KORE

***

Laurens suspects he’s done a wrong turn, but that thought vanishes when noticing the sunlight peeking through the rocks. He sighs in relief while approaching the exit, his legs are tired thanks to his exploration, but still his eyes take their time admiring for the last time the quiet view of the caverns. 

When emerging to the surface, Laurens immediately knows he has taken a wrong turn. The place where he has emerged has an unbelievable beauty, one that he believed could exist only in fairytales and the imagination of children. The grass has an intense green color that he had never seen, not even in the most romantic paintings. From the grass robust trees emerge, and the twist and turn in the air like whimsical twins from willows. From their branches it hangs colorful leaves, as if trapped in an intense and eternal spring. Splendid flowers grow from the ground, so perfect and colorful that Laurens is amazed by the talent of nature. He cannot contain his wonder when exotic birds –he had never seen or heard about before– flutter among trees and bushes. A river flows in the distance, close enough for Laurens to hear its welcoming whisper. 

He turns around, his own feet clumsily tripping with themselves. But he cannot help it, for the first time while being a prisoner of war, he feels nothing but the sweet feeling of wonder and hope. 

He laughs, what an unfamiliar sound! He delights himself with it. 

His fingers explore the texture of the logs. They’re robust and tall, and Laurens wonders how long they've been there. Has anyone been there before? It cannot be! Such a wonderful place cannot be kept a secret for so long. 

The flowers’ petals are soft, accidentally his fingertips are sprinkled with pollen while touching them. He only laughs with child-like wonder. It’s like the South Carolina from his dreams, beautiful, peaceful, and untouched by human horrors. 

He wanders through the trees. Even then and so searching for the entry of the cavern –it’d be an awful thing to get lost, no matter how charming the place–, and as he moves away into the distance irregular shapes appear. More forest? He theorizes it to be, but no, they’re too tall. His eyes squint, thinking, theorizing, and houses! Yes, that must be, though the architecture is something he had never seen elsewhere.

Some roofs are pointy and bent, like a witch’s hat –A witch hat! What a comparison! – Others are rounded, but every one of them is made with something that looks like straw, except it comes in all the colors. As if it weren’t enough, every roof is decorated with colorful flowers. The walls seem made of wood, but Laurens cannot understand the logical architecture behind. Every building seems to be built around circular bases, it makes him think that rather than houses those are trees house-shaped.

Has he accidentally fallen into a fairy ring? It’s the most logical explanation his mind can make. 

Looking only at the houses Laurens accidentally bumps into someone. 

“Sorry!” He quickly says, surprised both by the unexpected impact and by the abrupt meeting. 

“Don’t worry,” a woman answers, she’s accompanied by –assumed by Laurens– her husband and children. They all dress in the most peculiar of ways, he’d never seen such colors in any place in Europe or America. They all wear hats that seem to be hand-maded, though not for its beauty or attention to detail, but because they are asymmetrical and ridiculous in shape. Their clothing isn’t too different, they are all dressed in a scheme of yellow to brown, some hints of red and yellow here and there, John cannot control his own eyes of staring in an ungentlemanly manner.

Luckily, the family isn’t offended by his scandalized eyes, because the husband asks in a jolly tone: “How far did you come from?”

“Not that far from,” answers Laurens, consciously realizing that this place isn’t Philadelphia. How wonderful life seems! It cannot be Philadelphia.

“From Philadelphia,” he adds, hoping the man’s reaction can give him a clue of his current stand.

The family shares confused looks. The children tilt their heads towards him as if in a foreign language he was speaking. 

“I don’t know any Philadelphia,” the woman admits after long seconds.

Laurens feels his heart jumps from his chest to his throat.

“You haven’t ever heard about Philadelphia?” 

“The man confirms his wife's response with a shy: never heard of it.

“And America? Have you ever heard of America?” Laurens inquires desperately. It cannot be! He was in Philadelphia just a moment ago, how can it be a wrong turn to guide him where Philadelphia isn’t known? 

He’d thought it like a playful joke, but his ring fairy theory grows stronger when the man and wife shake their heads. 

“Never heard of America, this is Munchkinland,” the man explains with a shadow of sympathy. 

