Chapter Text
Day one
Alexander Hamilton liked control in every sense of the word. He liked sticking to routines and he liked knowing that he was somewhat dominant. It isn’t because he’s an asshole or anything similar to that nature but it’s because of a past experience he’d rather not say--not yet. Alexander considered himself, to some extent, as a man like Edgar Allan Poe (but less sad and southern with more facial hair).
Alexander Hamilton liked control so when there’s a man who suddenly cuts him off mid-speech, he feels something snap within him. It’s not like he has anger issues, he just hates people who cut him off and for a good reason but that’s a story for another time. “Excuse me?”
The bald man grunted. “I’d prefer it if you kept your opinions to yourself.”
It was a morning class and he had no time for this bullshit.
“What you said is an opinion in itself, but you still chose to say it anyway,” Alexander said frowning. He recognized the man as someone called ‘Aaron Burr’, the guy he met at the bursar’s office. “A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
Burr clicked his tongue, eyes becoming slits. “Watch your tongue, Hamilton.”
“If you had told our founding fathers to ‘watch their tongue’ then you wouldn’t even be enjoying your freedom,” Alexander said, crossing his arms. “They fought, killed, and died for our freedom--our human rights. In article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights it is said and I quote, everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; yet not every one receives it. This right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, rece--”
“I get it,” Burr sneered, sitting back down. Alexander smiled triumphantly and continued what was so rudely taken from him.
Alexander liked talking, he loved talking. He was not always confident. Once upon a time, he was that man curled up on a corner; he wanted to make himself smaller and then hoped for his disappearance. There was one point in his life wherein he wanted to just give up. What was there for him? Was was left for him? His mom died, his father left, his cousin killed himself and after...he doesn’t like talking about certain things that happened ‘after’.
He went from orphanage to orphanage, transferred due to attitude problems when it was only because he was rather small and easily bullied. He believed that if he didn’t fight back, things would get better. He was, of course, wrong. But, despite everything, he managed to fall in love.
Love. Perhaps. He was a tad bit too young for such a word, but he knew that it was love. It had to be.
At the age of 14, he was taken in by Martha Dandridge, a widow, and she loved him with every fiber of her being. She was a sweet woman who made sure to wake up at ungodly hours to make him breakfast and she also taught him how to play the piano and speak French. She was the single light in his life--the light in the dark place called ‘after’. He knew she didn’t deserve to see the darkest trenches of his soul so he decided to handle everything by himself.
Martha looked at him with worry. “Honey, are those...bruises?”
Alexander looked down, nonchalant. “I just recently got interested in biking and I’m not the most careful child out there.”
“Do be careful, Alex. You make me worry, I thought you were being bullied.”
“Is it wrong?”
“To hurt someone? Of course. There is no reason to.” And if it was their own fault? He doesn’t ask, merely nods.
At age 15, he started seeing the school’s guidance counsellor. He chose his words carefully because he knew of the loophole in their policy of confidentiality. The counsellor, clever man he was, picked up on this fairly quickly. On his third week of visitation, the counsellor had given him a notebook and urged him to write.
Write about what?
Anything.
At age 15, he found his passion for writing and even reading. His favorite book is ‘The Little Prince’ and he had no idea why but he loved it. At age 15, on his way to the library, he witnessed a protest and he found out that voices can be heard and that they all had the right to speak out without fear. At age 15, he started to have a private blog. His source of happiness was the ping! he received whenever someone liked or commented on a post he wrote.
But even then, he was empty.
Alexander Hamilton is very self-aware and he knew he needed help. He started packing lunches so he doesn’t have to spend his money, he saved every penny given to him. A punch of gratefulness would touch his heart whenever he saw forgotten money on the ground; it was the only time he believed in a higher being. At age 16, when he saved enough money, he brought himself to group talks. It helped. He slowly regained footing. He was strong.
At age 17, he snapped again and Martha found out so he had to take a break from school. Martha found out about Alexander’s detailed past--the dreaded prologue of ‘after’-- and found out about how his mind actually worked. She loved him. But she also found the space to love another man, George Washington. Alexander, young and impressionable, saw a man who shined like gold with an aura that held honor.
