Work Text:
John Laurens regrets his decision to sit in on the American politics major and see what it’s like. He is sure that most of the time, the class is smooth and not open to disturbances, but they must be having some sort of debate, because a man with his hair in a ponytail is yelling, and Laurens quotes, “bend over, and I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”
The man he is yelling at takes an affronted step backward. Actually, this is pretty entertaining, even if it has nothing to do with political science. Or maybe it does. Maybe every cabinet meeting’s just two men trading insults while they get more and more offended.
Ponytail Man’s chest is heaving.
Another man stands up and Ponytail Man says, “Burr, if you admire or appreciate my words without taking a goddamn stand, sit the hell back down.”
The man sits back down.
The teacher in charge seems at a loss of what to do, which is hilarious.
Laurens feels compelled to say something in order to attract Ponytail Man's attention. So he stands, and when Ponytail Man fixes him with an arched eyebrow and a demanding quirk to his mouth, he feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust. The man- holy shit, the man is attractive. The loose bits of hair coming down from his ponytail- obviously tied in the heat of the debate, frame his features perfectly- and his eyes, holy fucking shit- Laurens can barely remember what he’s going to say.
“America prides itself on being the world’s melting pot. Steve Job’s father was a Syrian immigrant, and I see your iPhone in your pocket,” Laurens fixes the guy Ponytail Man was shouting at with a harsh stare. “The fact is, over two thousand refugees have been accepted in the past five years, and a grand total of zero have been linked to terror groups. The real issue here isn’t the unfounded fear of Islamic terrorism but the real, internal ones- school shooters, white hate crimes, the goddamn Klu Klux Klan, which while a joke, is still a terror group. Focus on that, instead of finding reasons to fuel your unjustified racist ass.”
The hall goes silent. Ponytail Man smiles, and it’s unlike his person- it’s slow and sensual. He says, “I like you a lot.”
Laurens grins.
“I’m studying law,” a man says into his ear as he’s walking out of the lecture hall. Laurens jumps a foot in the air. “Not American politics. I was there to have another avenue to kick Jefferson’s ass.”
He can understand that, he thinks, as he turns to look at Ponytail Man. He is definitely more composed now. He walks fast, his hands carrying a stack of books, and up close he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. His frame is definitely the skinny of broke college kids, but he still manages to rock it.
“‘I’m in public law,” Laurens nods. “Adams just lets you in?”
“Adams doesn’t have a real job anyway,” Ponytail Man shakes his head. “Burr’s with me in law too. We join the course sometimes to show we’re better than them but he’s pretty useless when it comes to debates.”
“Aaron Burr? I asked him to join the Student Union and he told me he couldn’t risk angering the higher ups.”
“Definitely Burr,” he laughs. “Can’t stand for anything, can’t fall for it either. But he’s a pretty chill dude. We’re kinda friends. I think. I wouldn’t know, you know? I feel like he could turn around and kill me at any moment. And- oh wait, shit, haven’t even introduced myself.”
“John Laurens,” Laurens makes a small bow.
“Alexander Hamilton,” the other drawls as he sets a relentless pace, in which Laurens can barely keep up. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
Laurens wonders how he manages to make everything sound so eloquent. Even when saying his name, it sounds like it’s meant to be sung.
“Where ya headed?”
“I don’t know, but it’ll come to me,” Alexander shrugs in reply. “You?”
Laurens looks at him. He takes a leap of faith. “Anywhere you’re going.”
Alexander shudders minutely.
The stars are out, which is rare in America. There are one or two twinkling in the sky; it’s more than most see in a week. Laurens holds his beer bottle loosely and watches Alexander fall asleep on the park bench. Jesus. He’s known this guy, what, a couple of hours, and he was already admiring the shadows of his jaw in the orange streetlight. Laurens really needed to get a grip.
“What do you want?” Alexander asks him suddenly. “What do you want to happen when you die?”
Laurens thinks it is a very personal and deep thing to be discussing when you’ve known each other for three hours. Laurens also thinks that it is just the way Alexander works. “I would want to have made a difference,” he says, taking a long sip. It’s his second pint already. “Change opinions. Challenge prejudices. Fight for the rights of the people of colour and those marginalised in society.”
Alexander lets a smile curl its way across his mouth. “How noble,” he waves his hand about in the sky as though conducting a symphony. “I want to be remembered.”
