Archive of Our Own

“You could find someone better,” Alexander laughed, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Find someone else to grow grey haired with.” His eyebrows raised and he smiled over at his boyfriend. He held onto the steering wheel and shrugged.

The air was cool outside, frost glistening on car windows and roofing tiles. A cold night in January, 2010, tucked away into their warm little silver PT cruiser. The heating was full blast, leaving the car grumbling with the effort to run. The street was quiet, which wasn’t unusual considering the temperature and time. Likely close to midnight, their faces illuminated by dim, flickering street lamps that reflected off the ice on the street. There’s moonlight, not bright, obstructed by clouds, but moonlight nonetheless. The stars are singing for them, all flickering and blinking like a beat, a rhythm.

“Sure, I could,” his partner answered and leaned over to plug in Alexander’s seatbelt with a smile. Alexander chased after him as he pulled away and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re just lucky I’ve got my heart set on growing old with you.” 

Alexander sighed and relaxed, listening to the low hum of the engine as it grumbled with effort to start. He could hear the other cursing under his breath and hitting the steering wheel softly, trying to egg the car on. And eventually, with a near silent splutter, the car trundled down the road - back towards Alexander’s apartment to be dropped off.

He found himself drifting off in his seat, small yawns between his lips as they passed down cobblestone streets and white picket fences. The epitome of suburban life. “Do you think we could ever end up in one of these houses?” Alexander asked sleepily, glancing over at the driver. He can imagine them both, a home together with a kid or two. 

He hummed and smiled, “yes. Yes, I think so. I can see it, can’t you?” Alexander just nodded in return and yawned again, smacking his lips together as he settled back in his seat. The quiet buzz of eighties music bopped away in the background, the soundtrack to their calm journey. To think, Alexander used to mock the others music taste - now he doesn’t think he could live without Somebody to Love and Paradise City playing wherever they go. Those two songs have played on every drive they’ve had, at least once each. Alexander could recite the lyrics in his sleep.

They only drove for another fifteen minutes before the car slowed to a stop outside an apartment building, one with a nice entrance and clean exterior. Alexander found himself being nudged awake, a whisper in his ear and a hand on his shoulder. “You’re home,” his boyfriend said, pecking his forehead. 

Alexander thanked him and stretched his arms above his head until his hands hit the car interior roof, a little worn from age. He opened the door and stepped out into the cold, shivering at the sudden draft of wind he was hit by. He closed the door and started to walk away when he heard the window roll down and - “hey, Lex!” Get shouted after him.

He turned around on his heel and raised an eyebrow, “huh..?” Faintly, there’s the thud of Slash’s guitar, volume way down so only wisps of it meet his ears. Alexander leaned a little back through the open window, and for a moment it’s just them. There’s no homes around them, just them, under streetlight, and Axel Rose’s vocals in the background - of course. It isn’t a mood ruiner, it’s a sense of familiarity. Like this is home.

“Am I not getting a goodbye kiss?” Alexander’s driver raised his eyebrow and chuckled, meeting Alex’s eyes. There’s a kind glint to them, an intelligence, or a fire. Alexander can never tell, but whatever it is, it’s warm. The feeling of sitting around a bonfire with friends, he got so deep into his imagination Alexander can practically hear the crickets and smell the crackling firewood. 

He chuckled and leaned over, through the open window more in order to be able to kiss his partner. “Goodnight, Thomas,” he smiled softly, love struck, dumb with it.

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

Alexander fiddles with a photo in hand. His knees started aching a long time ago, sweatpants worn from continuous wash and wear cycle. The green material doesn’t do much when you kneel in the same position for half an hour going through boxes and boxes of old things, deciding what to keep and what to toss. It’s the same apartment he’s lived in since college, it had been through so much with him, but it was time to go. If walls truly do have eyes, then Alexander’s could likely sue him for psychological damage. It’s going to be difficult, he knows that, leaving the place he had called home for so long. But his job prospects were beginning to grow, and he could afford himself a much nicer place, a bigger one, nearer to work. 

At first, his friend group had been there to help with the clearout, but since then, they had whittled away until only John remained. He stays to help - mainly because it’s his day off, and if he wasn’t helping, what did he have to do? Besides, Alexander had promised him a full breakfast the next morning for his assistance, and who was he to turn down an irresistible offer such as free food?

He leans over Alexander’ shoulder, watching his shaking fist as it clutches the creased edges of an old, polaroid picture. The edges are tattered from being crumpled in a cardboard box for years, but the faces are recognisable, and clearly hold some sort of sentimental weight for Alexander, as when John looks closer, there’s a steady flow of tears staining his cheeks. 

“You alright, man?” John asks, shifting next to him and looping an arm around his shoulders. He tugs his friend into a close hug, letting him regain himself in the crook of his neck. He rubs soft and slow circles on Alex’s back and gives him time. He wants to ask so desperately about the significance of the photo, because although he can make out faces, one of which Alexander - there’s something about the other he can’t quite pinpoint. Like he’s seen them before, but he can’t place it. “What’s wrong?”

Alexander shakes his head and clears his throat. HIs voice comes out sounding like he hasn’t been crying at all, a disturbing talent that leaves John pondering how many phone conversations they’ve had where Alexander had so expertly hidden that emotion like it was nothing. Maybe he should’ve gone into acting with that skill. “I’m fine, I just forgot all this stuff was here,” he wipes his nose on John’ shoulder - just to piss him off. 

John grimaces and flicks Alexander’s nose, as if he’s a dog that needs a telling off. “Who is it?” He asks, plucking another photo between his middle and index finger, examining the sun-faded image, as if it had previously been hung up near a window. He runs the pad of his thumb from his other hand across it as he conjures all past memories for it. Alexander certainly - he’s smiling wide, and he isn’t focused on the camera. His eyes are more leaned towards his company, who has one arm tangled around Alex’s waist, beaming like it’s the night of his life. The background is blurry, a house party from the looks of it. 

“Just an ex,” Alexander answers harshly, his personality does a full 180 and he snatches the photo (literally) from between John’s fingers. He holds his hands up in defense and chuckles. “Sorry, just- the two of us dated through college. It… it was nothing too serious.” He mutters and examines the picture, eyebrows knitting together with an unidentifiable emotion. 

“So, if it’s an ex… are we tossing all this shit?” John questions, gesturing into the box. Alexander jumps, visibly so, and leaps to his feet. Something - a bone or a joint somewhere - cracks as he does, but he ignores it. He rushes to fold the flaps of the box over and shakes his head.

