#laurens

Midnight.

Nobody walking around the house. No candles illuminating the hallways.

Maybe there was one candle. Right there, beside a few letters. Its fire waving calmly. Not too far away, a letter being written by determined strokes of a quill. Hamilton's quill.

Hamilton's face was tired. Dark purple bags under his eyes. Some grey hairs messily over them, sometimes covering the man's face that he has to put aside. The window wasn't open. He was alone in his desk, surrounded by letters, only accompanied by his thoughts and himself. That was terrifying for him. He never really liked the quiet. It felt like something terrible was going to happen. But today that silence felt peaceful.

Until…

Alexander takes a breath, he rubs his eyes and puts the quill in the ink container. He is exhausted. The letter doesn't feel perfect like he wants it to be. It is supposed to be perfect. It's for his wife after all.

He stands up, looking for a distraction. A small breeze hit his face. He didn't pay attention to it. Alex walks towards one of the drawers where he kept his important letters that were sent by important people throughout his life. He expected to find Eliza's letters first. Weird that they weren't there.

A breeze hit him again. Colder this time. Alexander huffed and walked towards the windows, only to discover that every window was closed. Weird. He looked down to his desk. Ah, there were Eliza's letters. He grabs them with a small smile. Something falls from his hand at that moment. Another bunch of letters. All of them tied up with a-

Oh Lord.

A blue silk ribbon. Wait, no. Not any silk ribbon. The silk ribbon. And not Hamilton's. Not Eliza's. And not from any of his sons or daughters. The one person Alexander felt so much for, the one he missed so much. The one that still showed up in his dreams when August was slowly finishing. The person he wrote so many letters for, and he wished he had written more.

John Laurens.

It was his ribbon. The one he used to keep all that hair Alexander used to tangle his fingers on. The one John dropped accidentally during the last time they saw each other.

Alex thought those letters were somewhere else. He thought they got lost. But here they are. Every single one Hamilton kept. All of them were there.

His fingers trembled as he untied the ribbon carefully. John's letters were a sacred thing. If anything happened to them… God, he wouldn't even know what he would do. He walks towards his seat again and starts browsing through the letters.

Every word was another stab to the heart. Over and over again. Yours, yours, yours. It was painful. The use of “my dear boy” felt incredibly intimate. It was supposed to be kept for dearest ones. For wives. Not for best friends they shared a tent with.

But it was so good. He felt the slight warmth he remembers feeling. Like the first time. That warmth turned into a deep sadness that filled Alex's heart. John is not here anymore. He is dead. He has been dead for 18 years now. And that was the worst thing. He wouldn't ever come back. It wasn't like when he got imprisoned by the British redcoats. When he came back alive and safe. No. This time death was the prison. This time he was trapped in the afterlife. Maybe he is happy. But Alexander is not.

And Alexander wants to be selfish. He wants to have John here. He wants John to meet the rest of his children. He wants to hug John again. He has so many things he wants to do with John.

But all of those moments they had together slowly disappeared over the years. What was the specific color of Laurens' eyes? That question appeared and it brought many others that Alexander didn't want to ask himself.

How did his skin feel against Hamilton's?

How did his hair feel around his fingers?

How did his lips murmur those phrases?

How did his voice even sound like?

How, how, how…

How could he forget? If John was everything at one point of his life, how would Alex just not remember? Was his voice more flirty? Was it more gentle? Was his skin, were his hands as soft as he remembered? Were his kisses in the morning as sweet as he thinks they were? Every question repeated itself inside Hamilton’s mind and made him feel worse. It felt so wrong to forget his face.

His face…!

How did his face look like…?

Alexander freaked out. No… Not his face, his handsome face. He tried so hard to focus on remembering, but the more he tried to, the more the memories disappeared. He returned his attention to the letters. None of the words gave him any information of Laurens' face. The cold breeze hit him again. What even was that breeze? He was going crazy, he is almost sure of that.

He wanted a hug. He really needed one. But Eliza was still angry at him, she would deny giving him anything. If he hadn't done things wrong with her, God, Laurens is probably disappointed. Laurens wanted Hamilton to be happy with his wife. He wanted Alex to be “cured”. But Alexander didn't want that. He didn't want to be cured. Even if he loved Eliza with all his heart, she didn't deserve to be treated as a cure, she didn't deserve such a bad person like Alexander is.

Maybe Alexander didn't deserve anyone, he was just not worthy of the love he received from his family or anyone else. Everyone he loved or loved him just ended up hurt by his actions.

John was hurt when Alexander got married, even if he would have never admitted it to make sure he was okay.

Elizabeth was hurt when Alexander cheated on her. But she is so kind that she didn't leave him in the ruins.

The only person guilty was Alexander. He hurt his loved ones. He hurts them all the time.

He threw the letters from his hand, he didn't know where but he threw them. He rubbed his eyes aggressively before asking himself where he threw the letters. Oh fuck. The candle.

The candle fell accidentally when the letters hit it, the fire slowly took away the paper. Hamilton jumped from his seat and tried to stop the fire. He could save the most important documents from his work. But he couldn't see Laurens' letters. Shit.

He quickly found them, the fire was taking over one of the corners. Alexander quickly stopped the fire from getting worse. He held the letters close to his chest after that. His knees fell to the wooden floor. He started crying. What a pathetic man. So weak for someone who has been gone for more than a decade. He should've let him go by this point.