George Washington was an inspiration to him. The man talked about politics all the time, passion lacing every word that he said. Honestly, Alexander only asked what the ‘writ of habeas corpus’ was and George sprung out about it in great detail. Alexander was immediately interested. After a week, they began pointless debates--pointless because they were always on the same side and there was no point in it. George Washington never interrupted him when he talked and he never gave him those patronizing looks he was used to.
He supported him.
Alexander closed the ‘World Politics’ book George lent him. “I think I’ll take up law”
The words were out and he was afraid that Washington might laugh at him and discourage him. “Honestly, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
“You support my decision?”
“Only if you’re sure about it.”
“I’m sure.” And it was the first decision he was very sure about, first decision to have ever been supported by people who loved him--people that actually loved him. He thinks the tingle in his chest was a feeling he has never felt before--gratitude.
“Hi,” an accent laced voice said.
Alexander looked up from his notebook and smiled. “Hi, I take it you’re going to defend Burr?”
The boy snorted. “I--I wouldn’t do such a thing, mon ami. He is---was--is?--was being a dumb baguette as per usual.”
Alexander grinned. “I’m Alexander Hamilton.”
“W--uh--would you like the short or the long version of my name?” The boy grinned, eyes shining. Alexander picked ‘long’. “I’m--I--I’m Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de La Fayette.”
Alexander whistled. “Wow. I’d like to say all those but maybe I’ll just interchange it every once in awhile.”
“Interchange?”
“Yeah, Marie.”
“God. Can’t you just call me ‘Laf’?”
“Sure, Gilbert.”
Lafayette snorted. “You are very lucky that you’re cute.”
The compliment made him feel nothing. It bothers him that that is the only reaction he is capable of when it comes to compliments. “Am I?”
“Coffee?” Lafayette asked.
“Sure.”
Three days later
Alexander found out that Lafayette was very intellectual and also very attractive. He spoke in both english and french when he found out that Alexander actually knew how to talk in french. He’s never seen anyone light up so much at the fact that he knew another language. They talked about numerous things, political views to Greek mythology--odd range but why not? When was Alexander ever normal?
They seemed to have clicked quite easily and, again, Alexander Hamilton is not stupid; he knew what Lafayette wanted from him. He wasn’t exactly promiscuous, but he had his fair share of one night stands--protected one night stands. And if Lafayette’s soft touches and smirks were anything to go by then...
“You offend me,” Lafayette frowned.
“I’m sorry, Roch,” Alexander said, shivering. “I just really don’t like eating snails.”
“You...You uncultured swine!”
A snort. “Did you just really quote Toy Story?”
“It’s a very great movie.”
“Bet you cried at the ending.”
“Could you blame me? They were in a furnace.”
Alexander laughed. “Okay, fine. I concede.”
“You--” Lafayette’s eyes flickered towards the window. “John!”
Alexander whipped his head to see oh, how... a boy with dishevelled hair and so many freckles. The boy stormed past the coffee shop window, obviously in a rush to get somewhere. “Who was that?”
“A friend of mine,” Lafayette said. “I bet he’s late for his class. He’s an oaf.”
Alexander wanted to say something, but sipped on his coffee instead. “I’m bisexual, by the way.”
“Okay,” Lafayette nodded. “Thank you for telling me it’s a bit out of the blue but still thank you. I’m pansexual.”
“I just wanted to get that out of the way in case you didn’t want to sleep with someone bisexual,” Alexander shrugged.
Lafayette gave him a wolfish grin. “I’d have thought you’d be more conservative.”
Alexander snorted. “Me? Conservative?”
“Point,” Lafayette nodded. “Are you looking for something serious?”
“Not at all.”
Lafayette breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”
“I take it you aren’t either?” Alexander chuckled. “I only have a few conditions.”
“Conditions, huh?” Lafayette smirked. “I’m listening.”
“One, I top.”
“I prefer that.”
“Two, I don’t kiss mouths.”
A shrug. “As long as you kiss me somewhere else.”
“Three, I don’t cuddle or do whatever the hell kind of romantic rituals after the sex.”
“I hate cuddling afterwards, it’s sticky.” Lafayette took a sip from his drink.
