Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I must say, in all my years here. I have never seen such exemplary final scores.” Washington sounds as bewildered as the class feels. “Not one, but two hundreds on the exam. Truly spectacular.”

Jefferson nudges Madison proudly. Next to them, Burr stays silent.

“Unfortunately, we do have one more project.”

A loud symphony of groans and boos.

“It’s not even weighted!”

The noise fails to die down.

“Shut up!” 

Dead silence.

“It’s a partner assignment,” says Washington. Aaron frowns. “One of you will pick an important moment in your life and write an official statement, then the other will provide a written cross-examination. Both parts are graded.” 

Aaron’s stomach drops. Writing about himself comes as easy as a somersault. So much for requesting to do it alone. Washington walks through the rubric while Aaron is busy discreetly looking for a possibly so minded ally. Lauren’s and Lafayette aren’t available-glances at each other clue Aaron in- or remotely willing, if he had to guess. Hercules Mulligan looks a little lost, partnerless, but Aaron has seen him misspell the word “muffin”, so he’s out. Madison and Jefferson are practically hitched, no luck there. He’s already reaching the bottom of his short list of acquaintances, and his gaze wanders to the one person he might refuse to work with himself.

“There is a hard, hard, 500 word limit on the statement.” Washington says, eyes boring into Alexander Hamilton’s soul. Alexander Hamilton, the guy Aaron has to make his partner.

Sweet Jesus.

—

Aaron does not make his move immediately. After class, he methodically, slowly, packs up his bag, taking extra care to rearrange his binders. Alexander, disorganized as always, is frantically shoving his thin spiral notebook into his messenger bag. Alexander‘s crew is loitering around his desk, laughing at him as it folds under the intense pressure, and the papers crinkle in protest. Aaron winces, and subtly pets his two inch binder, full of labeled tabs and carefully filed notes. 

“You are all unequivocally the worst. I can’t wait to graduate just so I can get away from your cruelty.” Alexander says. Another few sharp barks of laughter. Hercules’ baritone in particular echoes throughout the lecture hall. 

“Bullshit about this project, though.” John changes the subject, a bit too loudly. Washington turns from erasing the blackboard to glare at him. John winces, the group laughs again, and Alexander joins in.

“Yeah, well, you can find your own partners this time, last semester was hell.” Alexander says. Aaron refrains from fist-bumping the air.

The group moans and groans.

They leave soon after, Burr is still pretending to pack up, a plan formulating.

—

He doesn’t tell James where he’s going. George Washington’s disgraced ex-TA is not the sort of respectable associate a future accomplished alumnus should have, so he tends to keep these meetings on the down low. Even in his own head, it sounds more indecent than it is. To be frank, confidants are a risky business, and Aaron uses a particularly sketchy dealer.

Charles Lee pokes his head through the door, obscuring the rest of the apartment.

“Uh, hi?” He says.

Burr sighs. 

“I need your help.”  

“Sure.” Lee says, suspicious.

“I need advice.” Burr enunciates. Lee makes an Oh shape with his mouth. Then, he smirks.

“Fine, but you have to join our session.”

“What?”

Lee swings open the door. 

“Are you wearing a dragon costume?”

Lee rolls his eyes and steps back, revealing Samuel Seabury sat on the family room floor, donned in a pointy hat and dark blue robe, and Benedict Arnold next to him, dressed as a knight, eating chips out of a plastic party bowl. On the coffee table sits some kind of board game. Aaron spots the box a few feet away.

Dungeons and Dragons: Expert Kit

Aaron, resigned to his own determination, goes in.

—

“Roll for dexterity. Who cares whether or not he picks you? Doesn’t he have like, a gazillion friends?”

“It's not about him-“ Burr says, half-heartedly rolling. 

(He‘s some kind of rogue. After being rushed through character creation, he was forcibly pushed into a red bandana as an attempt to balance out his disappointing lack of cosplay. Seabury keeps trying to adjust it. Aaron has slapped his hand away twice already.)

“Never said it was.” Lee reviews the dice. “That’s a 4. The lava monster plops himself on you. You make it out, but your armor level depletes by two points. New health: 6 hearts. So, why do you want him for this project again?”

“If I don’t get this A, my grade will drop. Then Jefferson will be valedictorian for sure.” Just like he’s said, 5 times already.

“Uh-huh…” Lee pretends to not listen. At least Burr assumes he is. Burr prays that’s what he’s doing, more accurately.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Seabury says. Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever felt more condemned in his life. He slinks to the floor and throws his head back, a groan escaping his lips.

King George scoffs in the corner. 

(“Whomst did you bring into my abode?” George had inquired. 

“Burr.” Lee said nonchalantly.

“Without my permission?”

“Yup.” Lee said, busy delineating character points for Burr, whatever that had meant.

George had gasped loudly, and went to sob in the corner.

“Ignore him.” Benedict told Burr.)

“Because that would require earnesty, Samuel.” George argues. Burr chances a glare. An apparently low-risk move: George is still pouting in the corner. Out of the four, disinterested Lee, shaky Seabury, overconfident Arnold, and distraught George, Aaron hates to admit he relates most to the pouty man in the too expensive bathrobe. 

George is, unfortunately, also deeply correct. He must have been hiding a few brain cells in that Burger King crown, or at least a pair of functioning eardrums.

Asking Hamilton for help, he’s not sure what would be unflinchingly demolished first, his reputation or his pride. Burr falls to the floor in the fetal position.

“Fucking-“

“Language!” Seabury shrieks.

“-Jefferson. I’m going to have to open the commencement ceremony, then wallow in my shame for the next two hours until he goes up and gives the most egotistical, dramatic, horrible speech in the history of the College of Legal Studies.“

“Moping much?” Benedict snarks. Burr buries his face in his hands.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I thought you were friends?” Seabury asks.

“With Hamilton?” Aaron lets a little bit of disbelief sink into his voice. Alexander isn’t his friend, so much as his-

His, uh-

“Jefferson. Thomas. Thomas Jefferson.” corrects Seabury. Aaron frowns a little harder.

“It’s complicated.”

“George, you have to come take your turn.” Lee says. He looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“No, I do not!“

“Oh sorry, should we have Burr play Magnum Richard the Third instead?”  says Benedict.

“His name is Sir Magnus Ricky, leader of the Great Kingdom!”

“Lord in the stars,” Seabury grumbles, shoving his hands in the air.

—

“You bought me a coffee,” Alexander dead-pans from his seat. Aaron smiles awkwardly, holding out a gas-station latte. Four shots of espresso, a full cup of milk, worth 2.45 cents. It’s his personal order, though he’d die before admitting it. He likes it, so why shouldn’t Alexander?

“You bought me coffee.” Alexander stresses the words. “ Coffee!“ He whisper-shouts.

Aaron shrugs, smile fading. He really just wants Alexander to take it, as the interaction is stretching far too long. 

Slowly, careful in a way Aaron has never seen him before, Alexander gingerly takes the cup with two hands. Their fingers brush.

“Thank you.” He breathes, eyes filled with awe. He looks from the cup to Aaron repeatedly in wonder, and perhaps worship. Aaron’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, so he nods and bolts over to his seat, ready for the lecture, though thoroughly unprepared to digest the chill that runs in his veins when Alexander gives him that look.

Jefferson is droning on, as is per usual, while James dutifully pretends to listen, engrossed in Physics classwork. Aaron hikes up the sleeves of his sweater as he deposits his backpack next to them, sitting down.

“Aren’t you sweaty?” Thomas interrupts his own monologue to poke Aaron in the side. Aaron rolls his eyes, not answering.

James snorts. “It’s not like he ever plans on leaving the air-conditioned bliss of inside.” 

“Because you’re quite the outdoorsman.” Aaron jokes. James glances up at him, corners of his mouth turning upwards. Thomas sighs dreamily.

“I love it when you bicker, it really brightens the decor.” He kicks the leg of James’s hundred year old seat good-naturedly. As good-naturedly as Thomas can.

“If only it worked on our couch.” James mutters. Aaron presses his lips together to avoid smiling.

“If you complain about it one more time-“

“It’s our apartment's greatest shame.” James counters.

“You are so dramatic. It’s imported from Paris. Fuschia velvet is all the rage with the bourgeoisie.”

“At least he’s aware of his elitism.” Aaron muses.

“Why do you only choose to give an opinion when it insults me?” Thomas begs.

“Because he is forever on my side.” 

“That’s why he was handing out coffee to your old pal, right?” 

