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"They’re doing it on June eighth," Lin announced, not looking up from his laptop screen as he scrolled through his social media feed.
Jon paused mid-coffee pour, the stream of dark liquid hovering dangerously close to overflowing his mug. "The Tony’s?"
"Yep. With the Ham reunion." Lin's fingers drummed loudly against their kitchen table.
"On our anniversary," Jon said.
"On our actual anniversary." Lin repeated, and finally closed the laptop with more force than necessary.
"Okay," Jon said slowly. "And that's... bad?"
Lin finally looked up, his eyes wide with something close to betrayal. "Jon, we already share the day of our first kiss with your birthday. That was my fault, but–" They exchanged smiles at the memory of that . "Now they want to take our anniversary too?"
Jon could see Lin briefly entertaining the idea of blackmailing the Tony production team to reschedule.
"What if," Jon said, settling against the counter beside him, "we think of it differently?"
"Differently how?"
"Well, we got together on June eighth, right? Standing in our dressing room, both of us in costume, both of us high on adrenaline from the show, both of us probably covered in stage makeup and sweat."
Lin's mouth twitched. "You were definitely covered in sweat. Like, concerningly so."
"My point is—" Jon nudged Lin's shoulder. "We get to be our characters again, ten years later, just for one day before the whole world again. And it just so happens to be on Grofflin day."
And that finally made Lin’s face light up like he had just heard his favourite word. "You said Grofflin day."
"Remember?" Jon grinned, watching Lin's expression cycle through several stages of nostalgic joy.
How could any of them forget? In 2016, #GrofflinDay had conquered Twitter for forty-eight hours straight, and they’d spent the whole night giggling at fanart and edits under their covers, legs intertwined.
"So, it'll just be like then..."
"Exactly. Us, all over again."
Lin was quiet for a moment, considering. "Jon, you know how it is. It's a celebration, first and foremost. But it... also has the duty to be more than that." His eyes were dark. "I don't want all that to be associated with our special day."
Of course. Lin’s show was beautiful and necessary, but utterly exhausting. It could never be enough. And speaking of Hamilton -
"Wait," Jon said suddenly, the new problem occurring to him with delayed horror. "This means I'll have to watch you flirt with Pippa and Renee and Jazzy and Anthony-"
"I won’t let that happen." Lin said immediately, reaching for Jon's hand. But then his eyes glinted, coy now. "Besides, what you’re doing on Broadway right now is way worse."
"We're just gonna do a medley of my solo numbers, thankfully. And what do you mean, 'worse'?" Jon pouted in that exaggerated way that always made Lin melt."I only pick one person per night."
Lin shook his head, laughing. "Please, there's at least eight hundred people you seduce each night with that voice of yours. And times that by eight shows a week . Let me be jealous." He crossed over and planted a kiss on Jon's cheek, his hands reaching up to frame his face. Jon responded by kissing him properly on the lips, tasting coffee and the lingering sweetness of morning.
***
"Jon, I’m so sorry. They want the hair gone." Lin's voice drifted from the bedroom along with his approaching footsteps, genuinely disappointed. "We decided on a modern look."
Jon took his time carefully folding Lin's discarded shirt (which he was definitely planning to "borrow" later that night) before looking up, taking in Lin’s shoulder-length waves that he’d been growing out for the past year. Lin had complained about the inconvenience daily in the final weeks of the original run, and got rid of it the second he was allowed to. And now he was growing it out again–not for the show, not for any role, just because Jon would celebrate like he just won his first Tony when Lin mentioned his plan.
Jon silently ran his fingers through the dark strands, watching them catch the afternoon light streaming through their living room windows. Beautiful didn't even begin to cover it.
"It's okay," Jon said softly. "I still get two more months of this."
"Though I reserve the right to mourn privately," he added with mock solemnity, earning an adoring smile from Lin.
"You know that also means you won’t get your wig or crown either, right?"
"Outrageous. How else will I convey my royal displeasure at my loyal subjects without pointing with my sceptre?" Jon pouted tragically and began petting his imaginary sceptre.
"We’ll let you keep that then. The actual symbol of a monarch’s authority, it fits. Then we’ll give you the signet ring too…" Lin trailed off thoughtfully, but then his smile turned sly as he refocused on Jon. "And red . You’ve got to be in red."