“No! I’m keeping it, it’s college memories, you know?” Alexander starts his sentence with a hiss between his teeth and venom on his tongue, but it fades fast and a blush rises. Embarrassment, likely. 

“Yeah…” John chuckles and uses the sole of his foot to push the box towards Alexander, who scoops it up rather easily and drops it on his couch. It’s bare of cushions and due for the garbage dump. A cloud of dust spreads out from where the box hits, and John shoots Alexander a near disgusted look. Alexander laughs and shrugs. “Thank god you’re throwing that out,” he mumbles.

Most summers, Thomas would travel back to Virginia with James to see their families and generally fuck around without consequence. But not this year. No, he was too swamped with work for every class, and he had stupidly let all his assignments build up until now, with some due just days away. 

And so he sat down in a coffee shop, needing to get out of his apartments where the walls can hear him and the confinements feel like a prison cell. He tapped away on his keyboard, reaching for his mug and lifting it to his lips. He tipped the white ceramic up, then even further, until he finally realised it’s empty. He can’t be bothered getting up from his booth and leaving his on charge computer alone. But on the other hand - he needs something to drink.

In the middle of his internal debate, just as he’s started coming to his conclusion, a figure slid into the booth across from him and pushed another large mug of coffee across the table, along with two sugar packets. 

"Wha-" Thomas looked up, eyebrows raised. He's met with one Alexander Hamilton staring back at him, a fancy looking frappuccino in hand, the kind that's more cream and sugar than coffee. 

"Thank me later," Alexander muttered with a smile and took a long sip through his plastic straw. He shuddered, a chunk of ice hitting his tongue. He dumped his laptop bag on the table and pulled it out, flicking the screen open. He doesn’t acknowledge Thomas’ open mouthed surprise, merely glances over his screen and shoots another sheepish grin. Thomas took a sip from his drink before adding the sugar packets when he tasted bitter coffee. 

There’s another moment of silence only filled by gentle typing, the clacking of Alexander’s keyboard as he finished up an essay. Finally, “you’re staring at me.”

“What?” 

“You. You’re staring.”

“No I’m not.” Thomas put his mug down and shook his head. He had been staring. Right at Alexander over the rim of his mug, still in shock. Although he hadn’t expected Alex to call him out on it, and in all honesty he didn’t even know he had been looking. 

Alexander raised an eyebrow at him, gave him a look of speculation and went back to tapping away. But Thomas couldn’t stand the silence much longer, it was going right to his head, buzzing despite there being no words. “Okay well maybe I was staring a little bit, but can you blame me? You sit down and give me coffee and expect me to be okay with it?” He stumbled over his words, spewing them out so fast he can’t be sure if he even spoke in English. 

The other just laughed and shook his head. “Take it as a peace offering. And loosen up a little, you’re so tense.” Alexander took a massive, long slurp from his cup that at least let Thomas think.

“Right- thank you, Alexander.”

“You’re welcome, Thomas.”

A heaving hand helps him with his suitcases, the rest of his stuff loaded into a moving van already. After a nine hour flight from France back to New York, all Thomas wants to do is pass out. It’s two o’clock in the morning, he’s bundled up in a scarf, woolly hat and a winter coat - and the window is cold against his forehead. 

“Thomas,” James pushes his shoulder, sensing him drifting off. There’s dots of snow falling, so he flicks the windscreen wipers on, the noise seemingly helps wake his friend from his gentle sleep. “Back to your apartment?” He asks again, just as he has when he first picked Thomas up from the airport. To be fair, he has every right to be exhausted and jet-lagged. 

“Hmm?” Thomas hums and rubs his eyes under his glasses, knocking the frames askew on his nose. He doesn’t bother fixing them, just leans against the window again and nods. He craves bed, a warm meal and a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like sewer water. There’s a lot of things he wants.

Faintly, in the back of his mind he can hear James saying something, and the car starting up for the god-knows-how-long drive to his new apartment. He starts work in the next few days, once he’s all unpacked that is. Washington is an old family friend, so he had a little leverage there at least.

The window rattles as he leans against it, the same feeling when you rest against one in a bus as it’s moving. “Can anybody find me… somebody to love,” he mumbles along with the radio, unconsciously bobbing along slowly. It’s moments like this, with cold snow falling outside the car, heaters up full blast to thaw their icy fingers and toes, and the radio just loud enough to be heard over the struggling heaters, that Thomas allows himself to think. Let’s his mind wander and prod at dying embers until they light a fire at the bottom of his mind, filling up with smoke and beds of ash. So he does. He thinks, and he thinks, he thinks until there’s nothing left to think about, until the thoughts are reruns, until the daydreams are nothing more than short clips of days long past.

There’s another push on his shoulder, and he jumps awake, not even realising he’d fallen asleep against the window. “You feeling okay, Tom? You look half dead, and that’s saying something,” James’ voice is laced with concern, something that triggers a guttal reaction in him.

“Yeah I’m fine, sorry-“ he pauses to yawn, covering his mouth, “-I’m just tired.” There’s a ringing in his ears, and it takes him a long second to realise it’s James’ phone ringing. In fact he only notices as his friend holds up a hand in pause and answers the call. There’s muted mumbling on the other line, Thomas strains to hear it. There’s nothing of substance there. 

“Alright, yes, I’ll tell him, thank you,” James clicks his phone off and glances over at Thomas. Before he can say anything, he shakes his head. “I’ll tell you in the morning, don’t worry. Let’s get you inside and get some rest.” He pats Thomas’ shoulder and unbuckles both their seatbelts, does it for Thomas. He feels babied, infantilised, but he also feels like a kid who doesn’t really know what he’s doing, feels like he barely knows how to walk. 

Even still, he manages to get out of the car, stretches his arms as he stares at the house in front of him. Painted a gentle lilac, the houses on either side another soft sort of colour. Pinnacle of domesticity. And yet no one to share it with. No worries, he can make plenty due with a home to himself. 

“But I have to be sure! When I walk out that door! Oh, how I want to break free!” The singing is occupied by head bopping, as they danced around the kitchen stupidly. The radio kept steadily playing, the smell of something burning in the oven. 

“Shit! The cookies!” Alexander realised and leapt towards the oven door, shoving oven gloves on as he went. He hauls the food out, dropping the hot tray down on the countertop. It would be a lot more dramatic if not for the flour in his hair and the drying egg on his cheek. Equal amounts of flour, if not more, has made Thomas’ hair more salt than pepper. 