Aaron respectfully kicks Thomas as hard as he can in the shin.

James pauses, looks up, confused.

“Who?”

Washington walks in right on cue, as Aaron thanks a higher power for small mercies.

—

His next persuasion attempt comes the following day, a Saturday, when Aaron has, blessedly, no classes. In contrast, Alexander has 4. Why, Aaron is too afraid to ask, but he’s immensely grateful for this, and even more appreciative for the fact that he has a working metrocard.

“So, Panda Express, huh?” Alexander asks on the train. He’s clearly exhausted, though the sun has just begun to set, and Aaron has already reevaluated the merit of this idea twice since he picked him up. 

They’re standing in the crowded subway car during rush hour, pressed a little too close for comfort, and though Alexander seems nonplussed, Aaron repeatedly tries to put a bit of distance between them. To no avail; more people pile into the train, forcing them closer together. He occasionally feels Alexander’s breath under his nose, accompanied by little strains of laughter. He decides he wants to die right now.

“It’s the #2 fast food chain in the area, according to Angelica Schuyler’s blog.”

Alexander’s eyebrows furrow, groggy. Aaron tries not to wince. 

“I…have so many questions. You read her blog?”

“Yes,” It’s the truth.

“Not only do you read her blog, you actively take her advice into account in daily life.”

“Sure.” Aaron noncommittally offers.

“Hmmm. I knew you had a soul in there.” Alexander smiles, eyes bright despite their surrounding bags. Aaron scoffs, avoidant.

“I like to keep tabs on the opinions of the student body.” He offers with aplomb. 

Alexander outright laughs at him. Aaron glares. 

“You’re alright, Burr.” He nudges Aaron with his foot, grinning. 

They are once more pressed together when another crowd smushes in. In the bustle, a man shoves Alexander forward a little, right into Aaron, and, by default, the pole between them. He only sees a split second of Alexander’s face, red and surprised, before it’s shoved into his shoulder. Immediately, Burr retreats. Directly into a faceless figure behind him. He turns around to apologize, but Hamilton, by the grace of God, now has enough room to pivot and face the man behind him. It's a miracle he has enough space to do so, and Aaron finds himself abandoning the beginning of his rushed apology to stop him.

“Watch it, assh-“ 

Aaron, devoid of other options, clamps down a hand over Alexander’s mouth, using the small amount of leverage to tug him back towards him as efficiently as possible.

“Could you not?” He grits out, barely heard over the thrum of the subway.

Alexander clearly has objections, both to the hand over his mouth and his sure to be offensive monologue being interrupted. He attempts to move his hand, at least Aaron assumes that’s what he’s trying to do, but by now they are both well and truly crushed, and he only succeeds in flapping his own fingers against the outside of Aaron’s leg, arm pinned down by the weight of the crowd. He settles- Aaron almost laughs, Alexander Hamilton, settling- for flicking his head away from his hand.

“Sorry,” Aaron says, attempting to sound confident. He tries to move his hand back down to his side, but, in what’s becoming a recurring issue, he can’t. His hand ends up in between their chests, taking up the little amount of space they have left. He glances down at it, sees their shoes- Alexander’s scuffed up New Balances and Aaron’s unpolished Oxfords- lined up next to each other, one after another, sees the dirty linoleum floor, covered in grime. He sees his own hand, and is horrified to find that it’s quivering slightly. He forces it to stop.

Alexander’s annoyance has already dissipated, if not disappeared, and Aaron is once again the target of his abhorable wit.

“So, am I not worthy of the city’s #1 spot? Or are you just a dick?” 

The words are meant to be a joke. 

“I’d be foolish to reveal its location for something as trivial as buying an acquaintance dinner.”

He bites down on his words immediately after they come out. Banter isn’t going to get him this A.

“Wow. I’d be more offended about the acquaintance thing, but I think you’d say the same about your mother, given the chance.”

“She’s dead, remember?” Aaron says. 

“Twinsies,” Alexander shrills, somehow deadpan. Aaron tries not to choke on his own air in the relative silence. They both make amazingly awkward eye contact.

Alexander, on a good day, doesn’t have more than three-quarters of an inch on Aaron, but right now their height difference feels miles long. It’s deeply unfair he’s being put through all of this for a grade, one that he might not even get.

Alexander snorts, finally. His shoulders shake, and Aaron feels the vibration down to his bones. Soon, Alexander is downright giddy, and Aaron’s stomach lurches with what must be disgust. That doesn’t explain why he smiles. He tells himself that it’s to make Alexander feel better about his ludicrous reaction.

Deep down, he knows he’s in real trouble.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, but is really less than 45 minutes, the train is breathable again. Aaron backs up, trying to quell his onset arrhythmia. Alexander has taken out his phone, scrolling through the online menu.

“I want everything.” Alexander whispers, scanning. Aaron scoffs. 

“Calm down.” 

“Never.” 

They get off after an hour and a half’s commute. Aaron doesn’t slow down past the turnstiles, but Alexander doesn’t falter, winding down the busy streets entirely in step with him. 

Finally, they come to a Panda Express, its glass front a little misplaced among the older brick buildings, but glowing with the promise of warm lighting and food nonetheless. Alexander looks like he’s salivating in anticipation. Aaron presses his lips together.

They order at one of those tablet things at the front counter. Aaron feels every cent lost from Alexander’s relentless tapping.

“Alexander, I swear to god, do not order shrimp.”

“You said I could get whatever!”

“You’re going to get severely ill.” He lowers his voice. “This is not the place to get seafood.” He whispers.

“Burr.” Alexander breathes, fake scandalized. “Are you doubting the authenticity of New York’s second greatest fast food establishment?” 

Aaron grimaces.

“You’re going to burn a hole in your stomach, as well as my wallet.”

“Aren’t you the poet?” Alexander murmurs, ignoring his dignified pleas. The blue light from the screen reflects on Alexander’s face and highlights the rims of his contact lenses. Gross. Aaron keeps staring.

Eventually, Aaron swipes his card, stomach lurching in despair. Alexander sees the almost constipated expression on his face and cackles, disturbing the sixteen year old behind the counter. He goes to get a table, while Aaron waits for the food. It’s a very well coordinated effort to carry the order, but he manages.

Alexander’s platter consists of three sides, two entrees, and an order of spring rolls. Aaron skimps out on a huge dinner, and satisfies himself with stealing an egg-roll or two when nobody’s looking. Alexander‘s bafflement at his too-quickly-empty plate is almost funny.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Alexander asks, an attempt to distract him from his appetizer. It fails miserably; Aaron nabs another one before he starts talking.

“What makes you think I wanted to talk about anything?” Aaron says, coy.

“Don’t play with me, asshole. You clearly want something.”

“Says whom?” He’s just messing with him now.

“Says, fuckin-“ Alexander takes a breath. “You took me to get fast food, even though you hate it. You let me order whatever I want, even though you’re as broke as I am. I’m right, don’t deny it!” He points at Aaron aggressively when he looks like he’s about to object. “There’s also the fact you reached out to me first. You never do that, I always have to drag you out of your dorm. So excuse me for being suspicious!”

Aaron stays quiet for a moment.

“So?” Alexander gestures dramatically. A piece of rice hangs on his upper lip. Aaron fixtates on it. He sighs.

“What are your thoughts on the assignment Washington assigned?”

“Uh,” Hamilton eloquently states. “Why?”

“Humor me.” Aaron says, embarrassed already.

“Sounds like fun. Why? You need help or something?”

Aaron has infinite amounts of patience. He prides himself on it. But something about tonight has run him dry.

“I want you to be my partner.” He says.

“Oh.” An expression that can only be described as disappointment flashes across Alexander’s face. What? “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Aaron sputters.  He messed up. Evidently, his schmoozing with the coffee didn’t pay off whatsoever. Fuck.

“Thanks for this,” Alexander gestures to the table.

“Yes. I mean, you’re welcome.”

Alexander nods. His hair falls a little when he does so, and he pushes it back behind his ear with his thumb. He moves it back down to scratch his lip. Aaron can’t look away. 

Oh this, this is bad. Aaron needs to get home, away from this conversation and all its possibilities.

On the ride back they manage to get seats, and Aaron determinedly looks out the window the entire time. It’s New York, so it’s still crowded, and they end up too close again, thighs, ankles, cankles, and shoulders touching, no matter how far Aaron scooches. He’s sharply aware of his environment, which is to say he’s sharply aware of Alexander. He keeps noticing his jittering leg, the way he taps his fingers onto his palm. Every once in a while, one of them shifts, and he feels his hair tickle at his own neck. Aaron swallows. 