“Munchkinland?” Laurens repeats, the words are foreign and unknown in his mouth.

“Munchkinland, we’re Munchkins,” the woman smiles.

His limbs get colder in little time. His hands are wet with cold sweat. For a moment he feels his head empty, his mind floating with the clouds unable to process or explain his current situation.

“Are you lost?” A kid asks with an innocent tone, maybe seeing the terror in his face.

“It seems so.”

“But don’t be afraid!” The woman says in the same jolly tone her husband previously used. “Just ask the Wizard to return you back.”

“The Wizard?” Laurens repeats, to his own ears the words sound ridiculous. And if he were in a different situation he’d laugh loudly at the joke. 

“Yes, the Good Wizard! Search for him in the library,” the man adds happily, patting his shoulder as if he were a kid. The kids wish him good luck while their mother points at the library. When they leave John turns around to search for the cavern, running through the grass without worrying about stepping on the flowers. Soon the trees welcome him back, but he doesn’t give them the smallest look. He searches for the cavern, and an endless forest looks back at him. 

He breathes deeply, trying to organize his mind. A cavern cannot disappear, it’s a solid structure that cannot be easily missed or vanished. However, Munchkinland doesn’t exist in any map he’s touched. And how could it be possible for such an unusual place to go unnoticed in his beloved America? He should have heard about it before.

Laurens tries to rationalize, but as he previously concluded, logic doesn’t seem to get along with the physics of this place. He groans loudly, looking at the sky, the sun has started to settle, the treetops wave at him but instead of charming they look threatening. 

When turning around, he sighs with relief when the houses are still there. 

His options are a Wizard or… 

He returns, running at the town with the same speed he searched the cavern for. He feels punished, isn’t it enough the daily suffering of being a prisoner? How unfair it’s for a man to search for peace and be received with worse challenges. 

When he returns to the Munchkin’s town he’s out of breath, but he forces his burning muscles and aching lungs to continue. He’ll find rest with the Good Wizard. The library is easy to find, it’s taller than the rest of the building, and bigger too. If trees grow to turn into houses Laurens cannot calculate how long it’d take a tree to grow that big. He skips the steps two at a time when going up the stairs. In the last one he launches his hand to the door, where it hits three loud and desperate times.

Slowly recovering the breath, he feels all the complaints from his body. Burning lungs, tired limbs, burning cheeks, and sweaty face. His heart tied up to his throat, he painfully swallows when noticing how dry his mouth is. 

His hand rises ready to knock again, but when his knuckles are close to hitting the wooden door it opens. And Hamilton is on the other side. 

Hamilton! Laurens tries to say, if his heart was tied to his throat it climbed to his mouth, and no coherent words came from his lips.

“Welcome!” Hamilton smiles, opening the door while inviting him in. 

For a moment he fears his tired legs will fail him and he’ll collapse on the floor like a babbling, weak, and surprised fool. But to his pride, his legs move by themselves and in three steps he’s in the library. 

“I wasn’t expecting visitors today,” Hamilton says while closing the door. 

And Laurens is expecting an explanation, a hint of recognition in his face or a kiss, a hug, or some sweet words whispered in his ear that could calm his agitated heart. But when Hamilton looks at him he finds nothing but the polite hospitality he uses with strangers.

He’s expecting a response, and Laurens can only bring himself to say: “I’m not a regular visitor.”

Hamilton chuckles, “I can see that,” he points out his own head, and just then Laurens notices his short and unpowdered hair. He misses it long, but the way it frames Hamilton’s face gives him an air of youth and rebellion that Laurens likes.

“Uh?” It’s the only thing he says. While taking his time to look at Alexander, his short ginger hair is the most remarkable difference. Unlike the family he’s wearing a green suit –which Laurens cannot remember from Hamilton’s wardrobe– that resembles the color and shine of an emerald. It’s a charming color combination, the contrast makes his hair look like a golden autumn and his eyes from a deeper blue. 

But that isn’t what catches his eye. It’s the content light that illuminates all of Hamilton’s face. A peace he has seen on a few occasions. 

“Yours is white,” Hamilton points at his head.