“Four, it has to be somewhere that isn’t in my place because there are children in that boarding house I stay in.”
“It’s a deal, Alex.”
“Oh, look at us,” Alexander grinned. “Two consenting adults. Thank you for not making this difficult.”
Lafayette gave him a quizzical look. “What’s so difficult about those rules?”
“One guy agreed but insisted that I bottom and I just--” Alexander shivered. “No. No..”
“I see. I have one condition.”
Alexander glanced up from his drink. “Yeah?” Don’t be into BDSM.
“Don’t fall in love with me,” Lafayette said, crossing his legs and winking.
Alexander has never laughed so hard in his life.
Half a week
“Wait,” Lafayette said, literally when Alexander was about to enter.
“Lafayette, I hate edging,” Alexander grunted, trembling with anticipation. “Seriously.”
“If someone with freckles knocks on the door just let him in even if it’s in an, how say, ungodly hour,” Lafayette said, too casual for someone who was white knuckling the bed sheets. “He’ll just take over the couch or something.”
“Okay,” Alexander said through gritted teeth. “Now let me in.”
Alexander was pretty sure he blacked out after all of that. The feeling of Lafayette still lingered, taut skin, back clawed down, and oh the hair whipping he had to endure (worth it). It’s been awhile since he’s last touched another person or let anyone, for that matter, touch him. And wow he was out of shape. He really needed to start running with his legs again and not just his mouth.
He looked over to his side, greeted with the sight of Lafayette with hair all over the place, mouth slightly ajar, and quite completely naked. He thought that he snored cutely, but also mercilessly. Alexander peeled himself off of the sheets, making a bee-line for the bathroom. He needed to work on numerous things, but he can’t do that when he smelled of bread, coffee, and sex.
Where was his shirt?
Nevermind.
He stalked towards the living, grabbing his backpack along the way, then sat down on the floor. He laid all his materials on the table, sighing in relief when he opened his laptop. He just felt a bit safer with his laptop open. Another sigh of relief when he heard the sounds of typing. He loved it.
There were a lot of things he had to do, books to read and articles to publish. And you know what? He’ll do everything all at the same time because he’s Alexander Hamilton. He’s happy--sort of. He’s made it through so many things and yet somehow there’s this thing he wants to have, but can’t. It’s infuriating because he can’t seem to figure out what it was. He knows it won’t ‘complete’ him per se it will only satisfy him.
A knock.
Ugh.
“Since when did you start locking your--” A pause. “You’re not Laf.”
Starlight freckles.
“I’m not,” Alexander said, giving him a lazy smile. He may or may not have realized that he answered the door while he was shirtless. Well, shit. “He is asleep.”
The boy, freckles, enters the room stiffly. Alexander figured that it might be because he was shirtless. What was his name? J...J-what? “Sorry, I didn’t know he had someone over. Am I intruding?”
“It hardly matters since he is snoring mercilessly,” Alexander said, shrugging. He saw a random sweater and slipped it on. It was a bit long on him and he immediately knew it was Lafayette’s sweater. “And he said that I should let “freckles” in if he should knock at a ‘how you say...ungodly hour?’”
Freckles merely gave him a ‘wtf’ look. “I just needed to crash somewhere, I’m too tired to go home.”
Alexander hummed in comprehension before walking past him to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table that had sheets of paper and wrinkled dog-eared books strewn across it. There may be a guest but he’ll still work because he had a lot of due dates piling up. Honestly, damn his Type A personality. Now, where was he?
Freckles made a show of diving into the couch behind Alexander and if he were to be any more relaxed, Alexander was sure that the boy would moan. “Are you going to use the couch?”
“Maybe later,” Alexander quipped. “Would you like me to turn the lights off?”
There is a noise of shuffling behind him. “Mmm no.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodmm.” And Alexander smiled.
He had three articles due in a month and he need to get it done or his name isn’t Alexander. One of the articles he was writing about was white feminism and how it worked, maybe adding in pictures of Taylor Swift here and there. He did not hate Taylor Swift that much, it was impossible to hate her when Lafayette would sing ‘Bad Blood’ over and over and over again.
