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“No no no, hold still,” Laurens whispered as the bluebird he was trying to sketch fluttered its wings yet again. Hopefully, he would at least be able to get a basic outline done before it flew away.
It had been hours since he had first snuck away with his sketchbook, hoping to find some peace on the nearby riverbank. He thought that perhaps there may be some waterfowl that he could try and draw. Alas, no such luck. In fact, there hadn’t been any wildlife around at all until the bluebird appeared.
And now, here he sat. On the bank of the river, sketching a bird while he was supposed to be back at camp.
At least he could be alone out here. Ever since he had begun sharing a tent with one Alexander Hamilton, it seemed that ‘alone time’ had become a thing of the past. Not that he minded Hamilton’s company. In fact, he very much enjoyed it. So much that he had been desperate to get away from him.
Even just thinking about Washington’s Aide-de-camp was enough to make Laurens blush. Those violet-blue eyes could bring mountains to their knees. And his passion for his work. He hadn’t been so smitten with anyone since he last saw Kinloch. If only he could have some indication as to whether Hamilton felt the same. But alas, the General’s ‘right-hand man’ always had his nose buried in a letter or a book of some sort.
Laurens sighed as the bluebird finally took flight and left him alone on the riverbank.
It was probably for the best. In the few minutes that he had been thinking, he had lost interest in drawing the creature.
He turned to a blank page in his sketchbook and started a new drawing; a drawing of Hamilton.
This would hardly be the first sketch of his tentmate. There were times where it would seem that whenever Laurens was not looking at Hamilton, he was drawing him. Not that this could be helped. Was it his fault that he had been assigned to share a tent with one of the most beautiful men that he had ever seen?
He smiled fondly as his pencil traced the now-familiar outline of Hamilton’s face. Perhaps he would draw Hamilton smiling. A nice, friendly smile and the sun reflecting in those eyes.
Once inspiration had struck, Laurens completed the drawing in a matter of moments. At least that was what it felt like to him. The distance that the sun had traveled toward the horizon suggested otherwise.
He should head back to camp soon. The others will be looking for him, no doubt.
He hastily stuffed his sketchbook into the pocket inside his jacket and made his way through the dense forest. He would put it away properly once he returned to his tent.
Or so he thought.
By the time he had returned to his lodgings, Laurens discovered that the book was gone! It must have fallen out of his pocket!
People had seen him as he reentered the camp, so he did not know if he could risk sneaking away again to go and look for it. He would be on thin ice for skirting his responsibilities as it was. All he could do was hope that someone would see it and bring it back. Would anyone even know that it was his? Perhaps whoever found it would make an announcement when he returned? Then he could claim it and everything would be okay. Assuming that the person who found it had not opened it and flipped through its pages. How would he explain having that many sketches of Hamilton among the birds and turtles that made up the rest of his art?
He decided that he could not risk being found out like that. Any punishment that the general could assign for neglecting his duties would be immeasurably easier to handle than the consequences that he would face should someone suspect that he was attracted to men. If the wrong person were to find out his secret, not only would he be discharged from the continental army, but sent home in shame. He had already shamed himself because of his preferences. He could not bear to put his family through that.
That night, after everyone else had gone to bed for the night, Laurens snuck out of his tent and wandered back to the riverbank.
Unbeknownst to him, he had disturbed Hamilton when he left. Curious about what the other man was up to at this late hour, he had followed Laurens out of the camp.
By the time Hamilton had caught up with his tentmate, Laurens had made it all the way to the river. Fortunately, the moon was full that night, so there was plenty of light to illuminate the woods.
Laurens appeared to be looking for something out here. Had he lost one of his belongings? And if this were the case, what could be so important that he had not waited until the morning?
Then a glint caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, it was the leather binding of a book. Was this what Laurens had been seeking?
Hamilton picked up the book and cleared his throat, causing Laurens to jump.
“Looking for something?” Hamilton asked, holding the book out toward his friend.