“Do you think they can be saved?” Thomas asked, peering over Alex’s shoulder. Sure enough, they’re blackening around the edges, looking more crunchy than chewy as they had hoped. He poked one with his pointed finger and recoiled almost immediately, shaking his hand. “Fuck-“ he actually had to laugh, “I didn’t think that through.”

“Dumbass,” Alexander mumbled, almost lovingly. “Do you need me to kiss it better?” He mocked with a smirk. He took Thomas by the wrist and examined his finger, scoffing. “We may need to amputate, get a scalpel.”

“Are you done making fun of me yet?” Thomas rolled his eyes and attempted to jerk his hand from Alex’s grip. But his boyfriend is strong and keeps his fingers around his wrist. He kissed the tip of Thomas’ finger, and only then does he release his wrist. 

Alexander shook his head with a laugh. “I’ll never stop making fun of you.” It’s true. They both know it, Alexander won’t stop. Thomas hopes he never will. Even still, he dipped his fingers into the bag of flour again and flicked it in Alex’s face, with his tongue out. A challenge, a war proposal in that apartment. “You’re on!”

Before either of them can even try to run, or surrender, call a truce, anything - there’s handfuls of flour being hurled across the kitchen at each other. At some point, Alexander grabbed an egg, ready to get back at Thomas for the one he had smashed on his cheek earlier. He tossed it much like you would a grenade, ducked and listened for Thomas’ shriek. “You got it in my hair!” The high pitched squeal sounded and Alexander laughed victoriously. He scooped more flour into his hand, from the pile that had landed at his feet from where Thomas had missed.

“Surrender now!” He threatened, holding the flour high over Thomas’ hair. Sure enough, there’s egg dripping down his forehead, the look in his eyes one of pure dismay. At some point during their war, he had sunk down to the floor, likely to make himself a smaller target, harder to hit.

And yet - “never!”

Alexander dropped the flour on top of him, good god that will be a pain to clean. But it doesn’t matter, because Thomas finally held his hands up in surrender and announced, “alright, alright, you win. I need to go take a shower.” He looked around his kitchen. “Dibs not cleaning it.”

“Damn it.”

Alexander hits a pack of papers off the desk and huffs heavily. According to Washington, a new employee is supposedly starting that day. He imagines the newbie in many different ways. They could be tall, dark and handsome. Or the opposite, maybe they’re short and pudgy around the edges. He doesn’t know who he’s imagining, different versions of the same people. All Alex knows is that the employee is a “he” and that “he” is excellent at his job. He places the paperwork, neatly sorted, on his desk and leaves his office. Alexander glances towards the main door, waiting. He’s been waiting all day, something in his gut keeps pestering him that he’s going to want to see who this new guy is.

When the door opens, the entrance screams regality, as if there should be a maid unravelling a red carpet at the man’s feet and tossing rose petals as he walks. James Madison leads, (and that’s strange in it of itself, to see James Madison leading, of all people,) behind him someone who fits Alex’s first prediction. Tall, dark and handsome. Chiselled jaw, curly hair and an outfit choice that suddenly makes him realise who he’s seeing. 

“ Shit, ” Alexander hisses under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit,” he clasps a hand across his mouth and turns his back, hoping he hasn’t been spotted. It’s been years, yet there’s a bad feeling swirling in his stomach, a rising bile creeps it’s way upwards. He shakes his head, why him? Good god, what had he done to deserve this?

“Alexander?” 

“Alexander?” The voice came a whisper, a calling of a siren that drew Alex in. He looked around the corner, where Thomas is kneeling, over a half packed suitcase and a ransacked bedroom. 

“You’re really leaving.” Alexander said softly, picking up a holey brown sweater. He poked a finger through a hole around the collar, rubbing the fabric between the pads of his fingers. He sighed and folded it over his arm, a keepsake. He knew Thomas would notice it being gone, he only ever really slept in the sweater anyway, or used it for lounging on the weekends.

“I told you. I have to go,” Thomas shoved another pair of shoes into the bottom of his suitcase, pushing them down with a sniffle. He wiped his nose, shook his head and looked up at Alexander. He’s wearing his glasses instead of contacts, peering up from his knees over thick black frames. His eyes are red, bloodshot, tear streaks down his cheeks. “I said you could come with me. You should come with me. You still can.” He mumbled.

Alexander sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t. I can’t leave the things I’ve built. I can’t sacrifice this. I thought you would understand that.” He rubbed his hand over the worn material of the sweater again, there's a desire that makes him want to smell the sweater, to think about the memories linked with that smell of old cologne, of dollar store shampoo, (which is Alexander’s, he’s worn that jumper so much it smells like his shampoo too) and of Thomas’ own expensive body shop one. There’s a hint of hand cream, vanilla, but he can’t smell it right now. He hoped Thomas wouldn’t notice him taking it. 

“Sacrifice this? What even is this?!” Thomas threw his hands into the air, the mismatched sock he had been clutching going flying into the air with the swift movement. “You’re so worried about leaving behind some- some dead end job and a degree you still haven’t used! We could build the life we always wanted together, whilst working the jobs we’ve dreamed of!” He rubbed a hand across his face and slumped a bit.

Alexander swallowed the frog sized lump in his throat. His usual vocabulary settled like a stone in his stomach, until it forced the words to scramble up his throat. “This is my home, Thomas. I can’t leave it behind for you.”

“This is my house too,” his voice is so small sounding, so quiet and heartbroken. The stone in his stomach swells to a boulder, suffocating him from the inside out. “But here was never my home. My home was always with you. I thought you felt the same. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Tommy, come on-”

“I think you should leave me to pack.”

“Yes, Mr Madison?” Alexander swallows and spins on his heel. He sees himself face to face with James Madison, a certain man looms over the smallers’ shoulder, avoids all eye contact with Alexander, in fact he ignores his presence all together. 

Madison laughs, the sound straight from the bottom of the earth, a rising sound that vibrates with joy off the walls. “No need for the sudden formalities, I thought I should introduce you to our newest addition to the department first, as you’ll be working so closely.” He waves a hand vaguely over his shoulder to attract the attention of the other. “Alexander, meet Mr Thomas Jefferson.”

Thomas bares a white smile, all teeth and no real emotion behind it. Very fake. He extends a hand, “Mr Hamilton, pleasure to meet you. Jemmy told me a lot about you on the drive here. I look forward to working with you.”

Alexander took his hand and shook it briskly. “You’ve got a good handshake on you, Mr Jefferson. The pleasure is all mine.” He looks Thomas up and down. He sure has changed in the years. He remembers this dorky, sweet nerd type who you’d trust to watch your drink at a bar. All childish giggles and Star Wars references, all raising the radio volume on Queen songs and thick framed glasses in the mornings and evenings. Now? Less the guy watching the drink, more the bouncer outside the club to begin with. The kind that stops everyone who looks under 21 in any way, shape or form. 

