’know, personally insulting me today.”

“It was out of line,” admits Jefferson. “A debate is a professional setting, and I’m sorry for making it personal.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says. He certainly understands Jefferson’s awkwardness now. “I, uh, appreciate it.”

He walks the rest of the way back to his seat, and he slumps over the moment he sits down. He rests his head on his arms on the table.

“That was painful to watch,” Aaron says from his seat next to Alex, and Alex’s resulting groan is muffled.

“Shut up, Burr,” Alex says.

“I was simply stating the facts,” Aaron says, raising his hands. “You’re clearly well aware that I what I said was true.”

“That was awful, and I never want to see Jefferson again.” Alex lifts his head. His hair is messy, and he hasn’t been able to find his hairtie all day. Not to mention that it’s only been a couple of hours, but he already misses John. He makes plans to text John the moment he gets home.

“Well, unfortunately,” Aaron smirks, “you did promise Laurens that you’d try to have a civil, neutral relationship with Jefferson, and in order to maintain any sort of relationship, that requires that you actually talk to him at some point.”

“You’re right and I hate it,” Alex says.

“The wild Alex in his natural habitat.” Burr puts on a narrator voice. “Observe as he groans and whines. The Alexus New-Yorkis is often grumpy, so be advised that you should avoid interacting with him at all costs.”

“God, shut up,” Alex says with an exaggerated air of annoyance. “I’m so glad I get to go home soon.” Aaron rolls his eyes. They part ways at four, and Alex walks home.

Alex is notoriously impatient, but he knows better than to type while walking. Usually. He thinks it can be excused when he’s so deeply in love with John, so long as he isn't on his phone while crossing the street.

Alex: hey

Alex: missed u

Turtle Boy: it’s been 4 hours

Alex: did i stutter

Alex: i missed u

Turtle Boy: ,,,, i missed you to,,o,,,

Alex: ha

Turtle Boy: shush

Alex: no

Turtle Boy: fair

John’s the only person he can have a conversation like this with, and Alex can’t even pretend he doesn’t enjoy it a lot. It doesn’t exactly qualify as “banter,” but it’s a fun sort of nonsensical back-and-forth. After all, sometimes it’s tiring, making sense. But he and John are comfortable enough with one another that sometimes they can forgo making sense and still perfectly understand one another anyway.

Alex gets home, still on his phone. “I’m home,” he says aloud, mostly for the benefit of Martha, who’s probably around here somewhere.

He takes a running leap onto his bed, landing on his back, just as he’d planned. He returns John’s latest text (some completely random question about whether a watermelon could beat a squash in a fair fight) with an in-depth analysis applying physics and logic to something that has no business being logicked. John takes this in stride, immediately diving into a conversation about alien trees, and Alex smiles. He’s home.

Chapter Text

It's been months, and John still hasn't talked to Alex about their "date" back in March. Neither of them has felt comfortable enough to bring it up, and John keeps wondering if Alex even wants to talk about it. He still doesn't have a definitive answer as to how Alex feels, after all, so maybe he's still just assuming... even though they did kiss, once.

It's not like John is expecting them to start dating or anything, not with Henry Laurens still in the picture. But any sort of acknowledgement that they went on a date at all would be great. He grows increasingly frustrated as Alex continues to ignore... whatever it is between them, and Alex seems consistently oblivious about John's feelings.

He recalls a time back in early April, just after The Date, when he and Alex had nearly kissed. Well, maybe John's just reading into it, but it seemed like the sort of situation in which two people who are romantically interested in one another would kiss.

John doesn't remember exactly what had happened, but one moment they'd been slow dancing in Alex's room, laughing over who knows what, and the next, they'd been on the floor, and Alex was on top of him. John supposes he must have tripped, and as he'd been holding Alex's hand at the time, he must have pulled Alex down with him.

John remembers the way Alex had smelled—he still can't put a name to it, but it reminds him of fall.

They'd sort of stared at each other, into each other's eyes, and only after a few minutes had passed did Alex clear his throat and make a move to stop straddling John. He'd rolled off of John, ended up lying on his back on the floor next to John. They'd lied there for a bit, looking up at the ceiling, until eventually they'd gotten up and carried on as though nothing had happened.

Then there was the other time, in May. John and Alex had been hanging out in the Washingtons' kitchen, and Lafayette, who hadn't been paying nearly enough attention, had accidentally spilled his punch all over John's shirt. He'd apologized profusely, both in French and English, and Alex had swept John away up to his room.

John, in a mild panic—he likes this shirt, it's one of his few favorites—had pulled off his shirt. Only when he'd noticed Alex trying and failing not to stare did he realize he'd started stripping.

Alex had covered his eyes, making his way clumsily over to his closet. He’d pulled out a t-shirt that's clearly too big for him, thrusting it at John, face still red and eyes averted, and John hastily put on the t-shirt. Alex had started a load of laundry with John’s shirt, and no lasting damage or stains had been left on the shirt, so John supposes it was fine.

Again, they'd pretended nothing had happened.

(Alex's main takeaway from that experience had been that John has freckles all over, not just on his face, neck, and arms. It's unfair, really, how can one person be so beautiful?)

It's summer now. John misses Alex, even as he admits that their relationship is pretty messed up. Every year in August when school rolls around, he gets used to seeing Alex every day, and every year, he forgets it doesn't last. When summer inevitably rolls around in June, John remembers that Alex isn't obligated to see him or even talk to him every day. He comes to dread summer.

But now, there's a renewed sense of excitement. John hesitates only a moment before he hits the call button.

"Hello?" Alex asks. He sounds sleepy, and John smiles.

"Hey," he says.

"John?" There's a quiet shuffling on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, did you not check who was calling?"

"Nah, I didn't," Alex says, still making muffled noises. "Give me a break, I'm tired," he says in response to the face John makes, which he clearly can't see, and John revels in how well Alex knows him and, well, how well he knows Alex, too. "Did you need something?"

"Do I have to require something from you to talk to you?" John says, feigning hurt. "Can't I just call my best friend?"

"You're right," Alex says. "So what's up?"

John glances at his bedroom door. "My father is going on a business trip soon," he says, voice hushed. "Some sort of conference. Either way, he'll be out of town, which leaves me in charge." He pauses to get his jittery limbs and heightened emotions under control. "I guess what I called for was to ask, do you wanna come stay here for a week or two?"

