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He always appeared to be the quietest boy in the classroom. Never talking without permission, never raising a hand, never interrupting. The only noise he ever produced was the screeching of his old fountain pen on paper while scribbling down every single thing that came to his mind during the lecture. His notes were messy and chaotic, but they contained it all and his classmates could lean over backwards to get their hands on them.
And they tried to pay him back, they truly did, offering him snacks and cakes, inviting him to pool parties and laser games, but that freckled curly-hair kid with shy manners and the most wonderful of smiles just refused to attend. As if he has been waiting for something. Or someone.
That day he felt lonelier than he had in weeks. Resting his head on his hand he released a long, weary sigh and looked out of the window, ceasing to listen to the teacher for once, fully prepared to dive into the land of daydreaming, when-
"Has anyone of you heard about Alexander Hamilton?"
As if he was struck by lightning, he straighten his spine and looked directly at the teacher, fighting the sudden urge to salute. His heart began to race, his cheeks turned red, and when the teacher noticed him, he buried his face inside his arms.
"Have you got something to say, John?"
He shook his head, quickly. What could he possibly have to say? And why was he behaving like this? Why has the name hit right into his weak spot? It's just a name of some stupid congressman who is long but dead and has no relevance in today's life, right?
By that time, he got the attention of the entire classroom, all eyes on him. The girls would have had enough gossip material for weeks, wondering what could have possibly made him distressed like that.
"Speaking of Alexanders, we've got a newcomer, children," the teacher interrupted their staring contest, and by doing so she finally set our poor boy free. Their looks shifted from him to the doors where one certain young boy just took his first steps into the classroom. The teacher put her hand on his shoulder, for support presumably, but the boy wriggled out of her grip and stood before the class alone.
The kids quieted down.
John held his breath immersing in the boy's dark eyes.
The boy tossed his head so his little ponytail swang. "My name is Alexander Hamilton. There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait!" he exclaimed suddenly, raising one of his arms high into the air, grinning from ear to ear at everyone around.
"There, there." The teacher petted his head and gently put his hand down, but she seemed captured by the boy's charisma just as everyone else. Then she glanced over the classroom, stopping her sight on John. She narrowed her eyes, leaping with them from one boy to another, then she melted and pointed Alexander towards John's desk. "That'll be your place."
Alexander nodded, his grin widened a bit and then he ran through the aisle and fell on the chair next to astonished John. He offered him his hand and when John accepted it, he tugged him into a hug. John's first instinct was to resist, push him away, but then he breathed in the familiar smell, and he remembered those notorious eyes, and he found himself squeezing that stranger even tighter.
When they let go, John realized he hasn't introduced himself. "M-my name is Jo-"
"I know your name, John Laurens. In fact, I've been looking for you, everywhere, I was so close to giving up, and then-" At first Alexander's eyes wandered around the classroom, but now they've settled on Laurens' face and sank into his dark blue eyes. He bit his lip. "Can you remember me? It might've been more lives for you than it has been for me and maybe it was too much for you to remember or maybe I wasn't as important to you as I'd like to think or maybe-"
"Stop blabbering, of course, that I can remember you, you silly man," Laurens interrupted his speech to rescue him from being sucked into the spiral of self-loathing thoughts. "Look at me," he commanded and once Hamilton obeyed, he hold his eyes. "It's me. And it's you. We are together and we are fine." He took his hand and set it against his as if to compare them. "How come yours's bigger again? That's unfair!"
Hamilton chuckled and then leaned back on his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "So, back from skirmish, safe and sound?"
"I do seem to have some scars, but apart from that, I am anew. How about you? Heard you've been busy yourself, creating America and dying and so forth." He looked around. "It appears that it wasn't entirely for nothing after all."
Hamilton grinned. "No, of course, it wasn't." He rested his hand on the desk and looked forward with a thoughtful, almost dreamy, look. "But I still have so much job to do." His eyes glittered with excitement and Laurens could feel his cheeks turning red again. He rather fixed his eyes on the blackboard, but still couldn't stop his lips from smiling.
This time, he'll not throw away his shot.