“Tom? We should introduce you to everyone else,” James stops Alexander’s thoughts dead in their tracks. Thomas drops his hand and nods. James beckons with a finger and nods down the hall. He begins walking, and Thomas follows right after him, polished shoes tapping off the shiny flooring. 

Alexander waits for both of them to round the corner, Thomas’ stupid, flouncy hair bouncing as he dances down the hallway. “Tom?” He repeats to himself, shuddering. He hates how he’s running over that word. A nickname between friends… or a pet name? He has no right to be jealous, no right at all. It’s been years. It’s been years.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. He sparsely thinks, right in the back of his mind, that he should’ve dressed better for today. 

He spun in a circle and waved his arms about. Thomas laughed, sat back in his chair and jutted his tongue out at Alexander, poking it between his lips. “You look good in green,” he winked. It’s an emerald green sweater he’d stolen from Thomas’ closet, both of their favourites. Thomas said it was his favourite colour, and in turn it overtook navy blue for Alexander too. Whenever he looks at that specific shade, he thinks of cuddling in winter, he thinks of picnics in spring, he thinks of sweaters tied around waists in summer, he thinks of white shirt collars poking out from underneath the jumper in autumn. He thinks of Thomas.

“Why thank you, Mr Jefferson,” Alexander tightened the hair-tie holding his ponytail back. Then he jumped, clapped his hands and smiled. Thomas loved that smile. Every star in the night sky or every fish in the sea - none of that beauty compared to the smile Alexander shows him. “I have something to give you!” He squealed and rushed back towards their bedroom, the sleeves on the sweater slipping down as he went. 

Thomas laughed and sat back in his seat, fingering the book pages on the table next to him. Sitting there is a lamp, on a low, glowing yellow light illuminating the dim room, and a tattered copy of The Hobbit. Read and reread many times, the page corners are ripped and folding over each other from when Thomas never had a bookmark. He picked a bit of paper off the front cover, and turned when he heard Alex’s telltale thudding footsteps coming towards him.

“Here!” From behind his back, Alexander produced a large magenta shawl. The colour is garnish, truly an eyesore. It’s perfect. Alex wrapped it around Thomas’ shoulders, that giddy smile still painted across his cheeks. “It suits you.”

“It’s disgusting,” Thomas pulled it tighter around himself, smiled up at Alexander and laughed. “I love it.” A few moments of hesitation, and Alex found himself plopping down on the arm of the armchair, leaning his head on Thomas’ shoulder and fiddling with the magenta fabric. 

He hummed, absentmindedly. “Is that a Queen song?” Alexander asked, pausing his humming to speak. Thomas merely nodded and gestured for him to continue. He’d been mouthing the lyrics the whole time anyway. “You’ve forced me to listen to their entire discography, I’m subconsciously humming their songs now.”

“Sounds like you enjoy the music,” Thomas mumbled and kissed the top of his head, ruffling his hair. 

Thomas flicks his fingers after washing them in the bathroom sink. The hot water tap was too hot, and the cold one chilling, without a good middle ground. He notes the information in his head, useless but interesting to him. He dries his hands with rough blue paper towels and tosses them in a grey bin. The countertops that the sinks are in is made of blue and green spotted marble - some of it streaked with the foamy hand soap. The sinks themselves are white ceramic with shiny silver taps. The mirrors are dirty, like they haven’t been cleaned all week, streaked with dried water and again - soap. 

James had dragged him around the office, forcing him to make pleasant small-talk and shake more hands than he was comfortable with. After a while of standing awkwardly in the break room, listening into conversations he wasn’t a part of and drinking decaf coffee that’s stark cold, Thomas has managed to slip away, and that’s how he found himself in the bathroom.

He grips the countertop, white knuckled as he takes a deep breath. Working up courage, he rolls back his shoulders and glances in the mirror. His hair is a little manic, which he fixes with the help of some water and smoothing the curls down over and over. He shakes his head, wipes his eyes to wake himself up a little and saunters out the bathroom. 

“Tom?” James’ voice is right in front of him, “you have a meeting in twenty minutes, Washington sent out an email while you were in the bathroom. Conference room,” he glances down at his watch, black and shiny, well kept. 

Thomas nods, “alright. And the conference room is..?” There’s a laugh, a little shake of a head and a hand on his shoulder as James feeds him the directions to the conference room. He takes it all in, forms a little mental map about which corridors he needs. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, Alexander paces back and forth in his office, thinking again and again of their last time together. When Thomas had stared at him from across the airport, when he had turned his back on him for the last time. 

“I’m glad you let me come with you,” Alexander said quickly. They stood together, the other not knowing Alex had purchased a ticket. He had no plans of getting on the plane, but he wanted to come with Thomas as far as he could. He bought the cheapest ticket possible, just to get through all the gates. Maybe they could work this long distance. 

“You’re not coming with me,” Thomas sighed and shook his head, curls flying limp. “You’re not coming are you? You’re coming to the airport, and that’s it. So we can end this properly.” 

Maybe not long distance. 

“Right,” Alexander smacked his lips before catching the bottom one between his teeth, rolling it back and forth. He quickly grabbed Thomas’ hand, threading his fingers with his. Thomas doesn’t hold his hand back, just keeps it limp and lets Alex grip it.  

Thomas clutched the handle to his suitcase even tighter. “You should go now, you don’t get through security without a ticket,” he yanked his hand out of Alexander’s and turned on a poised heel, heading towards the oddly short queue. Alex watched him go, questioning if he should’ve come this far at all. Thomas was right, he normally was, there was no hope for them. Not anymore. 

He left the airport, hung back for a taxi, and twenty minutes later one finally showed up for him. Alexander opened the door and paused. He couldn’t do this. There was no way he could turn around and let Thomas leave on this note. He couldn’t live with the weight on his shoulders, the weight of not even a goodbye. Not without closure.

He felt like a movie protagonist; chasing his love interest through the airport and demanding they stay off the plane. After a rush through security, fumbling with passport and boarding pass just to get into the actual airport. He almost distracted himself with Duty Free, but remembered what he was really here for. Thomas. 

Alexander nearly tripped over himself, scrambling towards the seating area for Thomas’ flight. And there he is, hunched over, seeming much smaller than he really is. He’s reading something, earphones plugged into his phone. Alex can see his head nodding along to the tune, and briefly smiled - cute.