“For what?”
“Anything,” Alexander grins at him in the low light. “But trust me, one day, they’ll all be singing about me.”
“Alexander Hamilton. Also known as, the guy who fucked America up so bad, we became a British colony again,” Laurens wags his eyebrows.
Alexander snorts. “We’ll leave that to Trump,” he says, and they both laugh.
Laurens wants nothing more than to go home with the man with dark eyes, but he blinks once when they’re saying goodbye and he’s gone. You really can’t wait for this one, can you?
Laurens walks out of his lecture theatre nursing a slight headache when he sees Alexander crossing the pavilion. If it’s possible, he put simultaneously much effort and no effort into his dress, he is effortlessly stylish. Laurens is wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He doesn’t give a shit. His hair, poofy and frizzy, is also unbrushed. He ducks behind a pillar to hide himself when Alexander sticks his head round the bend and says, “just finished?”
Laurens doesn’t understand why he tries. He can only hope his appearance makes no difference to him.
Alexander says, “you’re looking spiffy today.”
Laurens mentally groans. “I try very hard, Alexander, especially when I wake up at five in the morning because your roommate sings in the shower.”
“Hah! Lafayette, yes? Oh man, I used to have a room next to his. You can hear him through the walls,” Alexander is bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes. It’s like he never runs out of energy. “I have my own room.”
“How do you afford that?”
“I don’t,” Alexander shrugs. He pulls a piece of paper out of Laurens’ pockets and starts to read it. Laurens starts a protesting noise, and then remembers that this isn’t the one with Alexander sketched onto it and quietens down again. “I technically room with Burr, but he’s never home. He’s always with Theodosia.”
“Theo? I see her around. She’s pretty,” Laurens watches him for any sign of disapproval in his work. He feels like he has to impress him.
“Yeah, and spoken for,” Alexander snorts. He passes him back the paper with a small nod of approval and grins slyly at him. “You got any other lessons?”
“I’ve got a paper due-”
“You wanna come over? I got a project you might be able to help me on.”
“Well, not for free, obviously.”
Alexander counts on his fingers. “I’ve got three packets of Cheetos, and a Subway below my block.”
“Sold.”
They do not do the project. They buy subs and Alexander gets sauce all over his mouth and when a meatball drops out of his bread and he catches it in his hands they laugh for a solid two minutes. They end up wandering through the streets, tossing scraps of bread at pigeons and talking.
They talk about the law, about the president, about Laurens’ father and Alexander’s lack of one.
Laurens finds out he is an orphan.
Alexander shrugs. “It’s cool,” he says. “We all rise above our challenges.”
They are in a park now, in an area of the neighbourhood Laurens has never been. Walking with him had been easy, too easy, the way their words mixed with each other. Alexander was overflowing with words, and Laurens wasn’t, and Laurens was small in his movement when Alexander was loud. But that didn’t affect the way they were around each other.
Laurens studies the way his hair brushes his shoulders, rustling in the wind. He reaches out a hand and stops halfway- he is not allowed. He is not sure if Alexander notices, but they do not mention it.
The night air has started to set in, and a chill creeps from the Hudson. Alexander presses up against him and they share this forbidden moment- like a snapshot in time.
Laurens believes in soulmates, finding each other over and over again through time. He wonders if there was a point where he and Alexander had a life together. He’d imagine it was filled with strife and chaos. He imagines leading a battalion with him, because that is who Alexander is- born to lead, to write, to command, born to take and want and own.
He is watching Alexander give a speech to the student body. It is long, but engaging, though some of the students less intellectually inclined are dozing off. He admires the slant of Alexander’s shoulders, the way he spoke so animatedly, gesturing with his entire body. Alexander catches Lauren’s eye and holds it there, until Lauren is red-faced and forcibly tearing his eyes away. Alexander, Alexander- he can’t be resisted. He raises his eyes to see a smirk cross his face. Laurens wants to grab him and kiss him and- and he cannot. Goddamnit.
When he finally ends, there is thunderous applause, but Laurens suspects that it is more to do with the fact that they’re glad he’s stopped talking. Alexander all but prances off the podium he is born to fill, and Laurens hangs back in the auditorium until everyone’s gone to approach him.
“How long can you talk?” Laurens asks, sitting on the stage and swinging his feet. The empty auditorium weighs on him. He feels like he is trespassing.