Laurens’ heart drops from his throat to the depths of his guts, where it withers a little.

“Oh, no, it isn’t” he quickly corrects, just feeling the weight of being treated like a stranger by Hamilton. 

“It’s actually blonde,” to demonstrate he takes a lock to rub the powder off with his fingers. By the side of his eyes he sees Hamilton looking at the movement, genuinely curious.

Hamilton exhales amazed. His hand moves to his hair to inspect the lock by himself. John wonders if it would be inappropriate if he leaned towards his hand. “You’re right! Why cover such a pretty color though?”

“Do you think so?” Laurens says with false modesty, wanting his compliments. “I think white seems more elegant.”

“I disagree,” Hamilton says when letting go of the lock. They’re close, and Laurens takes advantage of the short distance to admire how peace looks in his face. “Here, white hair comes naturally from old people, the Wizard of Oz is the oldest I know and one of the few with white hair.”

“Aren’t you the Wizard?”

“I’m not the Wizard!” Hamilton laughs. “People call me the Good Wizard because I know some few good tricks, but I’m far from the potential of the Wizard of Oz.”

“I see,” Laurens says, it looks like the smartest thing to say when he doesn’t understand what Hamilton is talking about. 

Hamilton confuses his confusion by concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll do anything in my power to help you, what do you need? Who are you?” 

He comes back to his professional and diplomatic tone, and Laurens’ heart withers a little bit more when realizing he’s nothing but a stranger, another client for Hamilton. A punishment after another. Consciously he realizes this is not my Hamilton, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. He has his face, his beauty, his kindness, and his voice. It seems like fate has a cruel sense of humor, to make him act like a stranger with the friend he yearns for the most. 

Punishment after another! A prisoner of war. Failed plans one after another. His beloved in other arms. What’s left in Philadelphia that’s worthy of returning?

“I’m lost,” he whispers. For an ephemeral moment he felt like it was his Hamilton, the one holding a lock of his hair. How sweet that moment felt, for a moment the void between them was non-existent, but as soon as Hamilton stepped back and talked with that diplomatic voice of his, Laurens realized the void had never stopped existing and stretching. 

Hamilton laughs, blind to his pain. “Hi Lost, I’m Alexander.”

Laurens doesn’t laugh, missing the Alexander that would never treat him like a child, the Alexander that knew him. 

“I’m John Laurens,” he says, ruder than intended. “I’m supposed to be in Philadelphia, I was exploring the caverns of the blue mountains, did a wrong turn and ended up here.”

“Philadelphia,” Hamilton pronounces the word curiously. “Haven’t heard about that a long time ago.”

“Do you know it?” Laurens cannot hide his hope.

Alexander nods, looking deeply concentrated. “It changes every hour,” he explains with simplicity. “The exit,” he adds when noticing Laurens’ confusion. 

“I’ll guide you, don’t worry,” he adds with a smile before Laurens can speak. Hamilton grabs him by the arm, taking them both out of the library.

Even in the street he doesn’t stop holding his arm, his hands are nailed to his sleeve. Guilty, Laurens is comforted by the closeness. 

“So…” Alexander breaks the silence while they walk through the town. “Did you like your short stay in Munchkinland?”

“I did,” Laurens answer honestly. “Nature is really picturesque.”

Alexander hums, his hands wander on his sleeve. “It is. Emerald City is less diverse, more green.”

“Are you from… Uh… Emerald City?” 

“No, I’m from here. This…” One of his hands let go of Laurens' sleeve to show his shiny green coat. Laurens automatically misses it “... It is because I work there frequently. You’re lucky I was here today!”

Laurens doesn’t agree.

“How do you know about Philadelphia?” 

“The Wizard has taught me many things, he’s not from here either.” 

Laurens asks more, about the Wizard, about Alexander, about his life here. He isn’t his Hamilton, but the more they speak the more Laurens notices him like a disfigured mirror of him. He has some of his mannerisms, he has some of his opinions about trivial topics like the weather or the color green. But he doesn’t have the important ones, he doesn’t know about war or duty. And that only serves to remind Laurens how much he misses his Hamilton. The presence of Alexander acts like a balm, it isn’t enough to heal his wounds, but it’s enough for an ephemeral relief. 