Seemingly, he had a sixth sense and looked up from his book, met with the face of a stunned Alexander Hamilton just ten feet away, shuffling foot to foot and sweating just a little bit. Thomas snapped his book closed and tucked it into his carry on luggage - this was ridiculous! He stood, shoving his headphones into his pocket, no longer concerned if they got tangled into knots or not. He walked over to Alexander, the announcement over the loudspeaker that his plane was not available for boarding sounding as he did. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed, looking over at his shoulder. He had wanted to be close to the front of the line, get out of America before he even had the chance to think about Alexander again. This whole encounter was throwing a serious wrench in those plans. 

Alexander didn’t say anything, just looked up at Thomas. He seemed shocked, even now. When he had no right to be surprised at all, if anyone does it’s Thomas. What kind of a person comes chasing after someone in an airport! It’s not romantic, or impressive, it’s just a nuisance and a waste of a perfectly good plane ticket.

He voiced these opinions, “I asked you a question! I mean what in your right mind made you think this was a good idea? Whether you show up to the airport or not I’m leaving and someone chasing after me like a fucking movie character won’t change that. I mean, are you insane! Have you lost your damn mind-“ Thomas was still talking when Alexander stopped listening, just wrapped his arms around his middle and pressed his ear to his chest.

“I needed to say a proper goodbye,” he mumbled into his shirt, “I couldn’t let you leave without a goodbye.” He sniffed. “Don’t go-“

Thomas roughly shoved Alexander off, he rubbed a hand across his face with a heaving sigh, one that stuttered right out his chest. “I’m going, Lex. There’s nothing for me here, we both know that.” 

“What about me? Am I not something to stay for?”

“Am I not something to leave for?”

Alexander fell silent and watched, almost crying, as Thomas grabbed his carry-on luggage and walked towards the depleting line.

“Final call for Flight 108 to Lyon, France,” the scratchy tannoy sounded, and then repeated itself in a multitude of different languages.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

Thomas sits silently through the meeting, takes this opportunity to listen carefully and make notes on how everyone acts. He takes notes, and makes it look like he’s scribbling down things going on in the meeting, instead he’s writing down people’s initials and making lists of their attributes. 

Just before it comes to a close he hears Washington stand and call his name, asking for an introduction. Thomas glances up and reluctantly stands. His heart explodes in his ears at the expectation to speak off-script. He clears his throat and glances around the room - he meets Alexander’s eyeline who just glares at him. 

“Well, I’m Thomas Jefferson, I lived in France before this and I’m really looking forward to working with all of you,” he smiles, looks over at Washington who nods; like it’s an agreement that he can sit now. So he does, taking that opportunity to relax and let his mind run over the new information it soaked up like a sponge. 

There’s a small round of applause, a distinct announcement that the meeting is adjourned, and a horrendous symphony of scraping chairs against wooden flooring erupts through the room. Several other people wince, himself and Hamilton just two of the many who wish to clamp their hands over their ears and block it out. He passes Alexander on his way out into the hall, they nod at each other respectfully, although Hamilton’s gaze is full of hell-fire. Thomas shudders. 

He spins in his desk chair, once, twice, three times, and smiles. Thomas is a bit like a big child, finding joy in spinny chairs and cool pens. Like the ones he keeps on his desk, he had set it up as soon as the meeting had ended. Pens that all had black, blue, or red ink, but were done up with feathers on the end, little crowns, one even made to look like a toucan on the end. There’s a single, glitter gel pen mixed in with the bunch, he knows because he almost signed his first ever document for the company with it. He noticed before it was too late, thank god. Of course, he had a simple biro for actually signing things, but he liked the look of the other pens. 

The door bursts open, “these are for you.” A hand slaps some papers down on his desk, and Thomas glances up to Alexander walking away.

“Hamilton?”

“What?” He spits.

“Stay.” It’s a plea between his lips, and Thomas grabbed at Alexander’s sleeve, tugging him back into him. Alexander giggled and rested back against Thomas’s chest, shaking his head. He laughed again, and Thomas felt him shaking with it.

“You know I have to go,” he sighed and turned, going up on his toes to kiss Thomas on the cheek. He straightened the others collar while he was there, folding it neater. “Besides,” another kiss to his cheek, “John’ll be wondering where I went off to.”

“Let him wonder,” Thomas muttered, doing his best to convince Alexander to stay. He pulled all his tricks out the box, winding himself around him like ivy to a house.

But despite his best efforts, Alexander wormed out his grasp and chuckled. “As much as I’d love to,” he shook his head and patted Thomas’ cheek, almost consolidating him, “I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow instead, okay?”

“Fine,” Thomas mumbled and scuffed his foot against the floor, he peaked up at Alexander, smiling. “Go then, you almost look like you want to stay.”

“I do want to stay,” Alexander opened the front door properly and yawned. “But I can’t. Buh-bye, Tommy, love you.” He leapt out the door and slammed it behind him before Thomas had the chance to say anything back. 

“Love you too.”

“Take a seat,” Thomas gestures across his desk to the chair opposite him. He notices Alex’s eyes drifting across the pot of pens, a scoff breaking the silence almost accidentally. Although it takes a second, Alexander complies, dropping into the seat as if he wants to be anywhere other than here. 

“What do you want?” He picks at his fingernails, glaring at Thomas without a shred of remorse. All previous plans of civility fade away. No, Alexander has listened to James Madison of all people call Thomas “Tom,” which wasn’t right, that was his name for Thomas. No one else’s. He has no right to be jealous, no right to be this hung up. He has been so sure he had moved on, and yet when the man sauntered right back into his life, all those years came crashing over him like a tsunami. Crushing him under the weight of their emotional baggage. So he’ll block Thomas out, shut the metaphorical door in his face. 

Thomas raises both his eyebrows in a moment of surprise, and Alexander remembers it fondly. He had made the same expression once at the zoo together, when the meerkats had started chasing each other, and again at dinner the same night, when reading the bill. “How harsh.”

“What is it, Jefferson?” Alex softens his tone, his secondary plan crumbling as fast as the first. He can’t help it, not when Thomas folds his fingers together on the desk, not when he’s wearing a suit the colour Alexander introduced to him, not when he’s got this weirdly cute confused expression. And certainly not when he speaks. 

“I wanted to… break the ice, as it were. I know there’s a lot between us; and I know I hurt you, but I wanted to say sorry.” Alex sits in wait for Thomas to finish, let’s him get the apology out. It’s abundantly clear he has something else to say, and he begins to speak again, but Alexander isn’t patient, they both know that.