Another article is about racism because...why not? Alexander believed that everyone, at some point, can be racist. He distinctly remembers a time wherein he has this huge hatred for white people because who the hell would ever support Trump? but he’s learned that hating them will do him no good especially if he lived on their historically stolen land.
A whimper.
Alexander lost all train of thought. He looked behind him to see the boy all curled up while snoring and drooling. He frowned, he realized that it was rather cold in this apartment and that the boy was slightly shivering. Alexander bounded towards the cabinets and the first blanket he saw was a plain black one; it was supposed to be the one he’ll get, but at the bottom of the pile there was a blanket with stars on it. He had to get it.
Starlight freckle.
He draped the blanket over the sleeping boy who further curled into himself, a soft smile making it’s way to his lips. Alexander resumed working.
Alexander was also writing about terrorism, what with the attacks of ISIS recently. Apparently, there were still comments saying that if you are Muslim then you are, undeniably, a terrorist which is not only stupid but also untrue. People on some stupid app called ‘Vine’ were also doing public scares by dressing up as ‘Muslims’ and dropping ‘bombs’ in front of strangers.
The world is stupid.
He checked his emails and, sure enough, there was another article request.
We would like to request of you, if possible, to write about a--
He tells them a direct ‘no’ and resumes with his other articles. He wasn’t sure how long he was working, but pretty soon the sunlight was glaring at him and the birds were chirping. What were they so happy about? It’s just another day and he’s surprised he even lived through it. He doesn’t need to live through--doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but he doesn’t see the point of living either. He writes and then...and then what?
No, Alexander.
He wasn’t happy, but he was content with what he currently had and he had to remind himself that everyday. He had Martha and George, blogs to write about, and a shit ton of things he needed to do--only he can do. Alexander always went from hyperactive to totally pessimistic during 11PM-7AM and it really was a frustrating schedule to have.
“Good morning,” a voice grumbled. Lafayette was at the doorway, rubbing his eyes.
Alexander smiled. “Morning.”
“I see you made a friend,” Lafayette laughed.
“Shit company he is,” Alexander quipped. “I hope you don’t mind, I kinda used your blankets.”
“For both of you?” Lafayette asked.
“No, just him.”
“Sweet of you since he gets sick easily,” Lafayette said. “I’m making omelettes.”
Alexander frowned. “Won’t you make French toast?”
“You had French toast last night,” Lafayette said absentmindedly.
He snorted. “Right. Funny.” Then an idea hit him. “Cheese in my omelettes?” Alexander said, hopeful.
“Of course, mon petit lion,” Lafayette hummed.
Alexander gave him a questioning gaze. “That’s new.”
“It’s my revenge for you using my whole name,” he huffed.”
“I only use parts of it, Joseph,” Alexander corrected.
Lafayette groaned. “You’re horrible.”
“Can’t be that horrible, Paul” Alexander winked.
Lafayette look at him stoically. “Right. Shower is over there.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alexander said, shutting his laptop.
“Hey, Alex.” And that tone was different. It wasn’t joking.
Alexander turned around. “Lafayette.”
“Would it be alright if I introduced you to my friends?” Lafayette asked, nervous but his eyes were showing excitement. “I know that we sleep together and all but I’d also love to be friends. I know you’d fit in with us.” Us being who?
“I’ve never had a group of friends before,” Alexander admitted. The Schuyler sisters/siblings were an exception, they were never like a group.“I don’t have...experience.”
“It’s fine,” Lafayette giggled. “It’s not a job.”
“Why not?” Alexander grinned.
The moment Alexander stepped into the bathroom, he didn’t know what to do. The shower must be some kind of alien technology bullshit because he can’t seem to figure it out and he’d rather die than admit that. Too hot. Oh, fuck--too cold. What was this knob? Satan? It would have burned his nipples off if he didn’t step back fast enough. He was Alexander Hamilton, a scholar, a dean’s lister and the smartest---
“Laf, your shower is making my head combust,” he said, defeated. “If this burns my ass, I will sue you.”
Lafayette rolled his eyes. “And I thought you were the smartest man to ever exist, mon petit lion.”
Alexander groaned and shut the door. He’d rather shiver to oblivion than have nipple transplant or burnt butt cheeks.