“I could stay for a day or two,” Laurens says in the middle of their conversation. He doesn’t intend it to be serious, but once the words are out of his mouth he realizes it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. 

Is there something worthy to return for? There’s nothing but another punishment waiting for him. It isn’t one of his crushed dreams then it’ll be a failed plan, if it isn’t a failed plan it’ll be the inevitable moment the distance between he and Hamilton grows large enough that they turn into strangers.

Sure, he’s a prisoner of war and he shouldn’t abandon Philadelphia. But how would they know? He recklessly thinks. It could start with one or two days, but he could stay longer. Alexander isn’t his Hamilton, but he’s still a parallel life of his Hamilton. Currently there’s a large distance between them, the weight of being strangers, but John could walk the distance, reducing it until it’s natural to call him friend and dear.

“No. You can’t,” for the first time Alexander talks with severity.

“Why not?”

“What about your home?”

He thinks about South Carolina. But returning to Philadelphia isn’t guarantee he’ll return to South Carolina.

“Philadelphia isn’t my home, I cannot return to my home.”

Alexander looks at him with sadness, his hands leave caresses over his sleeve. “Well, then someone must miss you, someone is waiting for your return.”

He thinks about the aides, about his family, and about his Hamilton, so far, so distant, only letters to fill the distance. It isn’t enough. Only thing awaiting for him is wicked and lonely Philadelphia.

“Anyone who could miss me is far away, returning won’t take me back to them.”

“And if you don’t return ever then they’ll miss you with more intensity forever, if you return now it will be a day less of missing,” Alexander says softly.

His gentle eyes give him the most compassionate of looks. Laurens is under the impression he isn’t being polite or diplomatic. For a wonderful moment he can trick himself believing is beautiful, gentle, kind, and loving Hamilton.

“You’re loved, John. I promise.” The distance between he and his Hamilton feels so small.

"Don't punish the ones you love with your absence." And suddenly his heart feels all the guilt and the disgust of even considering the idea of abandoning the people he cares about.

Alexander seems so genuine and disinterested John feels tears on his eyes. He feels terribly loved, and unworthy of such love.

“Sorry,” he murmurs while his sleeve –the one that Alexander didn’t claim– cleans his unshattered tears. He can see the entry to the cavern in the distance, and just because the walk and the talk will end soon he admits: “It’s just… You remind me of someone, someone dear to me.”

Alexander smiles at him. There’s a shine in his eyes John cannot tell if it's tears. He doesn't dare to ask.

They walk in a comfortable silence. When arriving to the entry of the cavern John takes both of Alexander’s hands.

“Thank you for all your help,” he says as genuine as he can before entering into the cavern. He wishes to pour all his devotion into the words, so Alexander knows he's loved to, in a parallel yet close life.

“And John?” Alexander speaks as he’s three steps into.

Then, he speaks, in the unmistakable tone his Hamilton uses when whispering the sweetest words into his ear. John cannot move from his place.

“Take care of yourself and return safely.”

He takes a deep breath as his Hamilton does when preparing to say something difficult for him.

“You also remind me of someone dear to me.”

When he turns, Alexander isn’t there. There’s no clue of his short hair or his emerald suit. 

He doesn’t consider stepping again into Munchkinland. Instead, he retraces his steps.

*

*

I hope you're ready to come with me to the dark and dusty drive document where I save all of my ideas with little to non explanation. It isn't pretty, but I have to face it every while and so.

We'll be here for a while. I cannot believe once I affirmed I'd all of this with a serious face.

A little historical lams that would be based on the Jax song, no no, wait, don't go I have good ideas I swear!

A mermaid fic where John is a naturalist and meets Alexander, who's a mermaid, because I have a mermaid three-short that I liked wayy to much writing and want to explore more of that universe through a fic with clear story.

A hunger games AU where John is a stylist and Alexander is basically his job.

ANOTHER hunger games AU where John is from the second dristic and Alexander from the third, this is book accurate so they're both career tributes. However, John makes some bad decisions which force him to ally with Alexander and well, another AU where they fall in love is born. BONUS: Alexander has bangs in this one!

