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Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens live in an old apartment building in the lower east side of Manhattan. The kind of building made from old red bricks and creaky fire escapes where it’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. They live between an old Jewish couple, whose grandkids stop by every weekend, and a kind single mother who sometimes asks them to babysit when she has to work an extra shift at the bakery.
Alexander Hamilton, an orphan immigrant from the Caribbean, is finishing his last few credits in law school before he can finally take George Washington’s job offer, writing articles for the New York Post in his free time. John Laurens, son of a Senator from South Carolina, is a freelance artist with a medical degree; he took a year off between college and job searching to work on his art. The two of them make an odd pair; Alex is fire while John is the gasoline that keeps him burning. John’s the ocean while Alex is the moon that pulls the tide. Alex is the night sky and John is the constellations that dot the canvas. John is the sun and Alex is the forest that thrives from the light and heat. They are fighters and they should tick every box that of things that frustrate the other. Yet, they almost completely balance each other out. They are deeply in love, sickeningly so, and have been since they met in college.
It’s late spring in New York City, and the street that Alex and John live on isn’t the busiest street. There are cars parked on the sides, of course, but not many cars drive down the actual street itself. It’s late afternoon on Friday and Alex is definitely stressed, finals are coming up and, no matter how much he prepares, he doesn’t feel ready for them. The taxi that he took from Columbia drops him off on the corner of the street; he pays the driver and climbs out. Vision swimming and heart racing in a way that’s reminiscent of the panic attacks that he hasn’t had in years. He walks down the center of the street, the apartment buildings swaying in the corner of his eyes, and the next thing he knows, he’s staring up at the sky with concrete digging into his back.
John’s in their third floor apartment, music on as he rubs charcoal into the page. There’s the sound of knocking and he pauses the music, unsure if he heard correctly, and waits for it to come again. When it does, he grabs the rag off of the floor next to him, heading to the door as he wipes his hands. John tucks the corner of the rag into the pocket of his jeans and pulls open the door, “hey Noah,” he says, crouching down to be at the kid’s height, “how’s your mom and sister?”
The little boy smiles at him, showing a wide smile and a missing tooth, “hello, Mr. John. They’re good, thank you. Mr. Alex is lying in the middle of the street again and Mama said that I should get you immediately.” He pulls a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket and reads the smudged writing, “she also says that she brought cookies home from the bakery last night and she knows that Mr. Alex hasn’t been feeling well so there’s sugar cookies for him. She also said that she can find a babysitter for this weekend.” He shoves the paper in his pocket and looks back up at John.
John stares at him for a second, trying to comprehend everything he just said before quickly shoving his feet into shoes, “tell your mom not to worry about this weekend, we’ll be fine. And thank her for the cookies.” He steps into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind him, “did Alex look injured at all?”
The little boy, Noah, shakes his head, “Mama didn’t say.”
John nods, “I have to go, don’t forget to tell your mom.” He rushes down the stairs before Noah can respond and throws open the door to the building. He looks around before finally spotting Alex in the middle of the street. John walks closer, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of blood, and kneels down next to him, “Alexander.”
Alexander’s eyes are staring up at the sky, cloudy like he’s not fully focused on what he can see. John gently taps Alex’s cheek until Alex looks over at him, “John,” he clears his throat, “when did you get out here?”
John gives him a kind smile, “not too long ago. Want to tell me why you’re lying in the street?”
Alex looks back up at the sky, confusion coloring his gaze, “I don’t know.”
John nods slowly, “you don’t know if you want to tell me or you don’t know why you’re lying in the street?”
It’s quiet for a moment before Alex responds, “I don’t know.”
“Can I hold your hand?”
Again, there isn’t a sound until Alex moves his hand out and John gently laces their fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” Alex says, moving his gaze to focus on John’s face.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” John replies, carefully pushing back Alex’s hair, “you’ve done nothing wrong.”
Alex nods, seemingly not believing what John told him, “I feel like I did.”
“What do you mean?”
Alex doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches John’s face, gaze flickering between his eyes and his mouth and- “do you want to go inside so you can lie on the couch? It might be more comfortable than the street.”
“No. I deserve the street,” Alex responds, startling John with the harshness in his tone.
“What?” John asks him, concern filling his voice, not so calm anymore.
“Life is pointless, John. I’m 23 and I’ve done absolutely nothing of merit so far. There’s no legacy and no one’s going to remember my name when I’m gone. It’s just me, this street, and the smell of gasoline,” Alex says, closing his eyes as the tears slip down his cheeks. “Life is pointless… I’m pointless.”