“Cut the crap, Thomas,” he spits and regains himself, he fixes the green sleeves of his jacket. His plans keep falling apart, the rotten pieces of them slipping between his fingers. He fiddles with his cufflinks. “Listen, it was a long time ago, I’m sure we can be professional.”

“Right, yes, professional.” Thomas clears his throat and plucks a pen out the container. It’s rose gold with a little silver crown on the end. He flicks it back and forth between his fingers before smiling a little. He thinks about the crowns in every Christmas cracker the two ever pulled, thinks of how Alexander never failed to jump at the pop they made when yanked apart. About how when the laughter settled in, it was hard to stop - how they’d tell the bad jokes with such enthusiasm it didn’t matter how shitty they were. He thinks of how he’d show Alexander how to solve every magic trick or puzzle, how he’d insist on keeping the useless measuring tapes because “he’d use them eventually!” (They never got used.)

“Yeah. We can get along. I mean, you’re with James now, right? Which is cool, it’s cool.” Alexander interrupts his thinking, words slicing through the comfortable silence like a sharp knife. In all truth, he hopes the answer will be yes. He wants Thomas to be with someone, wants him to have moved on. Because if he has, then Alexander has the chance to feel ridiculous for not moving on yet - this could be the kick in the teeth he needs. 

Instead, Thomas laughs - “me and James? God, no, Alexander he’s married! ” He shakes his head and chuckles for a bit longer, getting it all out in one. “James is my best friend, and he’s married to my other best friend. Where on Earth did you get that idea from?” Thomas raises an eyebrow again, a wide smile across his cheeks. He’s clearly amused, the same expression as when he hits an interesting part of a book, or the rare times Alexander would catch him filling in the newspaper crossword and complete it. That joy at the little things kind of smile. It warms Alexander from his toes to the tips of his ears and he hates it, because now he’ll be thinking about that smile when he tries to sleep. 

“I dunno-” Alexander kicks into full defense, swallowing thickly. “I just assumed! I mean- he called you Tom and I’m the only one who calls you that.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Alexander, I’d say you're jealous.” Thomas smirks at him, dastardly. God that bastard, he keeps wandering into Alex’s head, dumping piles of happy memories on top of him. He needs to remember, Thomas left him. Thomas left him behind in America for coffee shops in France, for a job, for looking out at the sunset and knowing Alexander was nine hours away. 

Alexander scoffs, “jealous? Of what? Your friendship with James? Oh, please. Don’t be so egocentric.”

Thomas visibly softens and sighs, slumping a little in his chair like all the tension is melting out of him. He tips his head back until he’s staring into the light and finally mumbles his words. “Do you know how hard it was to get on that plane?”

“Oh- we don’t need to talk about this.” Alexander quickly rushes in. He can think about it, can think of how Thomas walked away and left their life behind. It’s easier to think of it from just his perspective - it was harder to face his own faults in the situation. He’d seen Thomas get on the plane, he could still remember the hard look on his face, still feels the pain in his chest, striking, the same he’d felt when Thomas pushed him off for the last time. He truly never thought he’d have to face him again, not after embarrassing himself at the gate.

“I want to,” Thomas interjects. He takes a deep sigh, “it was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.” He’s quiet, like he doesn’t want anyone passing by to hear. “But I had to, the opportunity was too good to pass up. I really thought I could convince you to come with me.” He sighs.

“I told you - I wasn’t ready to leave America for France.” Alexander shakes his head. He had a feeling that wasn’t what Thomas wanted to hear, as he snapped his head back down and stared him out.

“It was never about France versus America,” he shakes his head and places the pen back on the desk, “it wasn’t about that. It was about trust, if you’d follow me to the ends of the earth like you said you would, if you’d support me no matter what like you said you would.”

“I’ll support you no matter what you choose to do,” the both of them stared over the letter. Thomas’s hands shook as he clutched the paper.

He’d been offered his dream job, which should’ve excited him. And it did, it sent tingles down his spine, everything he’d ever wanted was coming together at last. Or so he thought. The job was in France, and neither Thomas nor Alexander were there. If he wanted to take he would have to move countries, and were they prepared for that sort of commitment? They didn’t even live together in the US! Sure, Alexander practically lived at Thomas’s apartment, but it was nothing official. It was just pure coincidence that he had a toothbrush there and tended to leave a baggie of clothes every once in a while.

“I dunno if I’m gonna take it,” Thomas folded the top of the letter, smoothing his finger over the crease it creates. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and rolled it back and forth.

“What? Why not! Tom, it’s your dream job!” Alexander shook his head, Thomas was being crazy. Why wouldn’t he take it! Sure, it was in France, but he knew they would do long distance.

“Lex, it's in France. Are you really sure you’d be okay with that?” Thomas had a clear picture of both of them on the plane, both of them in France. Not long distance. Alexander had always said he’d love to travel the world together.

“Of course! Go for it! Do it!”

Thomas smiled. “Alright, I’ll email them tonight. I’ll take the job!” This was going to be amazing, he could do it in France, complete his plan there instead of at some restaurant in bustling New York. How romantic!

Alexander beamed back at him. This would be difficult, but he knew they could make long distance work.

“I was going to propose,” Thomas looks over at Alexander, who stares at him, stunned by the words. “In France-” he continues, “-I was going to ask you to marry me. But when you never got on the plane, I gave up. Pawned the ring off at the first shop I found.” He glances down at his feet and sighs. “I had it in my pocket through the airport, I guess a part of me believed I’d be able to convince you to get a later plane, or buy an emergency ticket on my flight. I was naive.”

They could’ve been married by now, they could’ve been married by now, they could’ve been married by now- “I would’ve said yes.”

“What?”

“Yes. I would’ve said yes,” Alexander repeats himself with the same confidence he always has. “It would’ve been hard to say no to, a proposal in France. And no matter where you asked, I always would’ve said yes. You could’ve proposed while I was taking the trash out and it would’ve been the most romantic day of my life.” He finishes and fidgets with his fingers, the only sign of his well-hidden nerves.

“Well,” Thomas clears his throat, “that’s certainly nice to hear.” He glances over at the door. “You can go now, I think I’ve said enough.”

“Tom-”

“I said you can go, Alexander. I have work to do,” he waves his hand over the paperwork Alexander had dropped on his desk. The other man stands and leaves.

“We should name our kid Freddie or Axel.”

Alexander looked up from his laptop to glare at Thomas, whose eyes are still fixed on the pages of his book. He sat straighter in bed and flicked his lamp back on. They have lamps on both sides of the bed. This technically isn’t Alex’s bed, or bedroom, since they never officially moved in together. He folded his glasses and placed them on the bedside stand. 