Alex doesn't reply right away, and there's no sound from the other end of the line. After checking to make sure Alex hadn't hung up, John hastens to speak. "I just mean, I love my siblings, but it'd be easier to manage them if there are two of us."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure." There's a couple more quiet thumps. Honestly, what is he doing over there? "I mean, I'll have to ask my par— Martha and George, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind." He sounds out of breath, and John doesn't miss the slip of the tongue. He's always wondered why Alex doesn't call them his parents when talking about them to other people, but Gil told him once that Alex does call them Mom and Dad when no one else is around. Still, that's Alex's business, and John has no right to pry. So he's never asked. And Alex hadn't asked about John's mom until John brought it up.

In a way, they're the same.

Shitty, no-good dad. Wonderful mom who deserved to live much longer than she had.

John shakes his head. Moving on. "Cool. Then that's... settled, I guess. He'll be leaving on the fifteenth. Think you can come over then?"

"Sure, it's not like I have anything else planned," Alex snorts. "You said two weeks?"

"That's the plan."

"I'll start packing today, then. See you Wednesday?"

"See you Wednesday." The call ends, leaving John less jittery but no less excited.

Henry Laurens’ business trips are always a thing to look forward to. Not only does it get him off the Laurens kids’ backs—makes it so that they don’t have to be looking over their shoulders at all times—but it also just gives John more time to spend with his siblings. Henry discourages open displays of affection, and John resents him for it, but for the most part, the siblings have found little loopholes, things they can do to physically show affection that don’t catch their father’s eye, chances to act like a family when Henry isn’t there to see it.

This is one of those chances.

The first thing John is going to do, he decides, is have a sleepover in the living room. He’s sure they’ll all be on board (even the ever-grumpy Harry), and while it isn’t technically a sleepover, it’s not as though Henry ever let them have proper sleepovers at a friend’s house or anything. So whenever Henry is out of town, John builds a blanket fort in the living room, and it’s always a ton of fun. This time, though, he’ll have Alex there. So it stands to reason that, with any luck, this time will be even better.

(John’s never had much luck.)

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, July fifteenth, the Laurens children all arrive in the dining room at precisely eight o’clock. Though it’s summer, and none of their schools have a uniform, the children have their own uniform. White long-sleeved shirts buttoned up to their chins, black slacks, black shoes polished until they shine.

“Remember, best behavior,” John says quietly as they all take their seats. “Jemmy, stop pulling at your collar.”

“But it’s rubbing against my neck,” Jemmy says.

“I know, bud, it’s really uncomfortable, but we only have to do this until he leaves, okay?” John says. “If we’re not on our best behavior, he might cancel his trip.” And that won’t be good for any of us, he thinks darkly.

It’s half an hour before Henry Laurens decides to join them. (He had said eight o’clock, but John supposes Henry’s self-imposed times don’t apply to himself.) He walks into the dining room in no kind of hurry, looking every bit the politician he’s supposed to be, but John knows what kind of person Henry actually is. They all do. John remembers the vivid mental image of Henry, face flushed from alcohol and rage, eyes red, and it reminds him of a feral animal, all teeth and raised hackles.

“Harry, sit up straight,” he barks, and Henry does as he’s commanded. “Jemmy, stop pulling on your collar. Polly, brush your hair after I leave, since it doesn’t appear you did that this morning. Martha, quit looking so dejected.” Henry goes down the lineup, pointing out every little thing he deems to be out of place, and John hurriedly adjusts his face to remove the death glare he’d been giving his father before Henry notices.

Henry appraises John, and he lifts his chin in the smallest show of defiance he can afford to give. “Well done, Jack.” Henry’s lip curls, revealing the thinly-veiled lack of sincerity in his words. He takes his place at the head of the table, choosing to stand behind his chair instead of taking a seat. He sees himself as superior to his children. He is the king and they are his subjects, subjects who must obey without question or independent thought, lest they be severely punished for their crimes.

“I’d like to spend as little time here today as possible,” Henry says. “Jack is in charge while I’m gone, and I trust you’ll prevent them from trashing the place.” John inhales deeply, reminding himself that in just a few hours, Henry will be gone, and John won’t have to see him again for two whole weeks. He hates the way Henry talks about his siblings, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. Deep breaths. “You are to put on the news for the channels I have instructed you to watch at four P.M. each day in order to learn about what good work your father is doing at the conference. TV for recreational purposes is not allowed. Friends are not allowed. If I return and you have done anything to tarnish my reputation, I will not be happy.” He shakes his head, as if they’re incorrigible troublemakers and he’s the one assigned to “teach” them the error of their ways. John wants to strangle Henry, but he amuses himself in the meantime with the mental image of him doing so. “I’m leaving immediately. Goodbye.” And with that, Henry Laurens is gone. Nobody moves until they hear the sound of the door shutting and the engine starting, and they take a collective deep breath as the car drives away.

“Alright, good job,” John says to the room at large. He’s sure there’s more he could have said, but thankfully Martha interjects.

“I hate him,” she says. “I want to grab him by the neck and just squeeze and squeeze until his eyes pop out of his skull and he dies from asphyxiation.”

“Martha,” John says with a warning tone, even though he shares much the same sentiments. The thing more disturbing than her statement, however, is the fact that neither Polly nor Jemmy seems the slightest bit bothered by such a graphic description of homicide. John once again mentally curses his father for depriving them of their innocence at such a young age, and his determination to find a way to get them out of there is only fueled further by this thought.

“What?” she says with a shrug. “I only said what we all were thinking.”

“I want to smash his head in with a baseball bat,” Harry says, wriggling out of his white button-up to reveal the tank top beneath.

“While I agree,” John says, “perhaps we should halt our discussions of homicide until another time.” Martha mumbles something in agreement, but before John can do anything else, his phone vibrates.

Alex: hey what time did you want me to come over

Turtle Boy: well my dad is gone already so i guess now would be a good time

Alex: alright!

Alex: ill be over in ten

“What are you smiling at?” Jemmy asks innocently, and John shuts off his phone.

“I have a friend coming over to stay with us while father is out of town,” he says, carefully neglecting to mention which friend. Not that his siblings have met any of his friends who aren’t Alex.

But Jemmy grins. “Is it Alex?” he asks, and John sighs. His siblings are too smart for their own good sometimes, or perhaps they just know him far too well.