The Forgotten Diseases of the Caribbean: John chooses the doctor path and so does Alexander. One day John has the really good idea of going to the West Indies just because, there he finds Alexander. They both start having a strange rivalry that eventually evolves to Alexander pretending to be sick (and then being actually sick).

An historical accurate soulmates AU where instead of getting a cute cutie mark or whatever people is born with the cause of death of their soulmate. And well, John and Alexander meet.

A phantom of the opera or theater AU, I'm not really sure what's going up with this one. It started like a phantom of the opera AU but in the way it transformed into a purely theatre AU where John and Alexander admire yet have a rivalry over getting papers. Of course I had to place in that period where women weren't allowed to participate in theatre, so sooner or later one of them has to crossdres (they both do).

John is a pirate and Alexander is a selkie, yes I like fantasy why do you ask

A Frankestein AU mixed with necromancy where the scientist cherishes his creature. Indeed I already have a published story following this line in a orphaned account, but it's orphaned for a reason.

A fairy AU, but John is one of those dudes that like preserving butterflie and Alexander isn't precisely a fairy, I imagine him like a moth-like fairy. Yes, I like biology and I project my biology interests in John Laurens.

A SpyXFamily where John is the assasin and Alexander is the spy. Martha dies (sorry) and John has to take care of his daughter without knowing she's a telepath. Being conscious it's a new and challenging situation for her he and Alexander decides to not mention their marriage until she's settled. Frances interpretes it like they are secretly in love with the other but are too scared to make a move.

A teenage AU where Alexander and John are in those camps (?) that prepare them to be priests (?), to be honest I don't know how that works, I only want to self-discoverment journeys with religious guilt.

A coffee and flower shop AU EXCEPT it's historically accurate. Alexander works at the coffee shop and John and the flower shop.

A childhood friends AU where Alexander goes with his brother (that one, you know which one, the one who worked with Henry Laurens)

A forgotten god AU, yeah I like aus why do you say so

A time travel au where I try to answer the question if John would love a corrupted, depressed, capitalist 40th year old Hamilton while Alexander only wants to spend the most time togehter, take care of him and follow him anyway but he cannot explain WHY

Sacrifices and other kinds of torture: the next chapters of my fic where I have totally figure out what will happen but I have to sit and actually write it 🫪

Alexandra stares at Jane, when feeling the weight of her eyes Jane looks at her. 

“What’s up, love?” She smiles. Her teeth are white and bright, a little pink gum peeks from her lips painted with rouge. 

Alexandra smiles back. The most primal of the instincts. “Just… Admiring,” she says. It isn’t completely true, but it isn’t a lie either. Her eyes cannot move from her mouth, white teeth, blunt canines. It looks so white, it looks so clean… She’s trapped in that thought, unable to realize Jane has approached her, she’s interpreted her admiration as desire and it’s now planting a firm kiss on her mouth.

Her hands raise by their own will. Her fingers tangle between locks of blonde hair. It’s so soft, it’s so shiny. After everything, Alexandra surprises herself by the undeniable fact she still enjoys her kiss. 

Jane squeezes her between her arms. Alexandra feels no fear, despite a clever part of her brain suggesting she should. When Jane’s hand surrounds her throat she’s melting against her, wishing her hand could serve as a necklace and remain around her neck forever. Isn’t it scandalous? Alexandra has stopped caring about that long ago. 

When Jane licks her mouth she puts little resistance. She never used to kiss like that, they used to kiss in all the passionate and intense ways. But Alexandra has slowly noticed what’s changed, there’s a component of hunger, a hidden famine that Jane seems to cure while devouring her lips. She seems so starved Alexandra can do little but offer her mouth praying it to be enough sacrifice to satiate whatever hunger has wicked her –if it isn’t enough, she’s realized she’s ready to offer herself as many times as necessary–.

Images of teeth sinking into flesh cross through her mind. Her arms hug Jane’s head, not allowing her to let go. 

She’s spent more time wondering why she isn’t afraid rather than trying to explain what happened to Jane. But when holding her in her embrace Alexandra simply cannot care about what happened to her. 

