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Aaron Burr was going to kill Thomas Jefferson. For real this time. Just as soon as he was let out of his Urban Politics class at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am, he would track down that fluffy-haired beanpole and strangle him proper with his tacky $800 designer scarf—more like a piece of cloth for all the good it does to keep someone warm.
They’d set up a pretty good system at the start of the year the moment they knew they would be roommates. Because they were in similar programs, they shared most of their classes. Aaron was a night owl through and through, able to function better during the wee hours from the moment sunlight barely drew a yellow and orange line across the horizon to the darkest hours. Thomas, in contrast, was an early bird, able to function in the mornings when the sun just peeks out and the rest of the world awakes from slumber. Thus, it was put in place that Thomas would be in charge of morning rituals: waking Aaron up—who couldn’t ever be bothered to wake up earlier than 12 pm—after using the bathroom and preparing breakfast and coffee in their cramped kitchenette; Aaron would be in charge of keeping Thomas awake as the day came to an end: reminding him which days they had night classes, something Thomas frequently forgets when he plans to go out with friends, and offering double espresso when they meet up in class.
This morning, though, their simple system had fallen apart, leaving Aaron waking up to 6:50 am blinking up at him from his phone and Thomas nowhere in sight. This led to Aaron scrambling out of bed, bleary eyed and dazed, tripping over everything in his rush to the washroom. He tugged on his knit sweater and shoved a piece of bland, untoasted bread into his mouth, pulled his pack over his shoulder and slide into his loafers, not bothering to fix the back, leaving his heel exposed, and skied out the door, breaking records in speed (or so it felt). He took the stairs, not even bothering with an elevator that never came when you wanted it to, and nearly fell down the last flight in his haste.
Luckily, Aaron’s class was held at Elmore Building which was just a couple of blocks from his apartment complex. The room was at the other end of the building, though, and he flew down the hallway, sure that his hammering heart was the only thing powering his coffee-less body forward. He reached the door with a couple of minutes to spare.
There were only a handful of students inside, a typical turn out right at the beginning of class usually, and some looked up at him from their seat in the descending mini-auditorium. Aaron fixed his shirt, trying to appear as put-together as he always was and less like he’d only woken up 10 minutes before class. He walked down the steps and took his spot at the front row three seats from the aisle. No one tended to sit in the front row, preferring the back where they can nap in peace and curse their 7 am class. But today was not turning out to be a typical one for Aaron Burr, and if his morning wasn’t ideal, the student sitting beside him wasn’t going to better his day in the slightest.
Alexander Hamilton didn’t even look up as Aaron slide into his seat, placing his bag under his legs and fixing his shoes. In fact, Alexander didn’t appear to be moving at all, just staring straight at his computer’s screen with the blankest eyes. It was rather eerie to see the young man static; he was the most animated person Aaron had ever met. From day one in freshman year, Alexander was at the center of most class debates—which tended to become rather vicious especially when Thomas was on the other end, and Thomas usually was—and community events. He was highly opinionated, and there didn’t appear to be anyone capable of changing his mind on most hot topics. Aaron had figured that Alex was just a boisterous first year, and soon his studies would shunt his passionate outbursts. But the complete opposite happened. Alex, much to Aaron’s amazement, became louder and worked like there wasn’t enough time in the day, writing for the newspaper and for the college’s blog, taking a leadership position in conventions and mock cabinets, heading the debate club, and volunteering at several different centers within and around the college campus. Soon his name was known to even students at other colleges in the city and in the state, and he showed no signs of slowing down.
If Aaron had to be honest, Alex intimidated him to no end. It wasn’t hard to peg Hamilton as a genius. This was a trait they both shared, along with their ambitious personalities. Alex had figured this out rather quickly, introducing himself to Burr at a bar a couple of days before school started and admitting he’d heard about Burr’s legacy and his awarded honours. Aaron had simply sat their dumbfounded for the most part by the jumpy, wide-eyed man with his hand-me-down everything and stringy dark hair tied in a haphazard bun who talked his ear off about being an orphan as well and his dreams of rising above expectations as a struggling immigrant. Burr couldn’t help but feel something akin to fondness for Alex then, a feeling Alex tended to bring out in people who didn’t piss him off, and from this affection, he’d offered the man a piece of advice that had gotten him this far: “Talk less. Smile more.”