Freeze his ass off it is.
“I may have high GPAs but your shower just makes me feels like I don’t deserve to be a fucking Dean’s Lister,” Alexander grumbled, sitting down next to Freckles.
“Oh look at me I’m Alexander Hamilton and I get high grades by sucking up to George Washington,” Lafayette said in a high pitched mocking tone.
Alexander rolled his eyes. “I do not sound like that.”
“So you’re admitting to sucking up to Washington?” Freckles joked. Alexander failed to mention that he was maybe a little bit related to George Washington, but to be fair he had asked George not to act like they were well acquainted.
“I am really just that smart and charming,” Alexander grinned. He got a better look at Freckles at that point in time. He had curly hair that Alexander wanted to plow down with his fingers and crow’s feet that he thought were nice. “By the way, what’s your name?”
“John Laurens,” he replied, hand out.
Alexander took it. “Alexander. Alexander Hamilton.”
“Alexander,” John says, trying it out.
Alexander couldn’t help but smile. “You can call me ‘Alex’ if you would like.” Then, an afterthought. “Or “Zander” or whatever.”
“I call dibs on petit lion,” Lafayette said.
“As if anyone else would call dibs on that,” Alexander said, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time. “I swear Joseph.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you what, Gilbert?”
“That too.”
“Okay, Marie.” Lafayette groaned. “At least I have half a mind to even know your name, Roch.”
John laughed. “Oh my god.”
“You find this funny?!” Lafayette exclaimed. “I should have you know, John Laurens of Columbia University pre-med and an advocate of black lives matter and free the turtles, that this is not funny.”
Black lives matter? So this man liked things he was passionate about.
“Black lives matter?” Alexander questioned, turning to him. John gave a nod. “There’s a protest this weekend. Do you want to come?”
Lafayette sighed loudly. “And I go ignored.”
“I’d love to,” John replied. “That means of course I’ll have to finish my papers. Fuck.”
He writes?
Alexander sat straight. “Papers?”
“Oh, here we go.”
John looked at Lafayette, confused. “What?”
Alexander felt himself buzz. “I’m actually in love with writing, it’s practically my first love. I actually started writing when I was 15 and then I started a few mediocre blogs. Have you heard of The Movement?--” John nods his head. “--I run that and it’s practically my child, well along with four other ones. I’ve written about LGBTQ+ a lot, but how can I not? I’m a proud member of the community. I think that was the first time I’ve screamed so loud; Pride makes you do things you don’t normally do. I once threw a pie at some homophobic tampon but it was great.”
John was still listening to him and Alexander knew that he was because his eyes weren’t all glossed over just like--just like?--Lafayette was listening to him too even though he already knew about half the things he was talking about. He also feels himself talk about his double major, to test them. He loved talking about his double major because, of course, politics but he also knew that no one would pay attention to that.
But they did.
And what about debate?
They nodded along.
They were listening.
His voice mattered?
“Fucking asshole homophobic prick who stole my green megaphone during Pride...”
“There are other megaphones in the world.”
“You don’t understand, Marquis. It was green.”
And it was easy. This thing that they were going to have seemed to start off easy and he wondered why and how come? This feeling is...
“Hey, about last night...”
“What about it, mon petit lion?”
“You should tie your hair next time, I think I managed to eat some.”
“Casse Toi.”
Alexander feels light for a moment or two as he stared at both of these men. He’s just met them and it’s a ridiculous notion, but he feels a certain change he’s only ever felt when he met George Washington. It’s not new but it’s also definitely different. This is a--what the fuck was this?
He frowned when he saw that John was zoning out.
“John, your coffee's getting cold,” Alexander pointed out, hoping that he wouldn’t waste such a magnificent liquid.
Lafayette snorted. “He likes cold coffee.”
“I am not having this discussion again,” John sighed, taking a sip of his already lukewarm coffee.
Excuse me? Alexander eyed him cautiously. “You...I don’t trust men like you.”
John almost choked on his drink when he snorted out a laugh. “Men like me? Charmingly freckled and drools in my sleep.”
“Yes” Alexander said, tilting his chin up. “Men exactly like you.”