This is becoming pathetic.

Aaron walks Alexander to his dorm out of courtesy, handing him his leftovers. Alexander insists he take the spring rolls, which Aaron agrees to only to leave as quickly as possible.

Aaron gets in to find James and Thomas watching a movie on their couch. He means “their” in as removed a way as possible. He wants no connection to that pink monstrosity. 

“Aaron!” Thomas says too loudly. James winces from the other side of the couch.

“Where have you been?” James asks.

“The crackhouse, where else?” Aaron answers, kicking off his shoes.

“I bet he was having sexual congress with an attractive young lady ” Thomas says as he turns back to the screen.

“I think he’s on recess,” jokes James.

“Fuck you.” Aaron says with fondness. “I was with Hamilton.” 

He looks at Thomas as he says it, hoping to get a rise out of him. It doesn’t work: he just waggles his eyebrows suggestively before turning back to the movie.

“Why?” James asks straight away. Aaron tries to rectify his miscalculation.

“School stuff. I wanted him to be my partner for the Washington assignment. Nothing social, there was just no one else left.” It comes out as smooth as water over stone.

“I think that's the most words I’ve heard you say all month.” Thomas mentions. Aaron bites down on his tongue, hard.

“Yeah.” James agrees. Aaron raises his eyebrows, as if to ask why that matters. James smiles at him. Aaron thinks he may have given something up. They read him more easily than he’d like, at least when it comes to people stuff. He feels uneasy.

That night, Thomas stays over, and Aaron spends the entirety of it staring out his window, waiting for the rain to pick up, for this feeling in his throat to relax. He doesn’t sleep.

—

Because he‘s Aaron Burr, he doesn’t let it show the next morning. His eyes may droop slightly as the day goes on, the amount of his pupil visible directly proportional to the time of day, but other than that, he‘s as attentive as ever. He thinks he‘s being slick.

He is very wrong. Who but Alexander Hamilton comes up to him at around four in the afternoon. He‘s sat in the library, grueling through a late-day study session. (He will memorize every Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and their leanings, even if it kills him, which it probably will.) Alexander slams down a tupperware container on the table. Aaron can’t entirely tell in his state, but it looks warm.

“You look horrific. When’s the last time you slept? I swear to god, if you die before I see you become valedictorian-“

“You can’t bring food in here.” 

Aaron says plainly, like a child. Alexander rolls his eyes. That's rude. Aaron usually does that. Alexander should get his own thing.

“I pay thousands of dollars to be in this library, they can deal with the smell of microwaved baked potato.”

“Your scholarship pays for it, you mean.” Fatigue has rendered him sardonic.

“Semantics.” Alexander dismisses him. He looks irate, and Aaron knows he misspoke. He rallies his conversational tactics, prepares for an argument he knows he will leave feeling guilty. Alexander however, does not play ball. 

“You should head home.”

Aaron himself gets angry at that. He feels like he’s being treated as though he's fragile.

“I’m fine. What about you? Don’t you have some inflammatory articles to write?

Alexander huffs, sitting down across from him. His hair moves when he does so, and Aaron has the urge to giggle. He kicks himself under the table. Must be the exhaustion.

“Just eat. Potatoes are high in fiber. That’s what Hercules said, I think? He really lives up to those Irish stereotypes, more so than he’d admit.”

Aaron hums. He is very hungry. He reaches for the container with a slowness he hopes reads as methodic, rather than sleepy.

It‘s a baked potato, just as he said. It’s covered in cheese, clearly just melted, pre-sliced American. It also has little bits of dark meat. Meant to resemble bacon, but after a moment of less-than-intentful observation, turns out to be beef jerky. 

It looks heavenly. 

“Better query, when’s the last time you ate?”

Is it Interrogate Burr Sunday?

Aaron gives Alexander’s question consideration, but ends that train of thought when he gets to yesterday morning without mention of anything resembling a real meal. Instead, he eats the potato. He has no fork, but Alexander fishes out a plastic spoon, still talking, so he makes do with that. He stares at Aaron as he eats, but he’s too focused on the food to care at the moment.

“Thank you.” Aaron manages, five minutes later, when the potato is reduced to beef jerky residue, and the smell of cheese on his breath.

“Yup.” Alexander leans back in his chair. “You never answered my question.”

“What question? You talk quite a bit.” Aaron avoids.

“Did you eat at all today?”

Aaron gestures to the empty tupperware. “Thanks to you.”

“You know what I mean. Dude, you have to eat at least twice a day. Especially when you haven’t slept. A shitty baked potato can’t sustain you for long.”

Aaron thought it was rather tasty.

“I ate breakfast.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. I’m not anorexic, Alexander.”

Alexander grimaces.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“It’s not a joke. Stop pestering me about my eating habits.”

“What’d you have for breakfast, then?”

“The leftovers you forced on me last night.”

A white lie, a quarter of the way true. He had put them in the microwave that morning, amidst his usual rush. He had just run out of time, and left them on his counter, probably still stinking up the kitchen. He scrunches his nose. Alexander doesn’t look mollified. In fact, his entire face is twisted in a truly horrible expression, plastered concern and, Aaron guesses, disgust.

Alexander won’t drop it, unless Aaron forces him to. He brings up something that makes them equally uncomfortable, so Alexander doesn’t have the advantage.

“Did you decide about the project yet?”

Alexander is sufficiently distracted. He looks like a deer in headlights, removed from the offensive. 

“Uh, no, not yet.”

Neither of them are being truthful, apparently. Alexander thinks about everything, all the time. Aaron doesn’t doubt he made up his mind the second the question was asked. He also doesn’t doubt anything he could say could change his plans, either. However, if Alexander is already planning on telling him yes, and is just leading him along, Aaron might be able to speed up the process. Caught between a rock and a hard place, as he often is when Alexander is involved, he resorts to his biggest talent: placating.

“I’m sorry if you felt pressured when I asked you.” Aaron says. Alexander’s expression fails to change, which is how Aaron knows he missed the mark. If he actually struck a chord somewhere, he has no doubt it would be playing across Alexander’s face. He tries another angle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like I only seek you out when I need you.” Alexander’s eyes widen slightly; he’s hit the jackpot. “Your companionship means a lot to me. And I do consider us…” He purses his lips, swallows, both his saliva and his pride, and gets it out. “…friends.”

His eyebrows are creased in more than he thought was possible. He thinks he might feel sweat somewhere. He looks back at Alexander.

“I’ll do it.” Alexander says.

“Thank you.”

The grin he gets might be worth the cost of his dignity.

—

“You finished it?”

“Yes, Burr. I'm holding out the finished copy right in front of you, try to keep up.” 

It’s high noon on campus. The sun oppresses everyone who stands outside, causing the usually empty library to become unusually crowded, as people seek solace from the May sun. They got a seat in the slightly more commodious second floor. Allegedly, this level has more air conditioning units, but god knows how Alexander found that out.

“Of course.” Aaron snides. His words don’t cut as deep as he means them to, Alexander just grins evilly at him. Aaron frowns and looks over the paper.

This is useless to him. He can’t very well turn in hand-written annotations, so he’s going to have to ask, or demand, more likely, for the online document permissions. Most irritably, however, is the fact it’s three pages, double-sided, size eleven Arial font. 

Far more than the 500 word limit.

“It needs to be shorter.” Aaron says immediately.

Alexander groans, his head rolling back dramatically as he does so. Aaron decides to stop looking at him. 

“At least read it first. I spent a good deal of time on that, you know.” Alexander laments.

Aaron doesn’t roll his eyes, but comes quite close to doing so. It’s only through the virtue of consistent practice he manages to resist.

“A full hour?” Aaron says.

“More than.” Alexander whispers.

He reads it. It takes him a little below ten minutes to read it twice through. Alexander chooses to spend the silence focusing on a point above Aaron’s shoulder, openly staring, though at what Aaron has no inkling of.

His final opinions are as follows: It’s, most notably, too long. Far too long. There are few obvious hooks, clear lapses in his story for Aaron to point out. It’s abruptly thoughtful and insulting, as though he doesn’t trust Aaron to find them, or at least manufacture them, himself. He pulls out a pen. 

Alexander startles himself out of his own subconscious state, no doubt ready to defend his printed baby. 