“Much longer,” Alexander tidies up his notes and flashes a smile at him. “But even you were getting restless, my dear Laurens.”
Laurens is at a complete loss as to what to say in reply. He settles for a shrug, and Alexander nods at him and turns to leave.
Alexander writes Laurens letters. Pages of writing, in beautiful flowery language that still manages to leave room for so much doubt. Perhaps, had Laurens been more emotionally detached, he would’ve latched upon them immediately with a sort of derision at how utterly infatuated Alexander is. But, he is not, and so Laurens keeps them in a shoebox under his bed and privately thinks he’s being pathetic.
They text too, and by god does Alexander text differently than he writes. Where in letters, Alexander is eloquent and incredible, with sentences that could raise the heavens should they desire, Alexander’s texts are mostly lol, or lmao, or with absolutely no punctuation or capital letters. If he’s at an all time low, it will even lack grammatical sense. Hell, even his snapchats are weird. They’re always with terrible lighting and the text is written with the pen function. Once in awhile, however, Laurens will get an unexpected shirtless and filtered snap and his blood flow would go south so fast, he would nearly pass out. Once in awhile, Laurens would get texts that spark full on political debates over WhatsApp, and when things escalate, Alexander would call him on Skype even if he was in the toilet to continue ranting at him.
It is one of the things that make Laurens love him more and more, day by day.
There is a bag with a croissant in it waiting for him on his unassigned assigned seat in the lecture theatre. A sticky note inside reads, “my dear Laurens” in Alexander’s elegant, looping font that should he handwrite his assignments would surely drive his professors insane. Laurens clutches the sticky note in pain. Is he in love with him or is this a textbook case of “no homo”? It’s like when Laurens is trying to flirt with a guy. He’s not being awkwardly nice, or a bro, he’s being homosexual. The abject downside of being gay you don’t see in the media.
He turns the note around to see, “how you get through Lee’s class without eating breakfast is beyond me.” Two spaces down, like he has meticulously paragraphed this note, A. Hamilton is neatly signed.
Laurens tucks the note into his laptop case discreetly. The croissant is still warm.
The amount of time Laurens is spending with Alexander has increased from “who is this kid” to “this is borderline obsessive”. Right now, he is watching Alexander walk across the campus science garden with a tread that is so fluid, it is almost like water. At night, the orange street lamps from the main road makes Alexander look ominous.
Alexander sits on a park bench and tilts his head at Laurens. Eventually, he says, because he has always spoken his mind and never thought twice, never granted retractions of his words, “you don’t have to try and impress me, John.”
Laurens starts, furiously denies it, then shuts up at the amused look on his face.
“You are! You’re different when you talk to me than when you talk to Burr, or Lafayette, or Herc. I don’t really understand, I’m not much to look up to, if you count my failing grade because the professor doesn’t like my intellectual opinions, or my lack of money, or the fact that I’m living off ramen noodles and the odd grape,” Alexander doesn’t really stop for breath. His words are like bullets, ricocheting off Laurens. “I really do like you, but it’s gotta be as equals, you know what I’m saying? For once, I don’t want to be admired, or respected, or looked up to. I just wanna be- your friend.”
Laurens feels the friendzone slam into him like a brick wall. He tries not to let it bother him, because he understands where Alexander is coming from. Laurens sits down next to him and says, “if you wanted me to include you in the group chat, Alexander, you should’ve asked.”
Alexander grins at him. “That would be nice."
If Alexander wanted Laurens to start treating him like an equal, like a, brother, homie, platonic lover- he was going to get the full Laurens friendship treatment. Which includes showing up at Alexander’s apartment unannounced with pizza, a one litre bottle of coke, a six pack of redbull, and an essay due in four hours, worth too much of his grade to ignore.
The dorms are quiet at this time, and the knocks on the door are loud. As he assumed, Alexander is still awake, and opens the door with an air of stunned incredulity.
“It’s three in the morning,” Alexander says by way of greeting.
“I know,” Laurens smiles at him, pushes past his gaping mouth and pours the snacks onto the sofa. “I have an essay due in four hours. You helping?”
Alexander asks, “is this a thing you usually do?”