Safe to say, Alexander hadn’t been impressed with that advice.
He’d obviously ignored it, but it didn’t stop him from trying to form a bond with Aaron, despite their mirrored personalities. They were in the same program which meant they ran into each other in every class. Alex pulled him into group projects whenever ones cropped up and insisted on studying together. Burr had gone along with it for the most part, finding benefit in Alex’s rapid mind and finding amusement in his wit. He’d be hard-pressed to call Hamilton a friend, though, as Burr was always opposed to his outspokenness, knack for picking fights, and brash attitude in the face of other opinions. ‘Compromise’ was a word Alex had never learned and as a result, he’d made plenty of enemies with people Aaron never wanted to cross—including his roommate, Jefferson.
Speaking of which. After noting that Thomas hadn’t made it to class, Aaron rifled through his bag and picked out his cell phone, furiously tapping a text to his roommate, asking where he was and why hadn’t he woken up Aaron this morning. He knew Thomas hadn’t been out the night before and actually had gone to sleep before Burr. This was an unusual move on his part and Aaron couldn’t help but worry a little. When he was done, he tucked the phone into his pocket and checked the wall clock above the chalkboard. The professor was a couple minutes late, which only meant he would keep them a little longer.
Aaron huffed in annoyance and shot another look at Alex who still hadn’t moved, staring at the same webpage since Aaron had sat down, not even scrolling and eyes fixed.
Why is everyone acting so weird today?
Burr should have just left Hamilton the way he was, hoping that this quiet state would mean he wouldn’t keep the class in longer for another debate about the unrealistic ambitions of developing a sustainable city based on the demolition of the urban landscape. But a stable Alex was unnerving and probably wouldn’t last through the class, anyways.
Aaron tapped Alex’s on the shoulder with two fingers. “Alexander?” No response. Was the man even blinking? Burr tried again, gripping his shoulder and shaking him slightly. “Alexander?”
The response this time was instantaneous. Hamilton sat up straight, jolting in his seat like he’d been struck by an electric shot, eyes wide and appearing to focus back. A few students looked over at the commotion but returned back to whatever they were staring at before after a short moment, already used to Hamilton’s oddities.
Alex blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes. His hair was tied in a lower ponytail today that swished as he shook his head. He finally looked over at Burr, and a slow smile graced his features.
“Aaron Burr, sir,” he chuckled at his own rhyme.
“You okay?” Aaron raised an eyebrow. He’d leaned back when Hamilton had come out of his reverie but now he returned to his perfectly erect position.
Alex waved a hand once in the air. “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t really sleep last night. John’s cat knocked a glass of water on my keyboard and as you can imagine, that didn’t agree with my laptop, so I had to re-write my entire socialism paper for class today.”
Aaron noted that the laptop sitting in front of Hamilton was a Mac, probably John Lauren’s, and not the bulky PC he always had with him. Burr gave him a sympathetic look as Alex rubbed his eyes again, throwing in a loud yawn.
“You haven’t got class until 8 pm, right? Get some sleep after this.”
“’Kay, mom,” Alex grinned widely this time, a smile which Aaron returned. He then bent over and pulled a long can from his tattered backpack that shined silver and blue in the fluorescent light above.
“Redbull? Seriously?” Aaron grimaced, his nose curling up at the energy drink. Alex shrugged as he popped the can open.
“Never had one, Burr? You should. Tastes delicious!”
“Somehow I highly doubt that.”
Alex rolled his eyes. But instead of taking a swing of the synthetic liquid, he pulled over a large mug Burr hadn’t noticed, and poured it into the cup.