“I only need the last two pages.” Aaron says. “I know it’s useless to tell you to cut the fluff, but at least do another read through, yeah?” He crosses out a misspelled word, avoiding eye-contact. He finds another one, then still another, before realizing Alexander has yet to respond. He looks up. 

“Okay?”

His classmate’s gaze has returned to the space next to his head, eyebrows furrowed.

Aaron raises his own eyebrow. Alexander ignores him.

“Is something wrong?” Aaron allows. 

Behind you. Alexander mouths. 

Aaron, slow, turns. 

It’s KG, glistening in a truly harrowing track suit. He’s chatting up the librarian, a young woman who clearly wants to leave.

Aaron is confused for a small moment, before remembering that he’s not really supposed to be that comfortable with the sight of the maniac in bright red. After that, he’s reminded of Alexander’s unsavory relationship with him, of Alexander’s unsavory relationship with half the campus. It’s a scientific fact, Aaron believes, that one can either love or despise Alexander Hamilton, and that the opinions of the student body are cut down the middle. Aaron previously thought of himself as the unlikely middle, but lately…

Well, either way, Alexander committing a homicide against the impeached class president isn’t good for anybody. Except maybe Alexander, according to Alexander. Luckily, Aaron doesn’t abide by Hamilton’s every thought, so immediately turning and packing up his bags isn’t a difficult decision.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Alexander demands.

“We are going upstairs.” He says. The library has five floors, and any of them are a better alternative to here. 

“But I-“

Aaron gives him a look. 

Alexander picks up his backpack, standing up.

Aaron neatly files the three pages into his binder and zips up his bag. 

“So you don’t like it?” Alexander whispers coldly. Aaron doesn’t answer immediately, instead lightly shoving him behind the nearest bookshelf.

“It’s too long.” Aaron reiterates. “But it’s fine.”

“Fine.” Alexander scoffs.

They’re up behind the biography section. By now they should be moving, but Alexander is standing directly in front of him, purposely blocking his path. Aaron kisses his teeth.

“Not fine. It's good, you know it's good.”

Alexander doesn’t take that as an answer. Aaron gestures for him to move, but he simply stays still, demanding. Aaron resists the urge to sigh.

“It’s not about what I think of it, so much as what Washington thinks of it. Particularly related to its length.”

Alex mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like that's what she said, but Aaron hasn’t the faintest clue of what that could mean.

“It matters to me.” Alexander says clearly, stepping out of the way. Backing down, Aaron vaguely registers.

Oh goodie. More emotions.

“Everything matters to you.” Aaron isn’t sure what that means when he says it, but once the words leave his mouth he’s surprised at their truth. Alexander would write down every breath of the breeze if he could. He’d catalog every leaf and eyebrow lift and scrape of the concrete, if time allowed. It doesn’t; Aaron pushes past him.

The tracksuit is still there at the counter, running his fingers along the spine of an unlucky book. The stairs are right behind him, a beacon of freedom.

Aaron walks behind some adjacent bookshelves, Alexander on his tail. Aaron’s scanning for their next move: they can either conspicuously sneak through the children’s section, or just book it for the stairs. Before he can say as much to Alexander, he feels his breath on his neck. 

“What do you mean, ‘everything matters’?“ He questions.

“You have an incredibly strong penchant for daily life.” Aaron says, trying not to look like a creep walking by a preschool reading group.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Alexander has no reservations about disagreeable conduct in the presence of children.

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

Suddenly Aaron’s being grabbed by the backpack. He’s spun around, already glaring before the words reach him.

“Dude, could you not be an asshole for like, two seconds?”

Aaron shoves his arm away. “You are blowing this completely out of proportion. Don’t be unreasonable.” 

“Just tell me. Did you like it or not?”

Aaron stays silent.

Alexander scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. A few parents are watching them, but nothing that he isn’t used to, even with their diverse student body.

“Let’s go.”

For once, Alexander says nothing.

—

Charles Lee: what do u know about microphones

Aaron Burr: Why?

Charles Lee: cum ovr pls thx

Read 4:46

—

“It says here raising the preamp volume can affect bit depth.” Aaron relays from Lee’s phone, open to a six-year-old Reddit thread. Lee is finicking with a set of mics next to him at the coffee table. 

“That makes absolutely zero sense to me. Most of us don’t speak 7 languages, Aaron.”

“I only speak four. And this is standard audio jargon.” Aaron squints at the phone. “Apparently.”

“Only.” Lee scoffs.

Aaron changes the subject.

“What’s the podcast going to be about?”

 “We’re starting a new campaign in like, a month. Figured it could be fun to document.” Lee says it casually, but Aaron is certain he sees it as a claim to fame.

“I’ll be sure to give it a listen.” Aaron says.

“You could join us. We’d like to get an even number of actual players.”

“I’ll think about it,” He lies.

Something crashes in the kitchen. Lee flinches and accidentally knocks over an adjacent mic, begetting a cocked eyebrow from Aaron. George, the manic asshole from Aaron’s previous visit, walks out of the kitchen, covered in flour.

“Are you okay?”

“Shut up. I hate you. Golly ho!” He sprints from the kitchen threshold to the hallway, away from their line of sight.

“He does that sometimes.” Lee waves him off. “Don’t go in the kitchen; might be remnants of his newest baking failure.”

Aaron has many questions. Instead, he offers:

“This is a very strange apartment.” 

“Ha. Yeah.” Lee monotonically says. “How’s your life been? Start that project yet?”

“Hamilton agreed to be my partner. He finished his part in a day, then was surprised when I asked him to get it within the word limit. ”

Lee sticks his tongue out in disgust. Aaron screams internally at his immaturity.

“I can’t stand him.” Lee is dripping with sarcasm. “I can't believe Washington picked him for that stupid winter retreat thing. Over me . It’s not like I was his best student or anything. Heavens no-“ 

“We also fought. But not really?.” Aaron interrupts, avoiding eye contact.

“I mean, who really picks special opportunities based on grades anyway- What?”

“I implied I didn’t like his writing..” He admits, frowning into Lee’s phone.

“Why…?” Lee asks. He looks suspicious.

Aaron knows exactly why. But he’s loath to admit it. Especially with George less than a room over.

“Didn’t think it would hurt,” Is what he chooses to say. Lee rolls his eyes.

“You’re dumb. Pass me that screw.”

Aaron smiles, curt and tight.

—

Aaron Burr: I still need your revised draft.

Alexander Hamilton sent html.youreadick.doc

Aaron Burr: Mature.

Alexander Hamilton sent html.ithoughtiwasunreasonable.doc with the comment: Here‘s the works cited.

Aaron Burr: It‘s a personalized essay. Why do you have a works cited?

Alexander Hamilton sent html.whydoyourefusetotalktomeaboutshit.doc with the comment: I reference a few classics throughout. I wrote a little tract on which ones and why. See above.

Aaron Burr: This is still too long. It‘s twice the word limit. And ‘tract’ is an interesting word choice.

Alexander Hamilton:

Aaron Burr: Fine.

Aaron Burr: I think it’s good. Great, even. But you use too many metaphors, and it’s still too long.

Alexander Hamilton sent html.imcomingover.doc with the comment: here’s the second revision. and literature is the religion of choice. tell you more when i get there

—

Hamilton never knocks. It’s something Aaron has learned in his four years here, in their four years of fraternizing or whatever Alexander insists on calling it. However, his knowledge of this habit does nothing to stop him from being spooked each time his bedroom door suddenly slams open.

This time, just like the last, an unnecessary slew of words begin to crowd his bedroom.

“So I stopped by Lafayette’s place on the way to scan my handwritten copies. I got the first, second and final revision, as well as the tract. Original and photocopies-”

“You owe me a lecture.” Burr says from his bed, a computer open in his lap. Blessed be the day Aaron asks him to keep talking.

Hamilton gives him this private little smile, one that shows a glimpse of his teeth, as he’s looking around the room. Not avoiding his eyes, but carefully looking around them as he commandeers Aaron’s desk and flips open his messenger bag, erratically pulling out papers. 

Aaron chooses to stay on his bed. More space between them the better. 

“You don’t have to read the tract, but you should. It’s brilliant.” Alexander grins fully. “Everything I do is.”

He still isn’t looking at him, but Aaron finds he prefers this. By far. He fiddles with his laptop, open to a website he forgets the name of every time he looks over towards the desk. He’s at a bit of a loss. 

“James let you in?”

“Mhmm. How’s your draft?” Hamilton asks. 