“Yeah,” he says. Polly ever-so-slightly perks up, and it’s barely noticeable. Martha smirks, and Harry feigns indifference, although John knows full well that Alex is one of the few non-Laurens people Harry can stand. “He’ll be over here in ten minutes. Why don’t we all go change first, and we’ll meet up in the living room.” They all nod, setting off at different speeds.

Jemmy is the last one to arrive in the living room, and John stifles a laugh. He’s got one arm halfway into the sleeve of his sweater, and his head is barely poking out the top.

“Jacky, I’m stuck,” he says pleadingly, brown eyes wide.

“I can see that,” John replies, doing his best not to seem too amused at his brother’s predicament. With a few solid tugs, he rescues his brother from his knitted prison, just in time for the doorbell to ring.

"Hi," Alex says when the door opens. "Think you can help me with this?" He gestures to his suitcase at the bottom of the steps, and John can see how it might prove a problem.

"Yeah, sure." Together, he and Alex lug the suitcase up the steps. It's heavier than it should be—Alex is only staying for two weeks, and clothes aren't this heavy, so what on earth could the boy have packed?

Jemmy and Martha are waiting in the foyer, and Polly and Harry aren't far behind.

"Hi, Alex!" Jemmy says. He bounces on the balls of his feet.

"Hi, Alex," Martha says, a lot calmer and smoother than her brother, and a smirk graces her lips.

"Hey," Alex says, surprised by the welcome reception, and John's heart aches, but in the good way this time. “It’s been a little while, huh?”

“Not as long as you’d think,” Martha mutters, and John makes a point to ask her later whether or not she had a hand in helping or allowing Alex to sneak in.

Meanwhile, Jemmy tugs on Alex’s arm. “Bend down, I wanna hug!” he says, and Alex crouches. Jemmy hugs Alex, very enthusiastically, like Alex is an old friend he hasn’t seen in ages. And for Jemmy, that might be true. He’s always formed quick, long-lasting bonds with people, and Alex appears to be one of those people, at least going off of the evidence of that hug.

“Hey, little dude,” Alex says when the hug is over. “You still climbing like a monkey?”

“Yeah!” Jemmy says, and he’s off, describing one of his most recent “adventures” in their backyard. Alex listens with interest and amusement, and John doesn’t care how sappy it might be: he is going to gaze at his little brother and his-not-quite-boyfriend getting along for as long as he’d like to and nobody else is allowed to say a single word about it to him or to anyone else.

Jemmy finishes his story, and John almost jumps as Alex makes eye contact with him. Pretend you weren’t unashamedly staring, quick.

“Your little brother’s quite the hero,” Alex says. His eyes twinkle. “Isn’t he?” He looks to Jemmy, who grins.

“Yeah, I’m a hero!” Jemmy says proudly, and Alex ruffles his hair.

“So what sorts of things do you get up to around here?” Alex asks.

“Not much,” John admits, aware this is one of those statements about his home life that’s going to make Alex either pity him or feel sad. “But! A family tradition when our father is away is to set up a joint blanket-pillow fort in the living room,” he says.

“Is that why you told me to bring pillows?” Alex asks, and John remembers suddenly that he had, in fact, mentioned that to Alex, and had simply forgotten.

“Wait, is that why your suitcase is so heavy?” John asks.

Alex chuckles. “You’ll see.” He unzips his suitcase, revealing some neatly folded clothes almost completely concealed by a few well-positioned pillows.

“You didn’t have to do that,” John says.

“Well, you asked me to, so I did,” Alex says, as though it’s that simple—and maybe for him, it is. He turns to Jemmy. “Hey, buddy, could you help me take these to the living room?” Jemmy nods. “Thank you, my brave little knight.” John watches the two of them go, each carrying a few pillows.

“Cute, right?” Martha says from right beside John, and this time he does jump.

“Geez, Martha, I didn’t know you were there.” He puts a hand on his chest, hoping to slow his suddenly jumpstarted heart. “Yeah, it’s kinda cute, I guess.”

“You guess?” She can clearly see past his nonchalant façade, judging by the knowing look she’s giving him.

“It’s cute to see Alex and Jemmy interacting. Is that what you wanted to hear?” he says, but he can’t quite bring himself to be frustrated, and she knows that. It’s the reason she’s so determined to push all his buttons, after all.

“Yes,” she says. If that had been a text message, he’d bet she would’ve punctuated it with a sparkling heart.

John has an idea. “I know father said no friends, but why not? I invited Alex over anyway. The more the merrier, right? Pillow forts are more fun with friends.”

“Really?” Martha says, not quite sure if this is really allowed.

“Yeah. Dad’s not here right now, and he left me in charge, so I say friends are allowed.”

“I’ll be right back,” Martha says, taking the stairs at a faster pace.

John turns to Harry and Polly. “If there’s no one you want to invite, wanna help me grab stuff for the blanket-pillow fort?” Polly nods.

“Hold on.” Harry does something with his phone before quickly pocketing it. “Yeah, I’m down. I invited a friend, though. Is… is that cool?” He bites his lip.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” John says, making certain he implies that Harry shouldn’t even have to ask. “How about we split up? First we get supplies from our own rooms before tackling anyone else’s.” Harry and Polly make vague gestures of agreement, and John grins. “3, 2, 1, go!”

Chapter Text

Within fifteen minutes, the pillows are all gathered in a pile in the living room, and John surveys their work. The Laurens have managed to locate all the pillows, but they still need the other half of the fort: the blankets. The doorbell rings, and someone else answers before he can.

Martha walks into the living room with another girl about her age. The girl has long, straight hair that’s a reddish-brown—maybe an auburn? John’s never been sure exactly what color auburn is—and bright blue eyes.

“Who’s this?” John asks Martha, and even though all she does is look down at her feet, there’s a sense of shyness to it, and John knows how to get back at his sister for teasing him about Alex.

“Hey, Jack, this is Martha Manning,” Martha says. Martha Manning waves cheerily at John, and John decides he likes her right away.

“You’re both named Martha?” he asks.

“We bonded over it, actually,” the Other Martha says. “It’s kind of a running joke of ours.” She playfully elbows Martha, and they share a secretive smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Well, I can’t call you both Martha, that might get confusing,” John says. “Is there anything else I could call you apart from Other Martha?”

“Are you actually calling me Other Martha in your head?” Other Martha asks, delighted when he nods sheepishly. “I like your brother,” she says to Martha. “But my middle name is Nell, so I guess you could call me that.”