“We are not naming our future children after your rock idols,” he deadpanned and shook his head. How ridiculous could Thomas get? And the way he was so nonchalant, not even looking up from the seemingly captivating words of Ready Player One. It’s barely eleven o’clock at night, but everything seems like a hazy dream.

Thomas scoffed. “Why not? They’re cool names,” he muttered and folded the corner of his page to mark his place. He knew Alexander hated it, always nagged him to use a bookmark, or even just put a scrap of paper in there. Alex’s hatred only fuelled Thomas to do it more out of spite.

“And what if we have a girl?” They spoke of this as though one of them were pregnant, but of course that wasn’t true. The statement had come out of the blue to begin with, having the two of them been sitting in comfortable silence for the better part of half an hour. 

“I guess that’s your choice to decide,” Thomas shrugged and closed his book with a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head and fixed the hem of his tank top. Alexander would mock him insistently when they first began dating, that the mighty Thomas Jefferson slept in gym shorts and a bright orange tank top. That stopped when Thomas pointed out Alex’s usual night attire consisting of a stolen shirt from him, and frayed pyjama pants. Neither took great care in pyjamas. 

Alexander hummed as if deep in thought, “I never thought about it. Give me an hour and I’ll get back to you.” He flicked his gaze to Thomas who groaned and shook his head. He sunk down under the covers, pulling them up to his ears and over his head so his face poked out like a cave.

“Wake me up when you decide,” he yawned, tossing one arm haphazardly over Alexander’s lap.

“Sleep well, Tom,” Alexander reached over him to click his lamp off, and then did the same on his side. He even turned the brightness all the way down on his laptop to stop eye strain, and let Thomas drift off easier. And it worked, he clicked his keyboard a few more times before soft snores dragged his attention away from baby name research. 

Alex smiled and ghosted his fingers over Thomas’ forehead, smoothing out stress lines with the pads of his fingers. He fidgeted. They’d never had a proper conversation about their future. Sure, there’d been the odd talk to moving in, moving out, marriage and the far future. They’d been taking everything as it came, rolling with each punch. Alexander can't be sure if he wanted to keep going that way.

He sighed and patted the top of Thomas’ head gently, hidden by the duvet. He snapped the top of his laptop shut, slid it onto the floor and wrapped his arms around Thomas to hold him. It’s warm, comforting against his strangely (always) cold skin. 

He sleeps sound. 

Alexander doesn’t leave work until midnight. He knows he’s been there too long, but at one moment it was seven o’clock at night, the time he’s supposed to leave, but he still has a pile of paperwork and a dozen emails to answer - the next his phone clock changes date and he curses under his breath. He spends so much time inside the office, Washington gave him the spare key to the front door - entrusting him with locking up when needed. 

He rakes a hand through his hair and shuts off his computer, yawning. The blue light has his eyes burning as the screen illuminates one last time before flickering to darkness. Alexander collects his things, does a once over to make sure everything he needs is in his pockets and bag, before leaving the building, locking the door behind him. It’s no surprise that he walks outside to an empty car park, only his car left in its space. It’s the thing of horror movies, the streets covered in a low level of fog, misting things up just that little bit. 

Alex clicks the button on his car keys, watches the orange light flash signifying the doors unlocking and smiles a bit. The sound is pleasant, echoes in the darkness. He gets in the car and starts up immediately, he doesn’t wish to sit in the dark of New York any longer, in a city like that in the middle of the night? Only bad things come to those who wait. 

The radio kicks in as he’s pulling out his space, a song just finishing up, and the tired voice of the live presenter pipes up. Alexander pays them no attention, just turns the corner. He subconsciously hums along to the next song, bopping his head. Then he pauses in his mind, he recognises this song all too well. “Can anybody find me… somebody to love?”

He slams the breaks in the middle of the road, stopping with such an abrupt jolt he flies forward, thankful he remembered his seatbelt this time. Alexander pulls the steering wheel and parks at the side of the road, heart thudding hard against his rib cage. He can’t help it, he’s heard the song plenty of times without Thomas. But Thomas is back in his life now, he’s back and he’s here to stay, and it all comes rushing back like rapids. 

For the first time in a very long time, Alexander doesn’t know what to do. He flicks the radio off, but the silence leaves his thoughts free to roam. And roam they most certainly do. His train of thought crashes and burns before it even leaves the station and he slams his head off the steering wheel. He groans, “this is ridiculous.” 

He doesn’t know what he wants. He really doesn’t. He wants a hug, he wants the warm embrace of being swaddled in blankets, he wants Thomas.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, slams into him like a tsunami. He wants Thomas. He wants Thomas back. He wants to be with him again, wants to lean against him and share the warmth. He really shouldn’t miss him so much, it’s not fair. He feels almost sick to his stomach, breathing in time with the music in the background. It’s the soundtrack to his entire adult life, he could link a thousand happy moments to these songs, to these overused, popular rock songs. It’s ridiculous, the inside jokes, the fun moments, the ones they made up to. 

“You can slow dance to anything if you’re brave enough.” Thomas had his hands on Alex’s waist, and they swayed together. The statement is true, technically.

“Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” Alexander replied with a low mutter, leaning his head against Thomas’ chest and yawned. They’re both in pyjamas, and it's way too late for them to still be awake, but they had finally made up after a pointless fight, and they weren’t ready to sleep. He was still a little bit salty, forever stubborn in his ways.

Thomas lifted his hands and went to step away, “then we can just go to bed.” He shrugged as if it didn’t bother him.

Alexander wrapped his arms back around Thomas and shook his head. “Let’s wait until the song is over,” he murmured, and Thomas understood. He knew what he meant, knew he meant it like an apology, that he meant it like he was dropping his walls again. 

Thomas kissed his forehead. “Good idea, I like that plan.”

Thomas is up at midnight, sitting at his kitchen table, nursing a coffee and thinking. Thinking about Alexander. God damn the man. Making his way back into his mind without permission and building a little wooden home for himself, sitting right down in the forefront of his head, constantly. He was all Thomas could really think about, for years. Everything he made he wondered if Alexander would enjoy it, everything he said he wondered how Alexander would respond. He barely enjoyed his time in France, the years going by like a blur, all the while he thought of Alexander. It wasn’t fair how that small, arrogant, loud-mouthed bother had sauntered right back into his life, after breaking his heart, and simply refused to leave. Popping back up like a weed every time he was yanked out the ground.