“Good, uh.” Aaron stutters. The page he had open was an ecologist forum that he was copying the link of. He remembered hearing something about hurricanes and their effects on soil. He made up a whole expert witness for it and everything. It was actually kind of fun. 

“Almost done?” Alexander stands up, comes over to the bed. Aaron nods. He opens a new tab on his computer and focuses on pasting the forum link into his citation-maker. 

“Trade me.” 

Aaron obligingly hands over his computer. Alexander gives him a piece of paper. The tract. Aaron musters up the pride to roll his eyes. 

His life is becoming all writings and mini-crises. He reads. It’s actually surprisingly short and he looks up in less than five minutes. Alexander sits on the edge of his bed, flicking his hand occasionally. The meticulously folded duvet curls under his weight. His feet occasionally kick the side of the bed frame, creating an uneven rhythm.

But he’s not reading. In fact, the computer has been precariously thrown to the other side of the bed. 

He’s looking at Aaron. Not at his draft.

“What’s up?” Aaron asks. He doesn’t particularly want to know, but it feels right to ask. Alexander doesn’t answer. Aaron wonders if this is his future: reading too long writings, being subjected to Alexander’s whims of social ineptitude, watching ink covered palms, and hoping for things he’ll try to avoid.

“Did my points make any sense?” Aaron gestures to the rejected computer.

Alexander is silent. He moves- well, crawls- over the bed, not slow, not fast. Deliberate. Soon he’s practically on top of him. He moves his head closer, and Aaron’s own moves back towards the wall on instinct. Alexander pauses.

“How many times did you rewrite that?”

“What,” Aaron says.

“Your cross-examination. How many drafts are there?”

Aaron meets his eyes. Regrettably. He doesn’t know where else to look; Alexander is everywhere.

“I don’t -“

“I saw your other attempts in your folder. You have seven different versions. Who are you trying to impress?”

“This is ridiculous, really. What the hell are you implying-“

“Is it me?” He asks.

“No.” 

“I showed you every version, you know. I photocopied them for you.”

Aaron finds his voice, cracked as it is.

“And?”

“And I’m not living in denial, Aaron.”

“Congrats.” His head feels like it’s being dunked underwater repeatedly.

Alexander is frustrated with him, that much is certain. Aaron is beyond grateful when he leans back. The water leaves his nostrils and empties his ears. He swallows.

“You’re smart. Could you act like it?” Alexander fusses.

“Could you make sense, for once?” 

“Oh my god-“

And then Aaron’s up against the wall again. Not by his own volition, but because Alexander’s kissing him.

There’s about a million reasons this is a bad idea. He ponders them as he kisses Alexander back. 

He doesn’t need a distraction. It doesn’t matter how pleasantly its hands trail down his side, lifting up his shirt and then pulling it down repeatedly. In the same way he hides his friendship with Charles Lee, he refuses to let this get out. Whatever this is. But the best way to hide something is to destroy it entirely.

He shoves Alexander away.

His hair is slightly mussed, eyes trained on Aaron. He’s smiling.

“Wh-“

Aaron walks out.

—

James is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone or something while the television is buzzing with TLC inspired noise. Aaron isn’t paying attention. The panic has begun to set in. Door, the door is a good idea. What after that? Maybe Lee? Or just that empty skatepark near his old barbershop. Anywhere without people is better than here.

“Aaron, wait. Just hold on-“ Alexander is right behind him.

“Are you guys good?” James sits up, concerned. Aaron doesn’t have room in his heart to be grateful for him right now.

“Fine, thanks.” 

Alexander scoffs.

“Oh yeah, just peachy.” He says.

Aaron is desperately trying to get his shoes on.

“Aaron, come on, don’t be ridiculous.”Alexander rounds on him.

“I’m being ridiculous? You just-“ Aaron fumes, cutting himself off. His stupid sneakers won’t get on his stupid feet.

“I what? Didn’t lie to you?” 

“What… happened?” James asks, turning around from his sitting position to watch as Aaron finally manages to shove his foot into his shoe. 

“What if you explained yourself for once in your life? Ever thought about that?” Alexander seethes.

It takes three seconds for Aaron to form just about the biggest lie of his life.

“I could never want you. You’d throw me out to the street like Eliza the second you got the chance.

He doesn’t look long enough to see Alexander’s face crumble. He leaves again.

—

Alexander stares at the slammed door, personally stricken. James whistles, personally impressed. 

“Guess you miscalculated.” 

“You gave me wrong information. I wouldn’t have- If I knew-“

“Yeah, sure.” James says. Alexander’s eyebrows do a few crazy maneuvers. 

“Shit. I should go after him, right?”

James cocks an eyebrow, walking over to the sink. He turns on the tap to refill his cup.

“You’re asking my advice?”

“We aren’t friends.” Alexander says the obvious.

“I know. Thank god.”

Alexander glares at him. James takes a sip of his water and gives in.

“For old times sake, I'd tell you to leave him alone. Going all Family Man in the airport on him won’t do much good.”

“I wouldn’t-“

James gives him a look. Alexander appears kind of like a kicked puppy. James wonders what Aaron sees (saw?) in him.

“Fine. I won’t.”

James nods, walking back over to the couch.

“You’re a lot like him. All sarcasm and scary looks.” Alexander says. James grimaces.

“Don’t compare me to the guy you're in love with, thanks.”

“Oh, he's much better than you.” James can hear the swooning in his voice. “He’s funny, and secretly kind and so smart.” He walks over to the couch and sits on it. 

“What are you doing?”

Alexander ignores him. He looks at his reflection off the TV.

“He’s so mysterious but he keeps giving himself away and then acting like he’s ‘just some guy’”

“Um,” James says.

“And that’s not even starting on how he looks … ”

—

It’s raining. Hard. It’s such an oppressive storm that Aaron makes it about two steps outside the building before he’s drenched. He keeps walking. Maybe he’ll get pneumonia and die. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Lord knows where he’s going. His stomach grumbles, unheard above the downpour. He’s infuriated, flushed, and hungry on top of that. Thomas would ask him if he's PMS-ing, and James would then aptly call him a chauvinist. Aaron feels his stone heart drop into his stomach. Thomas Jefferson, King’s College’s newest valedictorian. 

Aaron doesn’t consider himself a particularly dramatic person, but his world is, frankly, ending.

All because he’s incapable of reading the guy known for wearing his heart on his sleeve. He supposes he deserves this. If he failed to notice this, god knows how he’d be at the top of his class.

It’s still raining, and Aaron is still walking. He’s about a block away from his building. Abruptly, he stops.

I showed you every version, you know. I photocopied them for you.

He pulls out his phone. Rain immediately covers it in little clear dots of water.

“So I stopped by Lafayette’s place on the way to scan my handwritten copies. I got the first, second and final revision. Original and photocopies-”

Aaron checks the final document Alexander sent him. He renames it, something appropriate and taciturn, before clicking Word Count. His hands aren’t shaking.

502 words

It’s not surprising, given all the earlier signs pointing to this. But that isn’t to say it’s good, either. Alexander has been changing himself for what? For Burr? What a waste. He thinks guiltily. And why? What has Aaron done to deserve this? This spectacular and horrible thing that makes his vision go white and his mind get all foggy. Alexander deserves much better than a salutatorian failure who can barely see what’s two feet in front of him.

Stupid, so stupid.

The street is dead, and he’s cold and wet. He can’t think of a single person who could be proud of him right now.

He can’t head home. Alexander didn’t follow him, so he must be there, waiting, avoiding or answering James’ hundreds of questions. Waiting. He’s waiting. And Aaron is the one rushing around like a maniac. He‘s made a mess of things, and has found he‘s not very interested in fixing it. 

—

He knocks on Lee’s door at exactly 11:43 PM. His shirt is entirely wet without the services of a jacket, and he’s dripping all over the floor. Lee doesn’t answer. He knocks again.

George rips open the door. He’s in that same bathrobe that haunts Aaron’s nightmares.

“I didn’t order any packages, thank you.” He goes to shut the door. Aaron, at his wits end, catches it. It’s swung back on its hinges, and Aaron now has a pair of dead, insane eyes to add to his nightmare lineup. 

“Is Lee here?” He asks.

“No. Why? What’s wrong with you?” George interrogates.

Aaron can’t pick one answer.

“Could you tell him to call me when he gets back? Thank you.”

He turns around, content to find a river to confide in instead, when a bony hand grips his shoulder. He jumps so hard he lands a foot away from where he was.

George is leering at him, offended. Aaron considers an apology, but decides it’s not worth it. Suddenly George’s expression changes into a sickly smile. Aaron feels sick.