“Okay, Nell it is,” John says, mentally switching the label from Other Martha to Nell. “I can remember that.” The doorbell sounds again. “I’ve got to go get the door. Think you girls could hunt down some blankets?” They agree, and he sets off toward the door.

When John opens the door, there’s a boy standing there. He can’t be much older than thirteen or fourteen, with darker skin and close-cropped curls.

“Hi,” John says.

“Hi,” the boy says back. The way he stands, taking up as little space as possible, tells John that he’s nervous.

“Oh! Are you Harry’s friend?” he asks, and the boy brightens as he nods.

“David!” Harry calls from the foyer behind John. “Jack, are you bothering my friend?” He practically storms over, but then again, he’s thirteen.

“What? No!” John says, mildly offended. “I literally just said hi and asked if he was your friend.”

“It’s they,” Harry says. “David uses they/them pronouns.”

“Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,” John says. “I assumed, and that’s on me.”

“It’s okay,” David says, arms crossed in mimicry of Harry’s.

“From now on, I’ll get it right,” John promises. “Why don’t you come in?” He steps aside, making sure to close and lock the door once David is inside.

“This should be everyone, then,” John says. Everyone indeed. There’s a total of eight people in the living room, and only five of them are Laurenses. “Time for introductions, I suppose. I’ll start. I’m John—”

“But we all call him Jacky,” Martha cuts in with a grin, and John rolls his eyes. “I’m Martha.”

They go around the room, and once everyone is acquainted, John lets them begin the process of building the blanket-pillow fort without him.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asks. John hadn’t noticed Alex join him against the wall, but he’s glad for the company.

“I’m a little tired, I guess, but that can’t be helped,” John says. He watches with amusement as the younger kids struggle to push the couches into position. He and Alex will no doubt have to assist them soon, but not yet.

“Why can’t it be helped?” Alex says in that irritating way that signals to John that he cares and he’s worried about John. Very irritating.

“It’s not like I don’t get to sleep early and stay in bed as late as I can,” he says. “No matter what I do, though, my quality of sleep is bad.” If he wasn’t around a bunch of children, he adds in his head, “bad” would certainly have been “shit” instead.

“That’s a shame,” Alex says. He pushes off of the wall, holding one hand out to John. “Why don’t we go help them move those couches?” John takes the offered hand, and they relieve the younger kids of their couch-pushing duties.

Once the supplies have been procured and the couches moved into place, the rest is easy. It doesn’t take long for the eight of them to drape a few blankets over the couches, throw the rest of the blankets on the floor, and cover the ground in pillows.

“Joint pillow-blanket fort procured,” Alex says, and John scoffs.

“I’m sorry, no, that’s just wrong, Alex,” he says with a sniff. “It’s a blanket-pillow fort. Anything else is just incorrect.”

“My bad,” Alex says. “Joint blanket-pillow fort procured. Better?”

“Much,” John says. Alex’s free hand, hanging there by his side, is awfully tempting, and John takes it. He can’t just let it be sad and alone like that, can he?

Martha’s eyes alight on their interlocked hands, and she shoots John a look, which he promptly ignores.

“Alright, guys, the fort is ready,” he announces, and Jemmy, who’d been waiting for his signal, pounces on the pile of pillows. All eight of them manage to situate themselves in a way that’s comfortable, with John, Alex, and the remote at the back, and Polly and Jemmy at the front so they can see the TV. Harry hits the lightswitch and rejoins David where they’ve sequestered themselves in the very corner, and John starts the movie.

“This is lame,” Harry says a total of what must be 0.5 seconds in. “The live-action version is better, we all know this.” Martha shushes him, and he rolls his eyes, turning to whisper to David instead.

“On the one hand, she falls in love with him and it’s all like, ‘oh, looks don’t matter when it comes to true love,’ and at least it’s not love at first sight, but on the other hand, he’s literally a hairy beast, his entire body is covered in fur,” Martha says an hour into the movie.

John shakes his head. “If I’d known everyone hated this movie, I would’ve picked a different one,” he says quietly to Alex, but when John looks at him, Alex is gazing at him as though… as though he’s the sun, and he has no idea how to respond. Instead of speaking again, he shifts his weight ever so slightly so that he can lean back against Alex, and Alex rests his head against the wall behind them.

“Well, I still like that movie,” Nell remarks when the credits begin rolling, “no matter what you guys think. Beauty and the Beast is a good movie, you guys are just critical.”

“Were you referencing that one meme?” Martha says, and John has no idea which one they’re talking about, but Nell nods, and Martha looks pleased. “I knew it!”

“Shh,” David says. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since they were on the doorstep—Harry had introduced them, and they hadn’t needed to say a word. “Jemmy and Polly are asleep,” they say, and, sure enough, the two are collapsed against the pillows, eyes closed, fast asleep.

John smiles. “Excuse me,” he says, and Martha and Nell get out of the way so he can crawl out of the fort. He beckons to Alex, but it’s unnecessary, since Alex is already right behind him. “Think you can help me take them to bed? I’ll carry Jemmy, and you carry Polly?”

“Sure,” Alex says. He watches John lift Jemmy, and then, with the utmost care, he replicates the gesture with Polly. John could kiss him. But he won’t.

Alex follows John up the stairs. He waits patiently outside the room while John puts Jemmy to bed. John closes the door as quietly as he can, then leads Alex to Polly’s room. He observes as Alex tucks Polly into bed. Once he’s finished, Alex looks to John as if to say did I do it right? and John leans in and kisses Polly’s forehead. They both exit the room.

“I don’t have any criticisms,” John says. “You did that perfectly.”

“Really?” Alex asks with what might be awe.

“Yeah,” John says, and Alex beams at him.

They stand there for a solid couple of minutes before John speaks. “We should be supervising the kids downstairs. Why are we still standing here?” He descends the stairs, not even bothering to see if Alex is following but expecting that he is, far too busy berating himself for letting another opportunity slip by again, John, way to be a useless—

John cuts himself off.

“Do we want to watch another movie?” he asks Martha, Harry, and their collective two friends.

“Well, Jack, if you’re asking, then no, not really,” Martha says. “I was thinking maybe we could split off into pairs or whatever, and I could spend some time one-on-one with Nell.” She’s very well composed, considering the slight shade of pink covering her freckled cheeks.

“That’s fine. How do you feel about that, Harry?” John asks.

“That’s cool.” Harry shrugs.