“Alex, listen to me, you’re 23. You have so much time left to make something of yourself. So many ways you can change the world and I know you’ll think of something. And you know what?” John says, lying down next to Alex, “I’ll remember you. It may not seem like much because you’re destined for so much more but… I’ll remember you. If I could grant you peace of mind, Alexander…” John trails off, staring up at the sky as he feels the warmth radiating from the man next to him. There isn’t anything he could say that he hasn’t already said before, and he knows he isn’t enough for Alex but he just wishes that he could grant him peace of mind. He knows that Alexander isn’t satisfied, that he will never be satisfied, “you’re not pointless.”
He looks over at Alex to see the man already staring at him, tears openly falling down his cheeks, “John.”
Unaware that everything he thought he had said aloud, he responds, “Alex?”
“What are you doing?” Alex asks him, reaching up to wipe at his cheeks.
“Lying here with you,” John says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s you, me, the street, and the smell of gasoline.”
Alex shakes his head, “no. No, you could get hurt. Go inside, John, please.”
“No. Not unless you go with me,” he responds, looking back up at the sky as the sun prepares to set. “If you get hurt then I get hurt,” John finishes, refusing to give in to Alex. He continues to stare up at the sky, even as Alex lets go of his hand and slowly gets to his feet.
Alexander stands beside his boyfriend; the clouds dissipate from his vision as his heartrate slows. He looks down at John and puts out his hand, “come on. You mean too much to me to let you get hurt.”
John takes his hand and lets Alex pull him up, “are you ready to go inside?”
Alex sends a look to the street and shakes his head, “let’s go.”
They make their way inside. Alex struggles slightly on the stairs and John puts his arm around Alexander’s shoulders, “is this okay?”
Alex nods and they walk up the stairs, passing by people going in the opposite direction. The closer they get to their apartment, the more weighed down Alexander becomes until eventually he can barely lift his feet and it appears as if he’s carrying a ton of bricks.
They’re standing in front of the door and John opens it, trying not to disturb Alex who has wrapped his arms around John’s waist. John guides Alex into the apartment, closing the door behind them, and sits down on the couch. After pulling the blanket off the back of the couch wrapping it around them, John wraps his arms around Alex and pulls him close to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbles, face buried in John’s chest before looking up at him.
“For what?” John replies, running his fingers up and down Alex’s back.
“You’re more than enough for me, I don’t deserve you,” he tightens his arms around John, “I love you. So much. I can’t… I can’t lose you, John. You’re right, there are things I’m not satisfied with but you’re not of those things. We’re not one of those things.” The tears pour down Alex’s cheeks rapidly, “I’m so sorry. I’m not enough for you. I work too much, I forget too many things. I got so stressed out that I collapsed in the street and was so out of it that I don’t even remember doing it! I’m a mess and you… you stick around and you deal with me.”
John shakes his head, “Alex, I’m not dealing with you. I love you. All of these things that I can to do for you, taking care of you when you’re out of it, when you’re not fully present in real life, when you’re so lost in your mind that you collapse in the street. When you’re so stressed out that you forget that you’re a real person. Helping you pick up the pieces of yourself that you drop like scraps of torn paper. I do these things because I love you. You may be a mess but I’m a mess too, Alexander, and you’re not going to lose me. I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”
“Forever?”
“Forever,” John agrees, pressing a kiss to Alexander’s forehead.
“Do we have to get up?” Alex asks, bringing himself closer to John and resting his head on John’s chest, directly over his heart.
“We can stay here as long as you want,” John replies, reaching over and pressing play on the stereo that was on the floor next to the sofa. He turns it down so it’s just background noise, enough to keep Alex out of his thoughts and give him something to focus on. But Alexander is not focused on the music that’s drifting from the speakers. He’s focused on the way it feels to have John’s arms wrapped around him and the way John’s heartbeat sounds through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He’s focused on the way it sounds when John whispers “I love you” right in his ear when the song changes. He’s focused on the way his mouth forms the words “I love you” when he doesn’t even have to think about responding. He closes his eyes and falls asleep between one of John’s breaths and the next.
Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens live in an old apartment building in the lower east side of Manhattan. The kind of building made from old red bricks and creaky fire escapes where it’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. They’re known as the kind couple on the third floor who have loud friends and look at each other like the stars are in their eyes. The kind of couple that was destined to be together the moment their eyes met during their first meeting. They’re the ones who would go to the ends of the universe for the other, not a question asked. They’re in love and they’re a force to be reckoned with.