He sighs and tunes back into the radio steadily throwing tunes into the room. He hums along subconsciously, wonders if anyone else is listening to the same song, on the same line. He imagines what they look like, long brown hair, deep brown eyes, short facial hair and a pretty smile. Thomas sees green, the colour green. Not like grass, or leaves, but like emeralds. Like a sparkling gem in the rough.

It takes him a few moments before he realises he’s still thinking about Alexander. He realises why when he tunes into the radio properly. Queen. The soundtrack of their relationship. 

Thomas wishes he had done more, done more to save that relationship. Those best years of his life, the best relationship he’d ever had. And he misses it. More than he should. He misses those petty arguments, those “make-up after a disagreement” hugs, those long nights. He misses watching snow fall together from inside (neither enjoyed the cold), he misses baking, cooking, misses food fights. And he lost it all, he couldn’t convince Alexander to come with him, and he couldn’t convince himself to stay.

“God, you sleep like the dead.”

“Huh..?” 

Thomas stirred, slowly cracking his eyes open. He groaned when sunlight peeked through the blinds and shone onto his face. He stared up at Alexander, leaning over his face. He had been poked awake, pinched until he had finally woken up.

“You sleep. Like the dead,” Alexander repeated with a chuckle, watching Thomas roll over again.

“Shut up.”

Alexander doesn’t know how he got here. Well he does, sort of. He had called Madison - who had gotten very mad when he was woken up close to one o’clock in the morning - and asked for Jefferson’s new address under the guise that he had another document for him to sign. James had reluctantly given it up, demanding that he never call after work hours ever again. Alexander had agreed.

But now here he was, hand raised to knock on Thomas’ front door. He swallows shallowly, lowers his hand. What is he thinking? It’s late, he doesn’t want to wake Thomas up. Although, his knocking likely won’t be loud enough to wake him up. He scoffs.

“Who's there?” Alexander jumps at the voice and turns to the still closed door. He must’ve been standing there for too long, and Thomas must’ve noticed his silhouette through the window. 

“Uh- it’s Hamilton!” Alexander calls back, leaning a little closer to the letterbox. He must look insane, standing out in the freezing dead of night. But he doesn’t care. There’s a sliding lock, the click of a key and the door opens.

Thomas looks down at Alexander, sleepy, and raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here, Alexander?” He runs a hand through his hair, pulls the curls back and yawns. It’s so late, moonlight showing the dark shadows under Alexander’s cheekbones, emphasising his eye bags. He watches Alex rub his eyes and yawn.

“I…” he shrugs, suit crumpling and creasing. “I don’t know.” He answers rather simply, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks over Thomas’ shoulder, watches the flickering light in his hallway. “It's cold.” He adds weakly. 

“It is cold,” Thomas agrees, shuddering in the doorway. “Here, come inside,” he stands aside, holds the door open wider and let's Alex step inside. It’s so strange. He’d just been thinking about Alexander, wondering what would happen if the man turned up at his door, and now here he is! In his house, toeing off his shoes and turning to meet Thomas’ eyes. 

“Thanks,” Alexander breathes and nods, his voice shaking as he speaks. “I, uh-“ he peels his jacket off and folds it over his arm, and Thomas’ mouth dries. He looks away. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

Thomas smiles, “I never asked.” He shuts the door, turning his back to Alexander. As soon as he does he hears the man shuffling around, seemingly hanging his jacket on a hook and kicking his shoes into the corner. 

“Why are you so…” Alexander trails off, speaking as Thomas turns back around. He’s tying his hair back into a ponytail, one that Thomas remembers from their relationship. It’s a nostalgia trip, throwing him in waves of the past. 

“Why am I so what?” Thomas raises both eyebrows, that stupid, stupid, perfect face fitting to confusion and… smugness. Constant smugness. “Amazing?”

“Annoying.” 

“Ouch, and to think you knocked on my door this late at night.” Thomas breezes past Alexander and pushes his kitchen door open, hums as he moves, glides across the ground with graceful steps, almost like he’s flying. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just a tea, pep-“

“Peppermint, it’s your favourite. I remember,” Thomas smiles at him and watches Alexander hang around in the doorway, before sitting down at the rectangular dining table. 

“You have a good memory, Tom,” Alexander takes the mug when it’s handed to him, holds it with both hands and blows away some of the steam. “I didn’t think you’d like peppermint.”

“You got me hooked, Lex,” they both use their old nicknames and smile at each other. For a moment, Alexander looks into Thomas’ eyes and sees the same sparkle he remembers. The way they used to look at each other, like the very ground they stand on could crumble and fall, and none of it would matter - they have each other. 

Alexander runs his fingers through his hair and considers how much it needs to be trimmed. “I’m glad you showed up,” Thomas’ voice breaks his thoughts, scatters them across the kitchen floors like shattered glass. “I was listening to Queen alone.”

He laughs and nods, dropping his head a little to stare into his tea. He dips his pinky in, cool enough to do so. “Same, that’s actually what got me here. I can’t stop thinking about you, you pretentious bastard.”

“And here I was thinking you didn’t know why you were here,” Thomas teases, the way they used to all the time. The glances, wiggling fingers and laughs that lick round the end of their words. It really takes him back, to the point where he wants nothing more than to push his chair out and wrap himself back up in Thomas’ arms. 

“I missed you,” Alex admits and chews on his bottom lip. He was terrified to admit it, to say it out loud. To get everything out on the table, there’s nowhere left to hide. He can’t run, or duck from the truth anymore. 

Thomas turns to him. “I miss you.” 

Alex flushes. He’s pushing out his chair before he can even think, before anything else comes to mind. His nerve endings tingle, every hair on his body stands on end. He can’t think of anything, can’t feel how his legs turn to jelly when Thomas wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him in, can’t find a clear path when he tilts his chin up, the only thing he can feel is Thomas’ hand on his hip, the other on the small of his back and the scrape of his stubble against his chin. It’s just as good as every other kiss. There are no fireworks, there’s no royal decree or trumpets, or celebration. It’s like the beginning of a new chapter, the first words of a sequel. 

Thomas presses his forehead against Alexander’s and exhales. “I missed you.” He says again. But it’s past tense, like he has Alexander back now. There’s no reason to miss.

“Thanks for letting me inside,” Alexander smiles and kisses the corner of Thomas’ mouth, presses his finger into the dimple on his left cheek. “I’m so tired,” he laughs, leans back and rests his head on Thomas’ shoulder with a gentle exhale. 

“Come on, you can steal one of my hoodies again.” They fall back into their old pattern. And this time they can learn from their old mistakes, there’ll be no running away, no more hidden meanings.

“You’ve convinced me.”