His days muddled up after that.
Three words.
Big. Red. Megaphone.
“Equality!” He shouted, loving how he made himself deaf. The energy of the crowd was astonishing and very contagious. He felt himself just vibrate with optimism and confidence. If there was a table around here, he would stand on it. He feels himself talk more but he’s not aware of what he’s saying anymore. He just knows it’s right.
It’s been a while since he’s been to something like this, he’s been so absorbed with work and thinking about project after project after project that it almost took a toll on his health. He didn’t want Martha or George to support him, he’s only living on what he earned from his writing and the compensation food Martha gives him every week. How can he say no to Martha’s home baked coconut cream pie?
“Alex!” Lafayette called, arm slung over a much taller man. “I want you to meet someone.”
Alexander grinned, sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Alexander Hamilton.
“Hercules Mulligan,” the man said, taking his hand. “Call me Herc or Mulligan, just not a disney character. Also, can I borrow your megaphone?”
Alexander grinned. “Know how to use it?”
“Oh fuck yeah, dude.”
Surprisingly, Lafayette was the most tamed out of all of them, only going as far to join John in his escapades. John wore a cape that had an equal sign on it and he was going around and challenging people to a freestyle rap and words flowed fluidly from him as if it was water on rock. Hercules had his voice booming, Alexander pegged him as quiet but he wasn’t--not one bit.
He heard Lafayette laugh and say how ridiculous he was while John just yelled loudly, eyes alight and smile just as bright. He wandered around the crowd, greeting people he already met during previous parades and protests and he loved how he can just remember their names so quickly.
Hi, Madeline.
Alex!
“I’m hungry,” Lafayette whined.
Hercules snorted. “In this crowd, we might lose each other and my battery’s about to die.”
Alexander waved his hand dismissively. “We won’t.”
They began to make their way out of the crowd and he tried to keep his eyes on the freckles on John’s neck. Don’t lose them. A rather tall looking man bumps into his shoulder roughly, enough to bruise. Alexander turns to glare at the man’s back and he would have yelled if he wasn’t following...
“Lafayette?” He said, frowning when he realized that he lost them. Where were they? Did they not even turn back to see if he was following? Did they even set a place to go to? He doesn’t even know how to go back home from here. Oh god.
Step 1: Look for something familiar
- Nothing.
- No one.
- Someone, come find me.
Step 2: 5 Senses
- The smell of sweat.
- The taste of blood from biting his lip.
- The sound of laughing from the girls in front of him.
- The feeling of his nails digging into his palm.
- The sight of white converse, illustration boards, black skin, people with sandwiches and--
Starlight freckles.
“Alexander,” John said. “I thought we’ve lost you.”
Alexander laughed, forgetting how he was practically on the brink of panic just a few seconds ago. “I shouldn’t have glared at someone and lost focus.”
John snorted. “Of course you would.”
Alexander gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
“Can I hold your hand?” John asked. “So we won’t be separated.”
“I--what?”
“Is it alright if I hold your hand?”
“Do you have to ask that?”
“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, okay.” John gently took his hand and led him to the right direction. Why did he have to hold him so gently? “You should really moisturize more.”
John laughed. “Well I’m sorry, Mr. my-mom-buys-me-Aveeno.”
“It’s good for your skin!” Alexander argued.
John looked back at him, all fond smiles and twinkling eyes. “You’re amusing.”
“I know,” Alexander huffed. “Where are you taking me?”
“There’s this 70s themed place with milkshakes. I love milkshakes. I’d sing about them if I can.”
Wow, you’re so passionate about milkshakes. “I bet you’re just excited because there’s a coffee flavored milkshake and it’s just you wanting a proper excuse for cold coffee.”
John gave him a pout. “I like cold coffee. Oh come on even Ed Sheeran’s lover liked it. She likes cold coffee in the morning.”
Alexander could have sworn that he just had a spasm at a certain thought.
“Well if we’re going to base it on hit songs.”
“Our life is predicted by hit songs.”
“I’m more of a Bohemian Rhapsody kind of guy.”
“Just don’t tell Laf or we’ll be forced to have karaoke night.”
“Oh, well, of course.”