“Would you like to come in? Have some tea?”

“I-“

Aaron isn’t interested in getting murdered-or worse - because he needed a confidant. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I should go-”

“I insist.” George swings open the door. The apartment is empty. Realistically, George probably won’t eat his corpse, but that’s not something you take a risk on. He’s heard so many horror stories about people like him, it’s impossible for him to ignore his gut. It’s time he takes his leave.

“You’re rude, you know that?” George says from the other end of the hallway, when Aaron’s opening the stairwell doors.

“And you’re a bit more than stubborn.”

“Mummy says it’s in my nature.” 

That takes the cake for the creepiest thing he’s heard in undergrad. He practically runs down the steps.

It’s still raining. Aaron has a sudden aversion to being on the street this late, so he considers catching a cab, but that doesn’t feel all too safe either. He waits at a bus stop for 10 minutes before giving up. He walks as fast as he can, the rain pounding on his head. He’s grown used to funny feelings in his stomach, but it’s rarely such a vivid fear. The shadows have eyes.

—

Alexander is right where he left him. James is gone. Alexander is sitting like a statue on the couch. Aaron can’t remember the last time he’s wanted two separate somethings so viciously. Aaron starts talking before Alexander’s even fully turned around. 

“You’re not really a ruthless womanizer.“ He says with an air of dark humor. The world feels grimmer than it did a few hours ago.

“Really closes the wound in my heart, thanks.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

Alexander opens his mouth.

“Don’t answer that.”

Alexander seems like he doesn’t know whether to express fondness or glare at him. He looks like a poorly molded piece of clay, and the sight turns Aaron’s stomach into knots only a highly decorated Eagle Scout could conjure.

“Can you- Just. Fuck. Tell me why?” Alexander says. 

“We aren’t particularly compatible. And I’m not-“ Aaron kisses his teeth. “I’m not. You deserve-“

He cuts himself off. Alexander’s eye’s light up, much like they did that day in the library, and once again Aaron’s given up too much.

“Deserve what?”

“Hamilton.”

“What, Burr? Just say it.”

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Of course.” Alexander scoffs at him. Aaron feels the lines that define them blurring in and out of focus as they scramble.

“Listen, we don’t have to make a big deal out of it. You feel… things. I don’t. Let’s just get this project done, then we can go separate ways, and you can move on, okay?”

He’s half certain bile is coming up alongside his words, though Alexander shows no signs of disbelief. Many of disgust, but Aaron attributes that to the obvious, rather than imaginary upchuck.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s meet tomorrow, get this over with.” Alexander stands up, grabs his bag, and is gone like the breeze. 

See you then.

He doesn’t collect his feelings. He shoos away the guilt and walks to the kitchen. He’s so hungry. The first thing he sees is half a loaf of bread. He digs around for a mostly full jar of peanut butter. Small mercies. He considers going to his room, but ants worry him and James seems to be out for the night. He won’t be back for a few hours. At least not until dawn, if Jefferson has anything to do with it.

Aaron sits in front of the couch. He doesn’t bother with a knife, just uses the slice of bread to scoop it directly out of the jar. He stuffs it into his mouth. It’s in front that obnoxious pink couch the weight of his existence dawns on him. Maybe it’s how pathetic he feels at this exact moment, but Aaron suddenly knows he can’t do this. Can’t be what he’s supposed to be. Can’t make his parents proud. Can’t cook a proper meal and feed himself like an adult. The worst part is he knows he could. But there’s friends to let decorate your apartment and feelings to untangle and people to hide from and you have to lie about all of it.

He doesn’t know what there is outside of high-profile internships and extra-credit. That’s not true. Alexander’s there. James is there. People are there. People who expect him to be Aaron as well as Burr. It’s about the scariest thought he’s ever had.

He hears rustling over by the linen closet. His head snaps backwards. The door slides open and James' head pokes out. He clearly thinks he’s alone. He scans the front door, the kitchen, and then abruptly notices Aaron.

It strikes both of them at the same time how mortifying he looks: peanut butter on his lips, startled and bloodshot eyes, as his sopping wet clothes make the carpet moldy. Aaron stays carefully still, as if both their behaviors are completely normal.

“Are you…” James starts.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asks sharply. James kind of half-laughs, half-sighs awkwardly as he stumbles out of the closet.

“He shoved me in the closet when he heard you opening the door. Thought my absence would ‘free your tongues’.” He frowns as he sits next to Aaron, legs crossed. Aaron nods at his words, carefully filing his earth-shattering revelations into the folds of his brain.

“Can I?” James gestures to the bread bag. He lets him. They finish the bag in silence as Aaron neutralizes his face and tries to empty his brain. Eventually, James screws the lid on what's leftover of the peanut butter and rises to put it back in the pantry. Aaron follows aimlessly.

He watches the bread bag descend into the depths of the trash can. It stays completely still for a moment after it reaches the bottom before collapsing onto itself in slow motion. He steps off the can’s pedal.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Aaron doesn’t even bother answering. James' frown gets deeper. 

“What time is it?”

James glances at the microwave. 

“1:44” 

Aaron considers for about two seconds.

“Am I a good friend?”

“What?” James looks confused.

“In comparison to Jefferson.” He clarifies.

“What?” 

Aaron grits his teeth, waits it out. James considers him with disbelief. Finally:

“You’re a bit more considerate. But he has you beat with communication.”

Aaron hums.

For some reason, when he sleeps that night he can’t look at his desk.

—

Alexander is the one waiting for him in the library this time. Aaron’s not late, he’s actually a few minutes early, but the sight fills him with a strange sense of guilt. He sits down as a way of greeting. Alexander acknowledges him by flipping around his insanely loud Macbook. 

It’s open to a split screen of Aaron’s cross-analysis and Alexander’s statement, with excessive comments on both. Aaron never took Alexander for an editor. He slowly slides over the laptop to get a closer look at the edits. It’s not that Aaron’s annotations are bad, apparently he just needs more of them.

“Hmm.” Aaron allows.

“What?”

“Nothing. I need a little while, if you want me to add some of these.”

Alexander doesn’t move. Aaron peeks over top of the screen to see his bored expression. They make eye-contact and Aaron adverts his eyes. Alexander doesn’t make any move to leave, so Aaron dives into his work, pretending not to notice his presence.

Forty minutes later, Aaron’s own computer is on the table, notes and reference papers strung about as Alexander rotates between playing a game on his phone and furiously typing on his fossil of a laptop. A quiet sigh escapes him as he leans back.

“Are you done?” 

“Just about.” Aaron flips the screen towards Alexander as he speaks, who scans the document like it’s an enemy missive.

“Looks good. Ready to turn it in?”

Aaron nods. They separately add their files into the student portal. Alexander immediately smashes the submit button, already packing up. Aaron lingers on the turn-in page. Once he clicks that button, his entire future will be decided. Well, in theory, anyway. It’s a lot to process, especially this early in the morning. Alexander looks at him funny, once he himself is standing up, bag slung over his shoulder. He looks like he’s been caught halfway out the door, sweater vest a bit disjointed from his white T-shirt. Only Alexander can stand to wear a sweater in May. An irrational and random rush of affection swells in Aaron, utterly unwelcome.

“What are you doing?” Alexander asks. Aaron doesn’t have a chance to respond before he comes around the table and shoves up next him to look at his screen. The cursor hovers over the submit button. Alexander looks unimpressed, from the glance Aaron stole at him. Aaron kneads his knuckles into the table beside the computer.

“I'm about to.”

“No, totally.” Alexander agrees from beside him.

Aaron flushes, doesn’t move. Alexander rolls his eyes. 

Suddenly there’s a weight on his back and a hand over his own. Aaron goes stock still. The one day they sit at one of the long, rectangular tables with stools as opposed to one of the more private ones with backed chairs is the day Alexander decides to get touchy-feely. His hand gets moved to the touchpad. With little fan-fare, Aaron- or Alexander, depending on how it’s looked at- presses the button. 

An Are you sure? screen pops up. When Aaron hesitates:

“Come on.”

He hits Yes so fast, he’s sure he can hear his wrist snap. Alexander pulls off him, and Aaron has about two seconds to collect himself before Alexander’s looking at him again, leaning against the table and creasing his green and ridiculously ugly cargo shorts. He’s farther than he was before the crowding, as if in some form of retreat. 

“Not that hard, huh?” He’s grinning, like he’s up to something.