“Oh! -Ah, yes!” Laurens stammered. “Thank you.” He took the book and all but ran back to camp, keeping a tight grip on it this time.
Of all the men in camp who could have followed him, why did it have to be Hamilton? Had he looked inside the book? No, if he had, then he would be upset. Wouldn’t he? Wasn’t that how people were supposed to react to knowing that someone with whom they were sharing sleeping quarters had become infatuated with them?
No, he could not have seen. Though the moon shone bright, there was not nearly enough light to illuminate the individual pages. If anything, he would only have been able to see the very darkest details.
Sleep did not come easy for Laurens that night, but eventually, it did come.
The next day, he spent an inordinate amount of energy trying to avoid Hamilton. Laurens could not bear to face him with the knowledge that he may have seen those drawings in his book. Each time he looked over at Hamilton, Laurens felt a lump rise in his throat. Here was this man that he had greatly admired nearly since the day that they first met, and now, because of a silly mistake he had made, they may never speak again. If Hamilton had seen his sketches, then it would be only a matter of time before he would go to Washington to request a new sleeping arrangement, or worse, expose his secret to the General and have him sent away from the camp altogether.
Hamilton had not opened the book when he found it that night. He would never presume to invade his friend’s privacy like that. He had merely picked up the book, brushed the dirt from the cover, and given it back to its rightful owner.
Even still, it broke his heart to see Laurens so distraught. And it did make him wonder what was contained within the book. Had it been something that Laurens had not wished for him to see? Of course it was. Why else would he be avoiding him as if he were deathly ill?
Over the course of the day, Hamilton’s curiosity regarding this book was piqued. He looked over at it, sitting on Laurens’ desk, all by its lonesome. Just a quick look wouldn’t hurt, right?
What was he thinking? Laurens was his friend . Hamilton could never betray his trust in that manner.
A flash of movement caught Hamilton’s eye as Laurens entered their shared tent. He watched as his friend quickly grabbed his sketchbook and shoved it in a drawer.
“Did you look at it?” Laurens asked accusingly.
“Certainly not,” Hamilton replied. “What has gotten into you, Jack? You know I would never rummage through your belongings.”
Laurens sat down on his cot and hid his face in his hands. “I know. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I do not wish for you to be upset with me.”
“Jack, why would I be upset with you?” Hamilton asked. “What is in the book?”
“I cannot say,” he stated.
“Why not?”
“Because if the General were to find out, I would be sent away in disgrace.”
“Jack, do you not trust me? Whatever is in the book, I would not tell another soul. But, if you insist on keeping this information to yourself, then will you at least calm down? I am not upset with you, and you need not avoid me.”
Laurens shook his head, his mind made up. He could not live with the weight of his secret for another moment. “No, I want you to see.”
He stood once more and made his way over to the desk, retrieving the book from its drawer. Now that he could be sure that Hamilton would not betray him to Washington, he was not as afraid for him to see the drawing that he had made the day before.
“Yesterday, I snuck away from the camp for some peace by the riverside,” he explained. “And I brought the book with me, should there be any wildlife in the area. There was a bluebird sitting on a nearby rock, so I began to sketch him. Then he flew away, and so did my thoughts. Instead of the bird, I had drawn this…” Laurens opened the book to the drawing of Hamilton from yesterday.
Hamilton was surprised, to say the least. He had not known what to expect when Laurens opened his sketchbook, but a drawing of himself was certainly not on the list of possibilities that he would have considered. Seeing this now, it was no wonder that Laurens had been on edge all morning. He can only imagine how his friend must have felt when he picked up the book that night. Hamilton would have been mortified if he had been in a similar situation.
It was a nice drawing. There was no denying that Laurens had talent. Hamilton had seen a few of his sketches in the past, turtles and birds mostly, but this was the first time that he had seen Laurens draw another person. And it was him. Undoubtedly so, no man who had seen his face could deny that he was the one depicted on the page before him. This was an especially impressive feat, as it was drawn without a reference. Hamilton had not sat for this portrait. It was simply drawn from memory.