“Redbull in a mug, how classy.”
Alex’s eyes twinkled with mischief, a look Aaron was entirely familiar but not too enamored with. “Oh, it’s much classier than that!”
Burr just stared at him for a moment before he caught the slightest scent of coffee emerging from the disturbed liquid in the mug, and his face turned into one of utter disbelief. “Alex…”
“I’m going to give it a name. Probably something like redbullatte, or americano energia. Wait, does Starbucks already sell something like this? If not, think I could make money off it?”
“Alex…are you okay?”
Hamilton chuckled and placed the Redbull can to the side before bringing the mug to his lips. Looking directly into Burr’s eyes, he proclaimed, “I’m going to die”, and proceeded to chug the abomination down his throat as Aaron looked on in sheer horror. It probably lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity to Burr before Hamilton slurped the last bits of his concoction and placed the mug back where it was.
Alex shot him a sharp smile. “I’ve got a couple more papers I have to re-write, so I don’t think I’ll be able to have that afternoon nap.”
Burr wanted to say more, wanted to ask why the man chose to release Caffeinated Alexander Hamilton onto innocent people, but then the professor rushes into class, tie askew and papers grasped desperately in his hand. Apparently he was having a lousy morning, too.
Class goes by at the same snail pace every early morning class goes. Despite the amount of caffeine no doubt thrumming in Hamilton’s veins, he is suspiciously quiet the whole time, keeping his head down and his fingers speeding across the keyboard. When the professor wraps up, predictably some minutes past the anointed time to make up for his own tardiness, Aaron takes the time to check in on Alexander.
“Are you seriously feeling okay?”
“My stomach thinks it’s a living creature and my heart has taken more beats in half a minute than a doped up racing horse, but otherwise, I’m feeling pretty good.”
Aaron furrowed his eyebrows at Hamilton’s shit-eating grin. “You haven’t eaten.”
“Ah,” now Alexander looked slightly bashful. “Not unless you count two and a half granola bars since yesterday morning.”
Burr felt a dull throbbing pain in his left temple. He called it the ‘Hamilton will send me to an early grave’ alert which was built into his body since the moment Alexander came up to him at that bar. If he’d stood steadfast then, if he hadn’t been sucked into the hurricane that was Alexander Hamilton, he definitely would have walked away from this scenario, washed his hands of the ludicrous man and went on his way. As luck would have it, he wasn’t so fortunate.
“I skipped breakfast this morning while running late. Let’s get something from the café across from the George Complex, my treat. I just have to call Jefferson first; he wasn’t home in the morning.”
Hamilton bristled at Jefferson’s name but beamed at the prospect of paid-for breakfast. Even if he had tons of work, food tended to trump all. “What a mom!”
Aaron’s call to Jefferson was apparently a lot quicker and less dramatic than he thought. Thomas had picked up on the second ring and before Burr could scold him for the morning, he’d interrupted and went right into explaining that he’d had to pick up an important prescription for James Madison on the other side of town at a specific time which Madison had forgotten about and remembered half-way through the next city. His apology was half-hearted at best, as all his apologies tended to be, and Burr’s headache was already mounting so he just accepted the excuse, and that was that.
“I love their blueberry tarts!” Alexander exclaimed, hopping up and down on his heels, possibly due to the caffeine but probably due to a mix of that plus his over-the-top natural energy. Aaron hadn’t stopped to realize that he would have to deal with a heavily juiced Hamilton, a realization that drags a shiver up his spine, but there was no turning back now, especially when Alex looked at him with those wide brown eyes of his.
“You’re going to have an actual breakfast and not just sweets,” Aaron replies, walking towards the George Complex with Hamilton right beside him.
“Tarts can be an actual breakfast!”
“I’m sorry, I just saw you chug the bastard child of Redbull and coffee on purpose so your opinion on what goes into your mouth is no longer valid to me.”
Aaron ignores Alex’s snickering and picks up the pace, smiling into his coat and feeling more awake than ever before.