Aaron makes a show of not swallowing as he raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I would have done it eventually.”

Alexander smiles at him, starkly genuine. Something shifts on the scale, like things are falling back into place. Aaron feels a corner of his mouth rising to the challenge.

—

“All I’m saying is, an accent wall would transform your bedroom.” Thomas argues.

“How would you know that? Studying his room often?” snarks Aaron.

“Hush up, or I’ll cut you.”

Aaron rubs his eye with his middle finger. He may be putting up a very thin veneer of passive aggression to work through his emotions. Thomas gapes at him.

James coughs from the kitchen. 

“Gray works just fine.”

He’s more quiet than usual today, and Aaron is forced to keep up the targeted harassment of Thomas solo. Thomas himself hasn’t seemed to notice a change in James’ behavior. 

Thomas frowns deeply as he starts a new Smash Bros round. When Aaron systematically beats him for the fifth time in a row, he throws down the controller with a frustrated yell. Aaron hides his laugh by focusing on the highlight reel. 

“I’m using the bathroom.” Thomas huffs, standing. Aaron waves without looking away from the TV; he huffs even louder as he stalks away.

James walks in from the kitchen, a paper plate and sub in hand.

“You could let him win once.” James tsks, leaning against the kitchen threshold.

“Maybe.” Aaron jokes.

“It would be nice.”  As he takes a bite.

Aaron feels a little strange when he says that, like he should be letting Thomas Inhale his R.O.B whenever he wants. It's a little spit of regret that's gone as soon it makes itself known. He doesn’t have time to think about it before there’s a knocking behind him. He turns to see James jerking a thumb towards the front door, lettuce hanging out of his mouth. James places his plate on the counter before answering it

Aaron sees a black fly-away and knows who it is at once.

“It’s for you- Jesus man, watch where you’re going.”

Alexander is in his living room, falling right into a sitting position. He rocks into Aaron as he settles, too close, simultaneously shoving a phone under his nose.

“Look. He posted the grades.” Alexander says, jumping the line between excitement and gravitas. Aaron pushes his hand back a little to read better.

A ninety-six. They got a ninety-six. He holds the phone with one hand, hyper-focused not on where their fingers overlap. There’s no teacher comments, just four deducted points and a vile mix of joy and fear. He lowers his hand.

“Not bad.” He gets out. Alexander smiles

“Not bad at all.”

Aaron looks over at him. He’s unusually relaxed as they make eye-contact. Aaron finds an odd calmness in his gaze he hasn’t seen before. There’s no challenge in his eyes, not as there usually is. His arm has gone slack, and their hands that hold the phone rest in Aaron’s lap. They’re just looking at each other. 

Until Thomas ruins it. 

“You guys are out of hand lotion-“ He stops in the bathroom door when he sees Alexander. “What’s he doing here?”

Alexander is already glaring, opening his mouth. Aaron is already moving to talk over him.

“He was showing me something.” Aaron fills in.

“And he had to come inside?”

That gives him pause. Alexander could have just sent him a text, but he ran heaven-knows how far across campus to show him in person. Aaron chooses to pretend that means nothing.

“I wasn’t aware you paid rent, Thom.” James suddenly chimes in. Aaron adds another item to the Weird Things James Has Done Today list. Alexander is grinning all proud like he’s the one who put Thomas in his place. Aaron has a strange impulse to punch him with his mouth.

Thomas flounders.

—

Aaron makes a point to not ask James and Thomas about their grades the following days. Instead, he spends his time in the library researching obscure legal demiurges, observing Lee’s D&D group from afar when George isn’t home, and on particularly nerve-wracking days, spending time with Alexander. It takes them a little while to fall into their old rhythm, layers of subtext weighing them down, but eventually they relax into a familiar dynamic. It would almost be nice, if Alexander didn’t seem so keen on throwing him off-kilter. It’s a lot of little things that wouldn’t mean anything concrete, if Aaron’s internal systems would just stay in their carefully maintained equilibrium. Instead he flinches when Alexander pokes him with a pencil, laughs a little too loudly when Alexander teases him, and generally makes a fool of himself whenever he’s in a non-restraining-order-compliant distance of him.

The Friday after they get their final grade back, Alexander invites him for drinks with Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette. Aaron only spends five minutes picking his outfit. He then takes up about forty going back and forth on how much of a douche-bag a semi-luxurious wrist watch makes him seem. 

If the relationship wasn’t statistically, realistically, logistically, and operationally impossible, he might have reveled in the feeling of mutual besottedness, but, as it stands, it only serves to get in his way.

He gets the email after he gets home that night. It makes sense that the college of New York, the city that never sleeps, would send him the most important email of his life thus far at 12:03 AM. 

It doesn’t specify whether or not he’s salutatorian or, even, the big one, but it feels like such a weight off his chest, he can’t help but stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, knowing he he didn’t do half-bad, that maybe he’s worth more than he thought.

He’s supposed to report to the Dean’s office late tomorrow morning. He doesn’t fall asleep until about three, mind relishing all the possibilities of his future.

—

Thomas Jefferson sits in the lobby, earlier than Aaron, for once in a blue moon. It’s a sure sign of eagerness that Aaron himself surely shares, but has learned to curb the signs of over the years. A talent Thomas has never bothered, or needed, to learn.

The sight on his face is something Aaron might cherish to the site of his final resting place. Thomas is always expressive, but only ever in a way that conveys general smugness and superiority. His eyebrows raise so high it’s a miracle they aren’t hidden by his hairline.

Aaron tries not to notice more than that, in a false manner of politeness. Instead he nods at him, sitting next to him in the cushioned seats outside the dean’s office. It’s a well decorated room, covered in plaques and busts of people important to the college, surrounded by dark wood and red curtains. It’s the picture of academia and elegance, soaked in the blood of hundreds of different legacies.

Thomas opens his mouth, closes it. Realizes something, opens it again.

“Is this why you were working with Hamilton?”

Aaron curses himself for being so transparent.

“We are friends, I wasn’t just using him.”

“Yeah, you were. Does he know?” Thomas says. Aaron grinds his teeth together.

“No.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows.

“Wow. So you use him, then reject him? You are stone-cold.”

“Reject him?”

“James tells me everything. Like how you definitely lied about the whole ‘I could never want you!’ thing, much as I hate to admit it.”

Aaron deserves to be valedictorian, just for sitting through this conversation.

“Did he give you a transcription?” Aaron scoffs.

“So, what gives?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why are you tweaking about this? Besides the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“Aaron, c’mon.” Thomas fixes him with a serious look. “Have you seen him?” 

Aaron glares at him for a moment. Then sighs.

“I don’t know.”

Thomas groans and slides farther into his seat. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Aaron mulls over his words.

“What made James think I am, or I was, interested?”

Thomas sits up.

“You do get all weird around him. Oh Alex, write me a novel about your life!”

“It was for an assignment.” He gestures to the room. “For this.”

“You’re lucky to have James. He pushed Alexander in the right direction, since fuck knows you wouldn’t.” He smiles. “James is great. We’re both lucky to have him.”

Aaron snaps to attention.

“No we are not. He did what?” 

Thomas looks offended on behalf of Aaron’s traitor of a roomate.

“He dropped hints for you. You know, like a wingman.”

Aaron definitely deserves valedictorian. He deserves to graduate summa cum laude, if he hadn’t already done it himself. Why would he do that?

“Aaron Burr? You can go in now.”

He doesn’t have the moment to roll around this information in his head; he has to go get served his future on a silver platter, completely cut to shreds.

Thomas gives him two thumbs down, smiling maniacally, as Aaron walks into the office.

—

He gets two days to write his speech before graduation. He holes himself up in his room, avoiding James, and wishes he had Alexander’s aptitude and flair for the written word. He jumps between thinking he has too few instances of pretty prose, and then hating the few phrases he does get on the page. Thomas comes over the first day and they snide at each other from across the room, incorporating a few sly callbacks from their respective speeches.

On the second day he caves, and calls Alexander.

“Aaron?”

“Hello. I, uh, need help.”

Alexander yawns, staticky through the speaker.

“What else is new?” His voice has the upturn of a joke, and Aaron rolls his eyes even though Alexander can’t see him. He picks at the collar of his shirt.

“My speech, It’s…I’m struggling.” 

A chair scrapes, then is knocked over from the other side of the line.

“Holy shit, you got it? I’m coming over. Yours is going to be so much better than that jackass’.” 