Was this how Laurens pictured him in his mind? He was smiling, and he could see the sunlight reflected in his eyes. It was a flattering representation, if nothing else.
But why had Laurens drawn this? And why had he been so afraid that he had seen it before now?
“It is… me,” Hamilton said, breaking the silence a mere second before it would become uncomfortable.
“It is,” Laurens confirmed. “How do you feel about this?”
“I… I-uhm,” Hamilton stuttered.
The truth was, Hamilton did not know what to think of the drawing or what it could represent. While it was true that he admired Laurens, he had not considered that the feeling may be mutual. Although, it was entirely possible that he had just been too busy to notice…
“You hate it.” Laurens’ heart shattered as Hamilton continued to say nothing about his art.
Of course, he would not say anything. Any thought that Laurens might have had to suggest otherwise was nothing more than a fantasy.
He lowered the book in defeat and began to walk away.
“No, Jack wait. Come back,” Hamilton called after Laurens.
Hamilton caught his arm right as he was about to exit the tent.
Laurens’ heart raced as Hamilton began to speak.
“I don’t hate it. You know that I think all of your art is beautiful. I was merely surprised that you had drawn me.”
Laurens turned around to face the other man. “You are not upset with me for drawing it?”
Hamilton shook his head.
Looking into those violet-blue eyes, Laurens almost wished that he could let his guard down and confess his feelings. But there was yet a small part of him that did not trust that his friend would not tell the General.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell me, Jack?” Hamilton asked, noting the hesitant look on the taller man’s face.
Laurens swallowed hard and nodded. Perhaps it was time that Hamilton knew of his feelings.
He took a deep breath. “Yes Alexander, there is.”
Both men reentered the tent and sat down.
Laurens sat there on his bed and twiddled his thumbs nervously. He had been wanting for an opportunity to say this, but he had not thought of how he should say it.
Hamilton had never been an overly patient man. He nodded at Laurens, cueing him to continue whenever he was ready.
Eventually, Laurens decided that the best course of action would be to just say it directly.
“Alex, I…” he began, feeling his face blush scarlet. “I admire you.”
Was that it? Was that really the reason why Laurens had been so embarrassed to show him the book?
“I admire you as well, Jack,” he responded casually.
“No Alex, I admire you as one might admire a woman. One might even say that I… desire you.”
“Oh!”
To say that Hamilton was surprised would be an understatement. This entire time, he had assumed that his own feelings for Laurens would be considered too taboo to even discuss aloud. And to think that Laurens felt it too!
“I suppose that you are going to tell the General that you wish a new tentmate now, aren’t you,” Laurens said sadly.
Instead of giving Laurens a proper response, Hamilton stood and made his way to Laurens’ side of the tent. Once he was face-to-face with the taller man, Hamilton looked around to be completely certain that there was no one else around and kissed him.
Laurens completely froze as Hamilton’s lips made contact with his own. Out of every reaction that he could have predicted, any of them that involved Hamilton returning his feelings seemed too unlikely to even entertain.
After a second that lasted an eternity, Laurens realized that he was not reciprocating! Hamilton was kissing him, the man he had been in love with since the day they met, and he was just sitting on the bed like a dead fish!
Once Hamilton realized that Laurens had not been kissing him in return, he pulled back.
“I am sorry if I have overstepped,” he said.
Laurens gently shook his head. “You have not.”
“Then what is wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… I never imagined that you…”
“Neither did I. But then I met you, Jack. The day we met, I felt something that I never had before. And I never wish to feel anything else for the rest of my days.”
Laurens blinked away the tears that were forming in his eyes. “Nor do I. Alexander, I love you.”
Hamilton smiled, the sunlight streaming in through the open tent flap reflecting in his violet-blue eyes. “I love you too, Jack.”