"For symbolic purposes only , right?" Jon narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, my dear Groffsause," Lin said, infuriatingly smug, "surely you’re not suggesting something in my show has only one meaning?"
***
Jon waved goodbye to the Sirens as he pushed through the back door of the theatre. He took a moment to let the cool night wind blow across his sweat-covered face. Since he'd sacrificed another day of Just in Time Tony rehearsals for Hamilton, they'd been forced to cram an entire day's worth of work into a few brutal hours.
He was reaching for his phone to call Lin when he spotted their familiar car parked under a streetlight just meters away–Lin must have driven over when his own rehearsal finished. Through the windshield, Jon could see Lin bathed in the blue glow of his phone screen, also looking incredibly drained.
At the sight of Jon sliding into the passenger seat, Lin smiled and flipped the phone face down in his lap, any sign of fatigue instantly vanishing.
"Did they yell at you for virtually joining our Ham rehearsal during the break?" Lin asked as he passed his half-eaten bagel to Jon.
"What do you mean? Am I not allowed to FaceTime my husband when I miss him?" Jon blinked innocently, wrestling the seatbelt with one hand as the other was occupied by the bagel.
Lin snorted. "You’re unbelievable, but I already knew that."
"Now eat." He commanded, elbowing Jon until he took a bite.
Jon ate, but couldn't bear to spend a second not looking at Lin, who was also watching him with pure indulgence. So Jon leaned as far as the seat belt would allow to kiss Lin with a mouth full of bagel. Lin squealed with surprise and made a pathetic attempt at pushing him away, but soon gave in and licked the cinnamon sugar off Jon's lips.
But Jon still saw the slight tension in his shoulders that hadn't disappeared even after the making out. Would’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else, but Jon immediately recognised the same heaviness he'd seen the day Lin had come up to him wordlessly and rested his head against Jon's chest.
"How’d the rest of rehearsal go?"
"Amazingly, just like how you saw this morning. This company and my creatives… what more can I say? It’s so much fun." Lin's voice carried that familiar note of pride, but then he added quietly, "Obviously today wasn't the same with you and Leslie and Anthony missing."
"If it's not something that happened during rehearsal," Jon prodded gently, "what's really wrong?"
Lin sighed and flipped his phone back over, not bothering to resist.
"Your Tony Luncheon interview."
Jon felt his stomach drop. "Lin, I'm so sorry. I let slip that it was a mashup almost a month before I was supposed to..."
It took Lin a second to realise what he was referring to. "Oh, that. It's fine since they just released the footage a few hours ago. It’s another thing…" Lin swallowed hard, his voice going smaller. "It's you calling me a brilliant performer. Instead of... anyone else. And performer, instead of..." Lin's expression was expectant and vulnerable, like he couldn't quite accept it but desperately wanted to hear more anyway.
Jon understood now. He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted in his seat before angling his body toward Lin. "C’mere," he said softly, opening his arms. Lin obliged and leaned across the centre console, and Jon pulled him as close as the awkward car geometry would allow, waiting until he felt his body relax against him. "Oh, Lin," Jon sighed, incredibly fond. "You're my favourite performer. And writer and human, but also performer . Everything I said about you in that interview I’ve said before, and I’ll say it over and over until you believe it too, honey. And in three days—I still can't believe this is happening—we get to perform together again."
Jon felt Lin slowly nod and bury his head deeper into Jon's neck, felt him breathe deeply like he was trying to memorise this moment.
"I love you."
"I love you too." Jon pressed a kiss to the top of Lin's head, the gesture long since as automatic and essential as breathing.
***
June eighth. Radio City Music Hall.
Jon was sprinting down the hall to his dressing room because he had six minutes to transform from Bobby Darin to King George III. Technically, he had thirty minutes even after posing for all the Just in Time backstage photos and vibing to Buena Vista Social Club’s performance, but it wouldn't be a Hamilton night if Jon didn't annoy Lin by getting dressed at the last possible minute. Sparkly blazer—off .
Jon was fumbling with his last few buttons when Lin walked into their shared dressing room, already fully dressed in his black suit. The sight of Lin with short hair made Jon do a double-take, although he’d already done that this morning when he woke up without dark hair fanned out all over his pillow. But still perfect , in every conceivable way.