“Okay. Alex and I will be in my room, if you need anything.”

So that’s how John and Alex ended up sitting on John’s bed, staring at the opposite wall and not talking.

Dammit, John, say something, idiot.

John starts quietly humming—a nervous habit—and he taps out the rhythm on one of the bed posts.

"Hey, I love that song," Alex says, and he grins slowly.

"Really?" John asks.

"Yeah," Alex says. "Why'd you stop?"

"Cause I'm not good at singing," John mumbles.

Alex raises one eyebrow. "I dunno, your humming sounded pretty good to me."

"Humming and singing are two different levels," John says. "I may be okay at humming, but I am not good at singing, trust me." Still, Alex can't be dissuaded.

"I do trust you," he says softly, turning away to do something on his phone so John can't see. "But this is something I want to hear. That is, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable?" He suddenly looks worried.

"No, it doesn't make me uncomfortable." John rubs the back of his neck. "I just don't think I'm any good."

"In that case, I want to hear it," Alex says firmly. He finalizes whatever he'd been doing on his phone, and music starts to fill the room. John gives him a helpless look. "Here, I'll start." Alex sings the first few bars, and, wow, he's actually terrible, but he's enjoying himself, and while John sighs, he's smiling. "Your turn!"

"Oh, shit, okay." John fumbles for the words at first, but once he starts singing, it comes more easily. He starts moving his body in place a little, although he wouldn't qualify it as "dancing." By the time he realizes what he's doing, Alex is gazing at him again—lovingly, he realizes with a start. Alex grins when they make eye contact, grabbing John's hand and dragging him to his feet.

"Come on, let's dance," Alex says.

"No, no, no way." John shakes his head. "You may have been able to convince me to sing for you, which I don't do for just anyone, but dancing is a line I won't cross." Alex starts getting into the groove of the song, even going so far as to make a vaguely sexual motion with his hips while staring John dead in the face, and John is aware that he's very red. "Please stop."

"I'll stop when you start dancing," Alex says, and his voice holds a hint of a coaxing tone. And John sighs again.

"I'd only ever do this for you," he says, making sure to convey his mild annoyance in his tone as he finally gives in. "This feels so stupid."

"Don't think, just dance," Alex says, wiggling his arms in a way that reminds John of an octopus and manages to make him laugh. "It doesn't matter how it looks. What matters is how it makes you feel."

How John ended up in this situation, he'll never know, but he lets Alex convince him to dance, and maybe he has fun. They retire to his bed once the song is over.

"My mother loved that song," Alex says quietly. "We used to dance to it. I miss it." He turns to face John, and John stares into Alex's earnest eyes. They're the kind of eyes that always tell a story, if only you know how to read the language they speak.

"Alex, we have to talk about this," John blurts, and then immediately regrets it.

"Talk about what?" Alex asks. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair that's loose from John's ponytail behind his ear.

"This!" John says, and it's just shy of a shout. "Us," he says more quietly.

Alex seems instantly chastened, and John hasn't even said anything of importance yet. "Oh. Yeah. Us." John isn't completely sure, but he thinks Alex might have stumbled over the word us.

Alex sighs, sitting up, and John sits up too. "I know I've been avoiding the subject. I'm sorry."

"That's… what I wanted to talk to you about," John says. "In part."

"What's the other part?" Alex says.

"No, I want to know why you were avoiding the subject first," John says.

"I wasn't sure it was ever the right time," he says. "I mean, what are we? What do you do in a situation like ours? When's the right time to tell you I love you?"

To John, it's like time stops, and it's only him and Alex. In fact, he wouldn't mind much if everything else stopped in that moment.

If Alex said what John thinks he said…

Well, that's big, isn't it?

Alex groans, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck. I didn't mean… Shit. Clearly that was not the right time." He tips over so that he's lying with his head in John's lap. "I'm so stupid and I'm really sorry and I can leave today if you don't want me to stay for two weeks because if I was you I wouldn't want me to stay the full two weeks either—"

"Alexander."

Alex stops abruptly. "Yeah?"

"Would you let me reply?" John asks, exasperation mixed with fondness leaking through in his tone, and Alex, hearing this, slowly lowers his hands to reveal his very red face. “Okay. So. I’m not hallucinating and you just told me you love me, right?”

“You’re definitely not hallucinating,” Alex says.

“Okay.” John pauses to process, and his hand absentmindedly starts to card through Alex’s hair. “Well, I… you know how I feel. But… you deserve to hear it, properly. So.” He clears his throat. “I love you.”

John didn’t think it possible for Alex’s face to get any redder, but it does. Alex takes a few deep breaths until his face is closer to its normal complexion and farther away from a strawberry’s.

“The way I told you just now was. Bad,” Alex says, and he starts to get up.

“I didn’t mind, really,” John says. “If you wanted to leave it at that, I’d be okay with it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Alex says, running a hand through his hair and pulling slightly on it.

“Stop that,” John says, tugging gently on Alex’s wrist, and Alex looks at him with confusion. “You’re pulling at your hair again. You’re gonna make your scalp hurt.”

“Oh.” Alex looks at John’s hand on his wrist, and John lets go. “Anyway, as I was saying, I can’t leave it at that, John. You deserve better.” He stands fully, and John wonders briefly what he’s gotten himself into before Alex starts speaking.

“So. I had this planned in my head, and I’m fully aware it probably sounds like a proposal,” Alex says. “It’s not. It’s far too early for that.” John feels a little thrill at the implications of “too early”—too early means eventually there will be a right time, an eventually, but does that mean Alex expects them to get married someday? “Let me start from the beginning.”

Alex walks across the width of John’s room, and then back the other direction, until he finds the perfect spot for his speech (because John has no doubt it is a speech). He inhales through his nose once before he begins. “John Laurens. You are such an incredible person, and I’ve failed to tell you that enough. You are beautiful, and kind, and funny, and you care so much about your siblings. While it’s not true that I fell in love with you at first sight, it is true that you sort of reached out to me, and the moment we locked eyes, my heart sort of went oh, there you are, like I’d been waiting for you my whole life and didn’t even know it? That probably sounds weird, but it’s the best way I can describe it.” Alex has started using his hands as he speaks, the way he does when he’s feeling extremely passionate. “You are an amazing person, and it angers me so much that the people in your life have not adequately conveyed that fact to you. You know, whenever I used to, uh, for lack of a better word, gaze at you, you always worried about whether something was wrong with your appearance. You’d ask whether your hair was messy, or if you had something on your face, or food stuck between your teeth, and that was never the case. I just liked looking at you. I still do.”