Aaron can hear him sliding on his shoes, rustling a shirt that probably crinkles when he picks it up. He doesn’t bother trying not to smile.

“Wait, which one are you? You got valedictorian, right?”

Aaron laughs awkwardly.

—

Aaron watches as James’ mother fiddles with his many honor cords. He and James haven’t talked about it yet, and he’s not itching to bring it up, especially not today. He’s not particularly sentimental, but they’ve worked hard for this, and he doesn’t want to spoil it.

“Can we go?” One of James' millions of siblings asks. 

“I want to get a good parking spot.” His father mutters.

“Alright, alright.” Mrs. Madison smooths down the shoulders of his gown one last time. James smiles at her. Aaron feels a little warm at the sight. A few years ago he’d feel a stab of bitterness about the familial display, but he’s not seventeen anymore. It makes him happy to know his friend has something that wonderful, no matter the sliver of one-sided animosity between them.

They pile into three separate cars, and even then it’s pushing it to fit all of James’ large southern family. Aaron ends up squished between James and his sister Nelly. They talk over him while Aaron reads his speech over and over and over again. Alexander had been as helpful as he could be. It was supposed to be Aaron’s speech, after all. Maybe he just needed a muse.

Gross, Aaron.

Nelly nudges him. 

“You’re coming to dinner after with us, right?”

“He better!” Mrs. Madison yells from the front seat. Aaron sighs dramatically.

“If I must,” 

He grins when Nelly laughs at him.

They spend about twenty minutes trying to find parking as Mr. Madison curses his son for living so far from campus. They walk to the large tent set up on the lawn as James explains the proportional decrease in rent the farther you get from Center City.

Aaron scans the crowd for Alexander. When that proves fruitless, he guiltily begins to search for Lee and Maria. He leaves James with his family and finds Maria amid the crowd. They chat for a few minutes and she congratulates him on his class rank as she fiddles with several ropes of her own. All my friends are so smart. He thinks, proud and puerile. Then he hears a shout behind him that sounds awfully like his own name, in a voice he thinks about more than too much.

Alexander is full on running at him like a drunk sorority girl. Aaron barely registers him before he collides into the nape of his neck. They stumble back a few steps, before Aaron pushes him forward again. Since he’s being practically bear hugged, he’s dragged along too. Finally, they find their balance. Alexander is hugging him and talking excitedly as Aaron tries to think about something other than the smell of coconut shampoo and ink.

When Alexander pulls back, he refers to Maria.

“Mind if I, uh…” He tugs at the sleeves of Aaron’s gown. Maria puts her hands up.

“He’s all yours. Congrats again. Aaron.”

Aaron stops staring at Alexander long enough to smile at her.

“You too.”

Alexander pulls him a few yards away.

“So, are you ready?”

Conversation, right. Yes.

“Sure.”

Alexander beams at him. Aaron can see a sheen of sweat, formed from wearing all black in the blistering sun, glistening in the midday light. He seems different, but Aaron supposes everyone does today. He doesn’t feel different.

Alexander looks like he might frown at the silence that Aaron should be filling. Aaron can’t stand it.

“I like your hat.” He jokes. Alexander grins, and playfully flips his tassel like it’s hair.

“Thanks, I got it brand-new last week.”

Aaron smiles. It’s not particularly funny, but corniness is slowly becoming equated with fondness the more Aaron looks at him. And he’s looking.

“Do you think we change for the wrong reasons?”

Alexander laughs lightly at him. 

“Okay, John Green. What do you mean by that?”

“You. You… changed, for me. Why?”

Alexander loses the smile.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this.”

“I lied. I do that.” 

“So I’m aware.” He stares at him, eyebrows furrowed. Alexander already picked up on the whole using him thing. He’s smart like that. And yet he’s still here. Like he knows something else.

“I lie about other things too. You’d have to get used to that.” Aaron chews his lip for a fraction of a second before stopping. It’s so humid today. Alexander’s face is shaded by the rim of his hat. Aaron wants to hide under it, too. Alexander studies him.

“We could try not doing it,” He lays out.

Aaron barely laughs.

“What, lying?” 

“Changing for the wrong reasons.” 

Aaron feels the air lighten and heavy with each breath they take.

“Oh?”

“Though, I’d argue it’s not for the wrong reasons.” Alexander looks at him with a challenge. Go ahead and disagree with me. I dare you.

It’s as much of a- spoken- love confession as he’s ever gotten. 

“Maybe we’re just changing into the wrong things.” Aaron offers.

Alexander shakes his head. Aaron nods in protest. They make eye contact. It’s difficult to say who laughs first, but once they do, it’s hard to stop. Under the sunniest day he’s ever had, Aaron considers the logistics of falling in love.

They compose themselves. Aaron grabs Alexander’s shoulders, meant to steady him, but it’s useless since he’s also still shaking with peals of laughter.

“Okay, just-” He swallows his smile. “If we keep changing, promise me it’ll only be into the good parts of us?”

Alexander still has mirth in his eyes.

“Okay.”

Aaron uses his leverage to kiss him.

He doesn’t consider the semantics of it. He tries to change, at that moment, into a person who can just feel without constraint. He manages it for now.

When Aaron pulls away, Alexander’s smiling like he did in Aaron’s room the last time they tried this. His smile looks much better outside, in the sun. Of course, the emotional high is plummeted when Alexander rolls his eyes and says:

“Finally, Christ.”

Aaron shoves him, but Alexander’s already laughing and apologizing and kissing him again.

“You should come to dinner with me and everyone.” Alexander is saying. Aaron feels a regret that barely makes a dent in his mood.

“I can’t, I promised James I’d go with his family. And he and I have… stuff to talk about.”

Alexander sticks out his tongue, arms still around him. “Is Thomas gonna be there?” 

Aaron laughs again. “Hopefully not.”

Alexander rests his head on Aaron’s shoulder.

“I guess that's okay then.” 

Aaron tries to get his smile under control. “We should meet up afterwards. Or get breakfast tomorrow. Or both. Both is nice.”

Alexander hugs him a little tighter.

“I like both.”

“I’ll text you, then.” Aaron expects him to pull away; this is a bit more PDA then he’s interested in, forty seconds into their relationship.

“Yup.” Alexander doesn’t seem to consider pulling away. Aaron begins to realize what he’s signed up for. He sighs, looks around. It’s not like anyone’s watching them, all too wrapped up in their own relationships and families. He catches Maria not-so-sneakily glancing at them, but he can live with that. He rests his head down.

“I honestly didn’t think this would happen.”

Aaron nods. He can see that. He certainly didn’t see this as a possibility.

“I have been kind of a dick.” He admits.

“Well, we were changing into what we thought each other would want, so I can’t blame you too much.” Alexander says.

Aaron chokes out a laugh. 

“Still. Sorry if I led you on.”

Alexander waves him off. Aaron can feel the air flow he creates on his back.

“Don’t worry about it, my expectations have been too high since before this project even started.”

Aaron pulls back completely then. Alexander groans. Aaron waits.

“When you asked me to be your partner, I thought you were going to ask me to be a different kind of partner.”

Aaron scrunches his nose.

“You thought I rode halfway across town with you, bought you ludicrous amounts of food, and only then decided to ask you out?”

“Well it made more sense in my head!” Alexander attempts to defend himself. “It was very romantic!”

“Up here, maybe.” Aaron taps the side of Alexander’s head. He can’t help his closed-mouth smile.

Alexander looks sheepish. 

“Yeah, up there.”

They are quiet. Aaron reaches for Alexander’s hand. Alexander takes it. They stand there until an announcement is made over the rudimentary system of speakers strewn across the lawn.

“All graduates, please proceed to your designated name groups. The ceremony will commence in ten minutes. The ceremony will commence in ten minutes. Thank you.”

“Let me walk you over?” Aaron offers.

“You won’t get back to your area in time, you’re the second letter.” Alexander counters. “If anything, I should walk you over.”

They get so invested in their bickering that Alexander doesn’t notice when Aaron begins walking towards the H’s, just follows along to continue talking. He only realizes when Aaron abruptly ends the conversation and begins speed walking back towards the tent. They call the first name, and he starts bolting it. Alexander can’t decide whether to miss the conversation, or laugh as he scurries away. He settles for yelling,

“See you tonight!”

 Aaron turns and waves as he keeps running. He winces when Aaron almost trips and faceplants into the dirt.

“Good luck!”

—

When Aaron gives his speech two hours later, he feels the gazes of hundreds of bright eyes watching him, hands already clutching their diplomas.