Chapter Text
From the tender age of four, Alexander Hamilton knew he was special, from his fierce personality and intelligence to his rare and impossible circumstance. In a world where everyone was born with the first words their soulmate said to them tattooed somewhere on their body, it was highly unlikely to have more than one sentence, some unlucky few even had blank skin. Yet Alexander’s body looked like a canvas, sentences looped onto his skin in different sizes and styles, marking him to be a man that would be loved by many.
Once he was able to comprehend the importance of the marks, he would always spring out of bed every day and ask his mother to count the sentences on his body, to make sure there weren’t any new ones- or god forbid, ones missing. The number always stayed the same, nine, nine wonderful sentences curling beautifully around his limbs and torso. He had them memorized by six, recited them like prayers in a way, and would lovingly rub his thumb across the one that runs across his chest, right over his heart.
“ You sure know how to take a punch, babygirl. ”
When Alex’s mother had first read that to him, he’d been worried the universe had somehow messed up his soul-tattoo; he wasn’t a girl! His mother had been quick to assure him that the universe couldn’t make mistakes and maybe his soulmate just called him that. Once he realized the likelihood of someone calling him baby girl was slim, he figured it’d be easy to know that the person who called him it would for sure be ‘the one’; it quickly became his favorite.
His second favorite would probably be the one that weaved around his finger and down onto the back of his right hand. “ I’ve heard of you, your writing is beautiful. ” That sentence made everyday he spent uncomfortably bent over his desk studying worth it.
The other tattoos had equal places in his heart:
“ You roar like a lion! ” Written down his spine in French, helping him speak out when people tried to silence him, giving him a backbone.
“ Green looks beautiful on you, keep it. ” Curling protectively around neck, leading to the purchase of every green article of clothing he could get.
“ Mr. Washington speaks highly of you, let’s hope you live up to it. ” Across his thigh, making him want to constantly prove himself.
“ My sister was right, you are smooth." Going down his left forearm, leading him to try some very… Creative pick up lines.
“ You can’t even grow peach fuzz, what’s the point? ” Right under his right kneecap; he checked his face everyday for hair.
“ Please help me, I have a child. ” Written out in the palm of his left hand. Every time he sees it he hopes future him will have the means to help them, whoever they are.
The last one was his least favorite, one he actually hides most of the time. “ Talk Less, Smile more.” Boldly inked into the back of his neck, it was honestly one of the leading factors in growing his hair out.
Alexander relied heavily on the words the rest of his childhood; His father and brother leaving, becoming the man of the house at ten, losing his mother at twelve, his cousin soon after... Every single event he would pretend the words were arms, holding him in nine warm embraces that would take his pain from him for a while and give him the strength to hold on a little longer.
Then the hurricane came, no matter how hard he tried the words held no warmth or hidden strength. He stopped relying on them, choosing instead to take solace in his writing. Something that was right there in front of him, something that could soothe his soul when there were no spoken words powerful enough, something that could get him to a better future.
The years between the hurricane and going to America were dark times; he stopped counting the tattoos, stopped reciting them up to the heavens as if they could actually fix anything, stopped caring about soulmates all together. Why worry about people that would probably leave Alexander too? Probably hate him as much as he hates himself? It was best if he never met them, never got the chance to ruin their lives. He was a new man, one who had lots to prove; starting with proving his mother wrong, the universe did make mistakes, and he would prove it by creating his own destiny.