John is on the verge of passing out, he thinks, from a mixture of exhaustion and extreme happiness. But he can’t pass out until Alex is finished.

“I’m making this too complicated, aren’t I?” Alex laughs. “Simply put. You’re the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky, beautiful and shining with light, and I am but the earth, lowly and made of dirt. You’re the pizza, and I’m the pineapples on it, and that is a very stupid analogy but basically I don’t deserve you. But you chose me for some reason, you chose me, and I love you so, so much, John.”

John laughs, despite the tears streaming down his face, and Alex smiles, also crying. “I can’t believe you think all that about me,” he says, thoroughly shaken.

“I love you,” Alex says again, by way of explanation, and he stumbles over to embrace John.

“I can’t believe we’re so stupid,” John mutters into Alex’s shoulder after a minute. “We could’ve had this so long ago, but we didn’t, and for what? Because I was scared of my father. Because you didn’t want to believe you fell in love with your best friend. Because I had so much internalized homophobia that I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, even though it was right in front of me and had beautiful green eyes and waved its hands when it talked about subjects it cared about.”

“Yeah,” Alex says softly. They’re both ignoring the most important question, but they have two weeks before they’ll have to think about it, and there’s no point in spoiling this moment just yet.

Not yet.

John actually has a decent night of sleep. He’ll discover that when he wakes in the morning feeling well-rested, and he’ll look over at a sleeping Alex, next to him on the mattress, and he’ll smile. He’ll brush his lips against Alex’s forehead, but this will wake Alex up, and they’ll both breathe a quiet, “Hi,” before dissolving into quiet laughter.

And it’ll be a good day. As long as John has Alex by his side, everything will be fine.

No matter what happens.

Chapter Text

Alex wakes up in John's arms again for another day in a row, and he smiles, smoothing John's hair as John softly breathes. Every night Alex stays over, he and John share the bed.

The joint blanket-pillow fort is slowly disassembled over the week following. Neither David nor Nell stay over again, but they do come to visit for hours at a time, almost as if there's some sort of silent agreement between the two, Martha, and Harry.

More than once, John opens Martha's door only to see the two girls scramble apart, almost as if he'd almost caught them doing something they didn't want him to see. He doesn't think much of it—Martha's entitled to do whatever she'd like with whomever she wants. He isn't her father, after all.

Sometimes Alex spends time alone in John's room. John doesn't know what Alex does in that time alone, and he doesn't ask. Alex comes to him with a question in his eye, and John takes the hint to quietly move downstairs and sit in the kitchen.

During one such time, John's sitting alone at the table. He gets the feeling he's being watched, and when he looks up, David is there, staring at him.

"Hey," John says, shutting off his phone and laying it on the table. "Is there something you need?"

David averts their gaze. "Maybe."

John looks at them with curiosity. "Would you like to sit down?" He gestures to the chair opposite him, and David takes a seat. John lowers his voice. "Do you want to talk? I can keep a secret."

David considers for a moment. "Would you be mad if I like Harry?"

"No," John says firmly, but there's an undertone of gentleness in an attempt to help. "My father would definitely be mad, but I am nothing like my father. You have nothing to worry about." David is still dubious, and John smiles. "Let me tell you a secret of my own, in exchange for you telling me yours. I like Alex."

"Yeah?" David raises one eyebrow, and John wants to protect this kid.

"Yeah. Don't tell anyone, but I think we're dating." John can't help the little laugh that escapes at the thought. He still can't believe Alex feels the same way.

"Cool." David clearly doesn't have much of a reason to care or get overly invested, and John can respect that.

"I don't think you have much to worry about, with Harry," John says. He hadn't gotten much of an impression that Harry might have liked anyone, but once he's thought about it, it would make a lot of sense. Why Harry's always on his phone, why he acts as though he's been caught red-handed, and why, lately, he's been snapping at their father more under his breath. "I'm pretty sure I know why he's always typing on his phone." He goes back to reading on his phone with a chuckle, and David shrugs before leaving.

“Hey, Martha?” Alex asks one day.

“Hm?” Martha says.

“Remember when I first met you and you signed something at John?” She nods. “What was it?”

“As a matter of fact, I told him”—she leans in close—"that you were very cute.”

“That’s it?” Alex asks. “He seemed so flustered.”

Martha shrugs. “What can I tell ya, Lex? He really likes you.” Alex knows that now.

Any time Alex even interacts with any of his siblings, John feels as though his heart is about to explode. He can't handle it.

"Alex, can you help me pour the milk?" Jemmy asks, using his puppy eyes on Alex, which, in Alex's case, are one hundred percent unnecessary. Alex would help Jemmy with anything in a heartbeat, as John has learned over the course of the past week. All Jemmy ever has to do is ask, and Alex is by his side immediately.

"Is it too heavy, little dude?" Alex asks, and Jemmy nods. "Okay, hold the bowl still!" Jemmy obeys, gazing adoringly at Alex, and John resists the overdramatic urge to clutch at his chest. "Is that good?"

"Thank you!" Jemmy hugs Alex, and Alex smiles.

"No problem, little dude." He approaches John, glancing over his shoulder at Jemmy. "What's up?"

"What do you mean?" John asks.

"You were staring," Alex says, though he doesn't seem too bothered by it.

"Oh." John would normally look away, but he holds his gaze, eyes locked with Alex's. "Am I not allowed to stare?"

"I mean, I don't have a problem with staring, I was just wondering if there was a specific reason you were staring." Alex feigns a nonchalant air with a shrug, but they're both aware that their flirting is poorly disguised and anyone who paid close attention would be able to tell.

"I didn't have a specific reason. I wanted to look at you." John itches to grab Alex's hand, but Jemmy is still eating his cereal and milk, blissfully unaware of the sexual tension. "What have you been doing, all those times you've kicked me out of my own room?" John asks instead, hoping to be playful as he changes the subject.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Alex says, and, interestingly to John, he almost seems self-conscious.

"I would," John says. Alex half-grimaces.

"I guess I could show you."

Alex is paranoid, John thinks as he watches Alex pull a small stack of paper out from underneath the clothes in his suitcase. Alex flips through the papers before bringing them over to John.

"Here you go," Alex says, joining John on the floor. He starts examining the wall of John's room with too much interest.

