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The phone buzzed in Alex's pocket, though he did his best to ignore it. It was probably a text from Laurens, which just made him want to check it more. He needed to concentrate on his class, but the message was going to eat at him until he at least looked at it, that much he could tell.
The professor directed a question at someone across the room, and Alexander took the moment to sneak his phone out. Two quick clicks, and he had the text open.
[Turtleboy 2:30p] You free?
Of course. They had agreed to chat on Fridays, and he had a sneaking suspicion one or the other had gotten the time difference wrong. Had he said two or three? Either way, he had meant three. His fingers grazed the touchscreen for maybe two seconds before he hit "send."
[2:34p] 20 min
"Hamilton?"
Alex nearly jumped and blew his own cover. "Yes, ma'am?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. She suspected him of something, at least. "Explain the discussion in the selection to the class."
His gaze flicked back to the open book in front of him, and he smiled. Volume four, book one, chapter six. If he knew one chapter in that weapon of a book well, it was this exact bit. Try and trap him in a discussion, will she? "Of course, ma'am. First off-"
Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, Alexander popped open his laptop and fell into his desk chair. He unloaded his bag while the computer started up- notes into one drawer, textbooks on the shelf, pens and pencils back in the cup where they belonged instead of getting lost somewhere at the bottom. The last thing he pulled out was a very worn, thick book, the kind that might have intimidated someone with a smaller appetite for words. He had lost count of the number of times he had read though Les Misérables in his life, but it was probably more than the norm.
He set the battered copy beside his computer and shifted his attention to the screen. Skype opened on its own, and the little icon beside John's name was green. Good. He clicked the "call" button and leaned back in his chair as the videochat opened.
The window flashed into focus on John's face, and a look of relief washed over him. "There you are!" he said, smiling. "You had me worried for a bit there."
"Sorry about that. I think I gave you the wrong time. I've got French until three on Fridays."
John cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you in French?" he asked. "You're legally bilingual. It's not like you need it."
"I had an empty slot," Alex replied with a shrug. "Needed something to do. Not everyone gets to travel the world and get their foreign language credits at the same time."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
Alex waved it off. "Doesn't matter. Washington had the same reaction when I signed up for it. He thought I should take Latin or Spanish. Anything I didn't know already. I like the professor, though." He did like Sarah, even if they did butt heads on a few things. Such as the meaning of certain phrases in literature and the fact that he insisted on calling her "Sarah" outside of class. "And when I heard what she was covering for the history section of the course, I couldn't pass it up."
John crossed his arms. "What is it? Or are you just going to make me guess?" Alexander held up his copy of Les Mis by one corner, and Laurens let out a single, loud laugh. "No way! You must be hell to have in class."
Alex grinned and gave a non-committal nod as he set it back down. If anyone in his life could rival his love of that book, it was John Laurens. The first time one had discovered the other with a copy- exactly who discovered who changed depending on which one was doing the telling- had dissolved into a three-hour discussion of the exact nature of the relationships of Les Amis de l'ABC and ended with both trying not to cry over the musical soundtrack. They had somehow gotten each other different movie adaptations for Christmas last year, and every two months brought up the idea of just going down to Broadway and finally seeing the whole thing on stage (even though they had yet to do so).
"Sarah tends to think so, yeah," he admitted. "I spend half the time re-explaining the puns that no one gets and arguing with people over just how gay Grantaire really was." That had been this afternoon, actually.
"I guess you..." John let the sentence trail off for a second and smiled, and Alex could feel the pun coming. That was a pun smile. "...want to hit them with a Brick?"
"Shut up."
"Oh! That reminds me." John tapped a finger on his desk until he managed to get the full thought back. "There's a guy named 'Enjolras' in my Government and Politics class."
"Shit, really?"
John laughed again, drawing the smile back to Alex's face. "Yeah, really. He's this angry blonde, too. Really into social justice. Always picking fights with professors and other students about stuff like, uh, the western governments' and mass media's grievous underreporting of terror attacks in Middle Eastern nations. It's like being in class with the one from the book."
Alex thumped the heels of his hands on his desk and leaned closer to the screen. "Oh my god. Has he read it?"
"Don't know. Wouldn't be surprised if he had, though." John tugged at a strand of hair. He really should talk with this real-life Enjolras, if only to find the answer to that question. He seemed so magically right for the part that it was hard to believe he wouldn't know he namesake. "He showed up in a red coat one day, and I almost cried. That was the day he tore into this jackass about homophobia. Absolutely beautiful."
"He sounds like me," Alex said smugly.
John considered it for a moment. "Yeah," he conceded, "like a blonde you."
Alex pulled a weird face. "Do you think I should..?" He tugged at the end of his ponytail.
"If you dye your hair, so help me, I will strangle you from here."
"Okay, okay." He hadn't been serious anyway. For the most part. "Just swear you won't go running off to join him if he starts building a barricade?"
"I dunno. He can be very convincing." A look flashed across Alexander's face, something between anger and fear, and John immediately backtracked. "I'm joking! Don't look at me like that."
Alex huffed. "I just do-" A loud buzz followed by an alarm tone cut him off, and he glared down at the drawer containing his phone. "Hold on." He fished the thing out and stared it down, not quite comprehending it. He had set an alarm for 3:45 why? A flashing message on the screen answered him: "GWASH MEETING" blinked up at him. "Oh shit."
John came closer to his camera, like that would help him see. "What's up?"
Switching off the alarm, Alex shook his head. "Meeting I forgot about," he mumbled, fumbling through the drawer for his keys and wallet. "With Washington. Scholarship stuff. Gotta go."
"Ooh, sounds fun." John leaned on one elbow and gave him a teasing smile. "Same time next week, then?"
"Oh course," Alex said with a nod, checking the time again. 3:47. He would have to run to make it. "I don't want to bail on you. There's no meeting next week, I promise."
John rolled his eyes. "I know. God, Alex, this is important if it's scholarship stuff. Just go." He waved his boyfriend off when Alex opened his mouth to protest. "Text me how it goes. I love you. Get out."
"I love you, too, John. I-"
"Go!"