It seemed Lin had already visited everyone in their dressing rooms, learnt the names of the Tony staff and dropped by to bother Tommy and Alex before returning now to get his mic attached.
Lin moved towards him and the gemstone on his cravat caught the light, flashing in Jon's direction. Jon felt his mouth go very dry. Oh he was definitely going to do something about that.
"Go away. You’re distracting me." Jon pouted, as Lin arched an eyebrow at how Jon had just put the second-to-last button into the last opening.
"You’ll do anything but get into costume."
"Are you mad at me?" Jon tilted his head with that same wounded puppy expression he'd perfected years ago.
Lin’s eyes widened with half disbelief, but replied without missing a beat, sounding just as fondly exasperated: "I could never be mad at you."
Jon made a movement towards Lin but the costume team had to intervene with how he had completely given up on functioning with Lin in the same room.
Lin stepped back with an amused shake of his head, leaving Jon to the mercy of the styling team.
Our little studio apartment moved a few streets up, he thought.
Once the styling team finished and left them alone, Lin watched as Jon reached for the Red Blazer, his sanity eroding with each second of intense eye contact Jon maintained through the mirror while sliding one arm, then the other, agonizingly slowly through the sleeves.
"Well?" Jon asked, finally in costume.
"What you did to poor Keanu. You know you have to make up for that." Lin said as he stepped forward, his voice dropping to that low register that still made Jon's knees weak. He traced the outline of Jon's lapel with one finger, smirking. "My turn."
Lin glanced up through his eyelashes, sliding his hand underneath the blazer at Jon's shoulder, slowly easing it outward. His thumb caught the loop of Jon’s neck ribbon, causing it to come loose but he paid no attention, continuing until the red fabric was fully off Jon’s shoulder, exposing the familiar curve of muscle and collarbone that he'd memorised a long, long time ago.
"Darling, I just went through all that trouble to put that on." Jon mused, while tilting his head to give Lin better access. His own hands went straight for the gem at Lin's throat, breath quickening as the familiar fire took hold. Who said people got more sensible after ten years?
Just then, the five-minute call echoed through the backstage speakers.
They let their hands fall reluctantly, just remembering they needed to be on national television in exactly five minutes.
Then Lin started giggling and bent down to retrieve something from the floor, and held up a piece of black ribbon smudged with concealer. Jon’s hand flew to his throat, and the expression of absolute horror on his face when he realised sent Lin into another fit of laughter.
"Lin stop. They might actually murder me." Jon muttered, frantically tying the ribbon around his neck before sprinting out of the room. "I'm telling them this was your fault."
"Tell them the hickey was my fault too!" Lin called cheerfully.
He was about to go after him when he spotted the small, ornate jewellery box sitting beside the flower arrangement on the side table. Someone thoughtful must’ve placed it there for them.
Lin twisted the ring off his finger with a soft sigh, placing it carefully into the velvet-lined box. There was space for Jon to lay his next to Lin’s (if he makes it back).
For a moment he stares at his ring in silence, the Schuyler Sisters' warmup echoing down the hall.
When you write the play you get to be in it. When you write the part you get to ask the actor to play the part. And when you’re desperately, stupidly in love with someone, you selfishly ask him to entrust you with his voice, his talent, in exchange for six weeks of nine minutes of stage time, hoping it’s just enough to keep him close while you figure out how to tell him. And when he beats you to it, you get to say yes . Yes, to spending the rest of your lives this way, together.
He walked toward Chris's dressing room for the pre-show prayer. It had never been officially agreed that this would carry over to tonight's performance, but everyone knew to gather there anyway.
All of them huddled together in distinctly different outfits and distinctly different hair, but still so obviously, lovingly, the same people who had created magic together a decade ago.
Jon finally made it right before they started, a little out of breath as he made his way towards Lin, the ribbon now tied "securely" around his neck. Followed closely by Leslie, who also refused to get changed until the last possible minute but still somehow looked like the most relaxed person in the room.
"Do what you always do," Jon whispered, his lips close to Lin's ear. "Show them a glimpse into that beautiful, chaotic mind of yours. Remind them why they fell in love with your show, and with all of us, all over again."
Lin’s smile was blinding as he slipped his hand into Jon’s, mouthing you can’t make me cry now.
Then Chris began the prayers, his voice carrying the same steadying energy it always had, and ten years collapsed into nothing.
They were satisfied.