John leaves him be to glance over the first piece of paper. Whatever it is, it's handwritten. John's never known Alex to change his mind once he's put pen to paper, but here, Alex has crossed out at least half the words on the page, thus making it more difficult to decipher any words at all.

It's... it's a poem.

"This is a poem." John turns to Alex, who has forgone examining the wall to bury his face in his hands. "Alex, did you write a poem about me?"

Alex groans. "Keep reading."

John flips through the pages. More poems. It's all poetry, in various styles, and it's all written about John. There are numerous lines about his hair, about his eyes, about his freckles, his laugh, and although the secondhand embarrassment Alex is feeling has breached John's defenses, there's a warm, fuzzy feeling accompanying it.

Alex, eyes covered and closed, is taken by complete surprise when John knocks him to the floor. "What are you doing?" he asks in bewilderment.

"You wrote poems about me," John says, and Alex is relieved that he's not the only one out of breath. "For example, one line here says, 'He must be / A deity / The fairest one I'll ever see.'" He doesn't read it from the paper—he doesn’t even look at it—and Alex realizes with mild embarrassment that John must have memorized it. "That's the tamest one, Alex, it doesn't even mention my freckles like all of the others!"

"I think they're all shit, but I'm glad you thought they were cute," Alex says, only to be kissed firmly on the lips.

"Honestly, shut up. No, seriously, be quiet," John says as Alex opens his mouth. "These are so good, and I wish I was half as good with words as you. There's no way I could ever write anything like that."

"That's a good thing, 'cause why would you ever want to write something so terrible?" John glares at him, and, to Alex's disappointment, gets off of Alex. What's the point of kissing on the floor if you don't even properly make out while you're down there?

John opens a drawer, and Alex cranes his neck to see nothing. He can't see. John extracts what must be a folder, sitting down on the floor again.

"Take this." John thrusts the folder into Alex's hands, and Alex raises an eyebrow at him before opening it.

"This is..." John bites his lip as Alex stares at the sketch of himself. "Are these all me?" Alex goes through the pages slowly and carefully, making sure to appraise every one. "You draw? Well, I mean, I guess most painters draw at least a little, but... you draw me?"

"What do you think?" John asks. Alex had bared his soul to John moments ago in showing him the poems, and it's only fair for John to do the same.

Alex looks at him. "I love it." He smiles, and John kisses him again, marveling again at how easy it is—he could've been doing this the whole time, if only he'd decided sooner that this was another secret well worth hiding from his father.

The blanket-pillow fort is completely taken down the day before Henry is due to return, and John spends a few hours making sure everything looks the way it did before.

"Hey," Alex says, and John turns. "I'm heading out."

John frowns. "I wish you could stay longer."

"I know. I wish your father would've stayed away longer, too." Alex half-heartedly offers a hug, and John accepts enthusiastically.

"We'll have to see if we can hang out more over the summer," John says, despite the fact that Henry Laurens is unlikely to allow anything of the sort.

"I hope so," Alex says, seemingly understanding John's situation. "Thank you for having me over."

"Thank you for coming." The living room is empty, but it's still a risky move for John to kiss Alex—but he does anyway.

There's a gasp from behind him, and John winces.

"You are dating!" Martha cries accusatorially, pointing a finger at John.

"We are," John says briskly. "Alex, stop grinning, it's not that funny."

"It kind of is," Alex says. "I didn't know your sister cared so much about our relationship."

"I'm his sole confidante." Martha smirks, and John rolls his eyes.

"What's up with you and Martha Manning, then?" he asks, and Martha draws back, a hand on her chest.

"Excuse me?" she asks, eyes blazing, and John backtracks hastily.

"Sorry, I didn't ask anything. But you didn't see anything either." He mom-glares at her, and she huffs.

"Fineee," Martha says. "Bye, I guess. 'Cause you're leaving today."

"Bye," Alex says. He waves, and Martha leaves the room.

Alex looks at John and bursts out laughing.

"What?" John snaps.

"I'm sorry, dear, you're making that face again." He wipes at his eyes. "Oh, god."

John pauses. "Dear?" His voice is soft.

"Oh." Alex looks as though he's having an existential crisis, and John supposes he must not have said it on purpose. "Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay," John says, and kisses the grin spreading across Alex's lips one last time to close out their two weeks together.

By the time Henry Laurens returns the next day, the children are back in their uniforms, and no one is smiling.

"I trust they behaved, Jack?" Henry says, and John only nods. To his relief, Henry doesn't press the matter, moving on to ask what they know about the conference and his contributions. Harry and Jemmy alternate in a detailed explanation, and John's glad someone actually watched the news like they were supposed to.

Dinner is served and eaten without a word, and the children sent to bed the moment they finish. John does all the ritual tucking-ins before dragging himself to bed. Somehow simply being around his father saps him of spoons way faster than anything John could do, and he falls asleep five minutes after climbing into bed. Tomorrow he probably won't have such luck—he may have gotten used to sleeping next to another person and the gentle snoring of the boy he loves lulling him to sleep—but tonight, his sleep is peaceful and uninterrupted even by a dream.

Of course, because John falls asleep so fast, he misses the goodnight text from Alex, but he'll read it in the morning and smile.

There's some notes and some resources on a hard drive on John's computer regarding child custody in New York and the process for a non-parent trying for custody. John's starting to have a good idea of what he needs to do by October, and once it's done, Henry should be locked behind bars.

After all, what Henry Laurens doesn't know won't hurt him.

Chapter Text

“Is everything good? Anything else I can help with?” Alex asks, being every bit the Hover Boyfriend.

“Alex,” John says, taking each of Alex’s hands with one of his own in order to trick Alex into paying attention. “I love you very much, and I appreciate how concerned you are, but I think we’ll be fine. Thank you for all your help. You should go home now and sleep.”

“What? I’m not… tired…” Alex says, but this is obviously a lie, as his eyes stay closed for just a moment too long each time he blinks, and he immediately yawns, giving himself away.

John gives him a look that roughly translates to honey I love you I really do but you are going to sleep or I am going to make you, and Alex sighs.

“Okay, fine, I’ll sleep, but can I do it in your new bed?” Alex asks, and John prepares himself for the puppy eyes that are sure to come, even though he knows it won’t do him much good.