Laurens gives a noncommittal shrug and opens his laptop. Alexander, intrigued as always by the possibility of words, plops himself down and creeps over his shoulder, occasionally correcting his sentence structure, making it more elegant and complicated than it had to be. Laurens can feel his breath on the side of his neck, his long hair tickling his neck. It evokes feelings that make him have to shift the laptop to hide. He tries to concentrate on the sexual appeal of his essay, but with Alexander’s words swimming around in his it didn’t really help.
Halfway- at least, Laurens prays to God they’re halfway through- Alexander drops his head onto his shoulder. Laurens stiffens, turning to look at him, but Alexander merely smiles at him, albeit a little hesitantly and then asks him to use the word juxtapose instead of contrast. The weight of him pressed against his side is comforting, almost like an anchor.
When they are done, it was seven am, class was about to start and Laurens’ bags under his eyes were more Chanel than they should be, but it is finally done. Alexander looks the same as always, if a little dishevelled. He blinks blearily at him. “I am so glad I do not have class until four today.”
Laurens laughs and gives him a hug, a quick, pull in, squeeze, whispered thank you before rushing out the door, and is so sleep-deprived he doesn’t realise what he’s done until he’s halfway through his class.
Laurens goes a week only seeing Alexander in passing. Both of them have their exams and it’s a huge mess and even Lafayette has gotten down to work. His days are words and sentences that fall short of Alexander’s mansions and he is pretty sure even his hair has become the colour of coffee. It makes him ache, not seeing him, like a fundamental portion of him has been missing.
When he finally turns in his last paper and steps outside a free man, Laurens heads down to the local bakery and buys two Swiss rolls. He considers what to put on the note, and eventually writes, “your affectionate Laurens.” Honestly, he should really pull his head out of his ass and just ask him out, but Laurens kind of liked the dance they were doing, each too afraid to put a toe into the water.
He puts it on Alexander’s unassigned assigned seat. He gets a snap later of Alexander with the dog filter and a badly drawn heart. He screenshots it.
A few days later, Laurens sees Alexander walk by, barely noticing him. His face is creased in a hard line, his mouth turned down and sour. Alexander always looked like he was in some stage of distress, but this was different. This was bitterness and anger compressed into a tight knot, resentment sitting heavily on his shoulders. Laurens watches him go, worried at how a raincloud seemed to be following him around.
YOU
hey is eve rything okay?
HAMHAM
in short laurens i am disgusted with everything in this world but yourself and very few more honest fellows
YOU
ok u wanna get drunk?? lafayette can take us home
HAMHAM
pls
“Hey, Alexander?” Laurens can’t see straight. Haha. He’s never seen straight. Hahahaha. He’s so drunk. “You feeling better?”
“Ya,” Alexander smiles loopily at him.
Lafayette slings his arms around the two of them. “Mon ami, you cannot hold your liquor. Stop that. No,” and he takes the bottle away from Laurens. “Stop it. I don’t want to carry you home. Alex, dear, I love you. Do you want more?”
Laurens laughs as Lafayette hands his drink to Alexander, who knocks it back. Lafayette, for all his terrible sleeping habits, completed their trio. He balanced out Alexander’s hyperactiveness with Lauren’s mellow qualities and made it work with his flamboyant nature. Lafayette is a gift to be with, and even better when he’s your designated driver because he will mother you the whole way home.
Alexander says, “I’m...gonna get a shot,” and wanders off. The next thing Laurens knows, he’s been jumped by both Hercules (who came outta nowhere) and Lafayette, who holds him so tightly he’d have no chance of escape.
“Know any good secrets ‘bout Alexander?” Herc asks, waggling his eyebrows. “He never tells."
“I’m in love with him,” Laurens, in the dark murkiness that is alcohol induced honesty, says.
There is silence.
“I mean a secret,” Herc puts his hands on his hips. “Like, something we don’t know.”
Laurens stares dumbly at them.
“Holy shit, dude, you guys write love letters. That’s gayest fucking shit I have ever seen, ever, and I’ve known Lafayette for years. And no ‘bros’ address each other as ‘your affectionate’ or ‘my dear’,” Herc’s eyes are blown wide. “Dude- dude, wait, you mean to say you thought it was a fucking secret?”
Laurens says, “well he doesn’t know.”
Herc pauses to considers this, but then Alexander comes back with a tray of empty shot glasses and muses, “I either drank these or spilled them.”