How could she worry about such unimportant stuff? Jane was dead. She felt her cold body with her own hands. She stared at the lifeless eyes, heartbroken when they didn’t look back at her. She kissed her lips while crying when finding there was no longer any breath.

How could she worry about such painful stuff? When Jane came back a week after. Warm and breathing. Alive. Though Alexandra couldn’t explain how, she didn’t search for an explanation, her heart refused to –afraid to lose what she just gained back–. 

So she clings to Jane, who happily holds her with the same tenderness as before.

How could she worry about such vain stuff when she’s the same as before? Alexandra perceives a new hunger, a growing wildness, her heart recognizes the tenderness and the gentleness. And when looking at her face it’s his beautiful Jane that looks back at her Alexandra feels as safe as before. 

Sometimes Jane loses control. Or that’s the only possible explanation Alexandra has been able to create. If it first happened during her brother’s death anniversary. While she whispered the gentle words she knew Jane needed to hear she’s surprised by a louder weep. But it wasn’t the sound that made her heart stop for a second. It was that mixed the tears Jane’s eye looked like melting, from her eyelid a viscous black material seemed to pour infinitely. Her face slowly disfigured with every drop, the black drops melting her cheek until it hung up from her chin. Both of Alexandra’s hands were caressing her cheeks, but even when the black material leaked through her fingers –momentarily freezing them in a way that made her shiver– she couldn’t remove her hand, her thumbs still caressing circles on both of the distorted cheekbones. 

Alexandra said anything, and if Jane noticed it she didn’t react. The black matter coiled around Alexandra’s arms, as an alive organism of its own. It felt like a snake wandering on her skin, cold, slow, and silently deadly. It made her uncontrollably shiver. 

What could’ve she said back in that moment? To scream? To cry in fear? She didn’t have a voice for either option, too busy thinking it was a fair prize if it meant she had Jane back. 

She kissed her forehead. Deeply content when the black matter retreated from her arms.

It’s a small price, Alexandra thought, when the weeping lowered until there were no tears and Jane’s face slowly turned again into beautiful Jane. 

So she keeps Jane close while kissing. Allowing her to bite, lick, and devour as much as she wants. Alexandra easily gets love in the feeling. Demanding lips. Gentle hands. Adoring fingers.

The fantasy breaks when she feels cold inside her mouth. It’s as on her tongue a cold, slow, and silently deadly snake wanders. She freezes in Jane's arms, but if she notices it, it isn’t enough to stop her. Alexandra shivers, not because of fear but cold. 

Rationally, she thinks about pushing her, she thinks about cleaning her mouth. But she cannot come to terms with those thoughts when instinctively her arms tighten up her embrace around Jane. 

It’s the weirdest feeling, as if she were frozen from the insides, as if his guts stopped from existing and nothing but Jane filled her. Alexandra would let her, she’d ask for it, for Jane to wander under her skin, for Jane to eat her heart and replace it with something of her own, for Jane to move to her bones. Anything, anything she’d allow if it came with the promise Jane won’t leave again.  

Alexandra kisses her back, shivering due to the cold but refusing to let go. 

An oversight, and her teeth scrape the black matter. In a second Jane is pushing her away, her hands flying to the mouth where big drops of black matter are hung from.

Alexandra feels hurt, deeply rejected, after everything? She wishes to ask, it isn’t fair for her and her loyal heart to be treated this way after everything. But she looks at Jane, and in her eyes she identifies an unmistakable shadow of fear and surprise. Wasn’t she conscious of what she was doing or even afraid of her own new nature? Alexandra doesn’t have time to reflect about ethics and morals, because Jane –beautiful Jane– it’s in front of her scared and overwhelmed, and after everything she doesn’t know anything but to love her.

Her hand extends. Jane flinches in her place, her hands still covering her mouth, from where her monstrosity leaks. Alexandra continues until her fingers lay on her temple, where she combs her hair. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, knowing the words Jane needs to hear, “I’m getting used to it.”

Jane emits a broken cry, her right eye starts to melt, tears and black matter flowing on her cheek.