“I suppose, but you have to text Lafayette and tell them where you are,” John says, and Alex nods. He stumbles off toward the master bedroom with its newly bought and assembled bed.

at johns new place helping him move, Alex texts Laf. sleeping in his bed ;) just kidding hes not in his bed rn its just me

It had been a surprise to no one when Laf had come out as gay only a few months after they’d been adopted, but the second coming out? That one had been a total surprise for all other parties involved.

Sometime during that summer, Lafayette had come to the realization that they didn’t have that much in terms of gendered feelings. They’d come out in September, slightly nervous to bring it up, but their worries were unfounded. None of their friends or family reacted negatively, and everyone immediately agreed to their new pronouns, to which Laf had started crying, and Hercules, John, and Alex had group-hugged them immediately.

Besides, Hercules had been pretty… well, pleasantly surprised the first time Laf wore a dress in public. He was probably too gay for Laf to do that without warning him, considering how heavily he’d blushed and how much difficulty he’d had speaking once he saw them.

That’s not the only thing that’s happened since July.

John surveys his new house with pride. Henry Laurens is in jail for child abuse, and John, newly 18, is now the legal guardian for his siblings. They couldn’t very well stay in Henry’s mansion, no matter how much Jemmy might miss the tree in the backyard. (John wouldn’t. Miss the tree, that is.)

John doesn’t know if he’s still set to receive any of his father’s inheritance when his father dies, and while there’s a new sense of unsure taking over his world, there are a few things that are still sure. Alex, for one.

Alex, who’d contributed heavily to John being able to afford this house, with money he himself had earned. (The rest had been comprised of John’s college fund. He doesn’t think he’d get much out of college anyway.)

Alex, who’s asleep in John’s bedroom. Alex, John’s boyfriend. Alex, who has big plans and a small black box, the kind that could fit in the palm of his hand, locked away in his third drawer at home, but John doesn’t know that yet.

“Hey! Be careful!” John yells as Jemmy runs past, nearly knocking him over.

“Sorry,” Jemmy says. He stops running.

“You’re a sixth grader now, bud, you gotta start taking responsibility,” John says.

“Okay,” Jemmy says. He doesn’t really get it, but that’s fine. He doesn’t have to just yet, John supposes, Jemmy’s only eleven, after all. “Can I play in the backyard?”

“Go ahead, but get someone to go with you, okay?” John calls after Jemmy as he speeds away. He shakes his head, although it’s kind of half-hearted. This is what he wanted, after all. Jemmy’s allowed to be an eleven-year-old, he’s allowed to be a kid.

“Jacky!” Polly yells, and he hurries to her. She’s in her new room, frowning at the various boxes scattered around her space. “I can’t find my diary.”

“You haven’t started unpacking?” John asks.

“I don’t want to.” She crosses her arms. She’s gotten a lot taller in just a few months, and that’s due to the infamous Laurens family growth spurt. She seems a lot older somehow.

“Polly,” John says in a warning tone, and she huffs exaggeratedly.

“Fine, dad,” she says, pretending to be mad, but John knows better.

“Your diary’s in the box that says Polly #3,” John says, and she drops the pretense right away, now that he’s helped her.

“Thanks, Jack!” she says, beelining for said box, and John leaves.

She’s gotten a lot more confident since Henry left the picture, and John couldn’t be prouder. When she’d asked for a diary, he hadn’t said no. He still doesn’t know why Henry never let her have one, but it probably had something to do with it being “frivolous and a waste of time.”

John peeks in on Martha. He can tell she’s talking to her girlfriend on the phone because of her energy and the way she’s lying down on her bed as she does so. He smiles. He doesn’t bother her.

John knocks on Harry’s door, and he gets a response right away telling him to come in. Harry’s seated at his desk, or he would be if his swivel chair was facing the opposite direction. He glances up as John enters.

“I need your help,” Harry says hastily.

“Wow, not even a ‘hi’ for your favorite brother?” John smirks.

“Bold of you to assume you’re my favorite brother,” Harry shoots back. (He’s gotten more confident and less afraid to show his emotions.) “But no, I need advice.”

John takes a seat on the edge of Harry’s bed. “What kind of advice?”

“Love? Advice?” Harry almost squeaks. John laughs.

“You saw how long it took me to start dating Alex,” he reminds Harry. “What makes you think I’d be able to give you that sort of advice?”

“I think that if our dad hadn’t been a total shitbag, you wouldn’t have had so much internalized homophobia, and you wouldn’t have had so much of a problem trying to date Alex,” Harry says.

“That’s… a very good point.” John hadn’t been expecting such an in-depth response. “Okay, sure, what do you need advice about?”

“I think I like David,” Harry says. His face is red, and John’s immediate thought should not have been, Ah, young love, considering (one:) he’s only less than a year older than he was when he started dating Alex and (two:) also he’s barely less of a mess. (Therapy has helped with that, though.)

“Okay,” John says. “Do you want to tell them?”

“I think so,” Harry says. “But how do I do that?”

“It’s really up to you,” John says. “And them, too, of course. What way do you think they’d like you to confess your love for them?”

“I… love?” splutters Harry. “It’s just a crush, Jack!”

“I know,” John says. “But who knows? If your confession goes well, it could very well turn into love.”

“I… guess you’re right,” Harry says. John doesn’t think Harry ever considered that before he suggested that it’s a thing that could happen, and that’s endearing. “David is… not showy. So nothing big or or anything that would require a lot of effort. I could… write a poem? Read it to them?” As soon as Henry had stopped breathing over Harry’s shoulder, Harry had taken up acting and poetry. He’s tried sharing his poetry with Alex, but Alex’s poems about John were just too much for Harry to handle.

“That sounds like a good idea,” John says.

Harry nods, determined. “Yeah. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna write them a poem telling them how I feel and I’m gonna read it to them.” He swivels his chair to face his desk. “Thanks, Jack.” John takes that as his cue to leave.

John opens his door a crack, enough to ensure that Alex really is resting, and he smiles. His boyfriend is only really peaceful when he’s sleeping. If he’s awake, he’s always thinking, always moving, always talking, and John loves Alex and loves that about Alex, but there’s something about his face when it’s still that’s ethereal.

John’s life may have changed for the better, but he’s a senior now, and his teachers don’t care what kind of legal battles he’s had to fight, and John swears under his breath as he remembers the essay due tomorrow that he hasn’t even started. Everything else can wait. The future can wait. Cuddling with his sleeping boyfriend can wait. John has homework to finish.