“Alright, mon cherie, we’re leaving,” Lafayette pulls on Alexander’s ears.
Lafayette loads them into the car, chattering away in furious French that Alexander answers with some slurred words that has him launching off into another rant. Laurens is fluent in French, yes, he can hold long debates with Lafayette in French, but now he’s drunk, thinks fives times two is eight and believes he has seven fingers, so all he’s picking up is scattered words like tell, no and I know.
“You speak French?” Laurens whispers, pressing up against Alexander in the backseat, crowding him against the window.
Alexander leans into him, unbuckling his seatbelt so that he sits more or less on Laurens’ lap. He acts like a cat, pushing his face into the crook of Laurens’ neck, his hands clutching onto the lapels of his jacket. Lafayette makes a sharp protesting note.
“Fluently,” Alexander smiles. Laurens can feel his teeth against his neck and oh god how he wants to touch and crowd Alexander up against the wall and bite at him and openly love him, openly want him.
Alexander pulls back. “I know what you want,” he says, his eyes serious for someone supposedly drunk. There is a hint of a challenge in his words. Laurens wants to rise to it. He wants-
Lafayette yells at Alexander to put back on his seatbelt, and the moment passes.
Laurens wakes up with the worst headache known to man. He blearily looks around to find himself snuggled up against Alexander in his bed, which has Laurens shooting so far up he nearly hits his head on the low ceiling. He is relieved to find that he has his clothes on, and so does Alexander, and that Lafayette is cracking up in the corner because he knew he would freak out like that.
Laurens flips him the bird and drops back down onto the bed, knowing he would be missing this day of class and being too tired to be bothered with it. He studies the movement of Alexander’s eyes beneath his eyelids, decides he’s sufficiently asleep in REM, and presses back against him.
Lafayette spreads the blanket over the two of them and Laurens passes out again.
He barely remembers what happened that night, but he can still see Alexander’s silhouette leaning over him and saying, “I know what you want.”
He can see this as clearly as he sees Alexander in front of him, trying to drag the cheese from his pizza. He wasn’t winning. Laurens swiped his finger through the string and broke it for him.
This...is this a date? This is a date, right? Laurens doesn’t know. Laurens wants to know. Laurens has spent his whole life wanting and never having.
He knows, in a blinding instant, that he cannot wait any longer. For Christ’s sake, they are sitting on Alexander’s floor and eating pizza from the box, and Alexander’s leg is pressing into his, and everything is at his fingertips.
He comes to the epiphany that he could die at twenty seven and never have lived the life that he had absolute control over.
So he reaches forward and traces the side of Alexander’s face and says, with all the conviction he can muster, “I heard that you know what I want.”
Alexander puts his pizza down solemnly. “I know what I want,” he says, lowly. “You gonna show me what you want?”
“Maybe,” Laurens is suddenly shy because holy shit no. Fuck taking control of his life. Fuck this, he is out, he is so out, he-
Alexander sees the flush rise in his cheeks and smirks. He pushes at Laurens, who topples backwards, and then he is straddling him and wow okay.
This is fine.
Laurens thinks of the comic of the dog sitting in the house on fire and his mental self nods.
“Is this what you want?” Alexander drawls, his hands fisted in Laurens’ university hoodie.
“No,” Laurens replies, watching the way Alexander’s eyes fell. Hasty to make sure he did not get the wrong message, Laurens surges upwards and grabs his face.
The kiss is awkward, oh god, so awkward it’s not good at all. When they pull apart, Alexander laughs and says, “that was terrible.”
“Fuck off man, you were gonna get the wrong idea and stomp off and be all sad and shit and I would have to go through a month of angst-”
Alexander kisses him again. It is a lot better.
“How you did not get the hint with ‘my dear Laurens’ is beyond me,” Alexander crosses his arms and stares at him.
“I literally said ‘your affectionate Laurens’ and you were all oh thanks bro. Fuck you!” Laurens shoves him and laughs. “I was being so gay.”
“Ya know, fucking me would be an excellent plan. Really, truly, one of the best plans you have come up with,” Alexander tugs on his shirt. “I heard you work out.”
“Ass, we have essays due tomorrow.”
“Is our future really more important than the present, my dear Laurens?”
“Duly noted. If you don’t write your essay, Burr will top you in class.”
Alexander rolls off him and cracks his knuckles.