By All Means, Lead the Way
"We have been over this, mon cher, this is not French cuisine."
"Rah!" Hercules was reluctant to abandon the baguette he'd been fruitlessly attempting to combine with potatoes, olive oil, and packaged croutons, but he relented, tossing the project aside and mourning the waste of such valiant efforts. "It was gonna be good."
"If y'all fuck up the kitchen, I swear, my father'll see to it that you never see the light of day again."
"Is that a death threat, courtesy of Henry Laurens?" Lafayette teased, twirling the large bread knife like a scepter.
John laughed through a rigid wince. "Absolutely, and you better take it seriously."
"So you call revolutionizing the way people eat baguettes a reason to threaten children?" Herc crossed his arms. "All I'm saying is, I'm the only one who brought food today."
"We're in my kitchen! I got food!" John was laughing, quick to pick a potato up off the ground.
"Laurens, your food selection is terrible."
"I have to agree," Lafayette nodded, putting the knife to use and cutting a piece of baguette that hadn't been soiled by olive oil, croutons, or potatoes. He took a bite.
"At least I've got the kitchen space for your culinary pursuits," John said, raising his eyebrows. He grinned regardless. If there ever was a group to make a person happy, it had to be this one. Plus one. "Have any of you heard from Alex?"
"Aléxandre? Non, he hasn't texted me since fourth period."
"Naw, man."
"Huh." John glanced at his phone, but he hadn't missed any calls or received any texts from "Dear Boy (followed, of course, by the eggplant, nose, and sparkle emojis).
"You know, the weird part is that it took you a full week to invite him over," Hercules deadpanned, eating a handful of croutons.
"He's really busy all the time," John said, blushing slightly. John hated when he blushed. It was like his own blood was betraying him. And it seemed to be happening increasingly often as of late. "I mean, you seen the guy write? He never stops."
"It is like that when you take four highest-level placement classes," Laf raised one eyebrow. "John, I trust that you can busy him with something other than the pencil or keyboard."
"What, so like, a quill pen?" John laughed, but damn, Laf.
"Hah," Herc let all his teeth show, "He'll show up. But someone gotta buy that kid a clock. With an alarm."
John poured himself a glass of apple juice, which was technically being saved for his younger siblings. John only allowed himself a taste. "With ten alarms!"
"With fifty," Lafayette threw his hands in the air with a grin.
"Are you kidding? Fifty-one!"
Suddenly, a noise sounded throughout the house. The doorbell.
John slid his glass aside, rushing to open the front door. And once he swung the impressively-large mass of wood open, there Alex was, looking overstimulated— John took note —but upon seeing Laurens, a smile split across his face and those eyes glowed. Surely a promising sign, and the smile was quickly and subconsciously matched by John.
"Hi," Alex said, looking around with a strangely self-conscious air to him, "I realize I'm about three hours late, but I got caught up writing a paper on civil liberties and it was a bit of a hole to get into, but I'm on page seven now and Mr. Knox practically shoved me out the door to take a break, and then I realized how late it was and I wanted to see you but then I had to find your address, and that meant flipping through our text convo and that took forever but I wasn't gonna ask again, so I found it and walked."
Alex took a breath after his speech, and John laughed, pulling him inside. "The amount you write—and speak—never ceases to amaze me, Alex."
"That's what everyone says, but there's always more to write," Alexander stopped cold and looked around, taking in every inch of the entryway to the Laurens house. There was an enormous staircase in the entryway, leading up to a second floor with a large open space that split into several smaller hallways. Elegant railing spread across the space, and the banisters on either side of the stairs dipped into elegant curves at the top and bottom. Paintings— seemingly commissioned or sent as gifts —lined the walls, official-looking portraits and landscapes in ostentatious frames shamelessly demanding the attention of any new entries to the household. Past the staircase, a hallway with several rooms and doors branching off it led further into the house, which now seemed labyrinthine in Alex's eyes. The whole place shouted one word at Alexander, on a seemingly endless loop. "Money. Money. Money."
This loop broke when his attention was stolen abruptly by a boy in front of him, and in Alex's haze of discomfort, this figure lost definition. Before him stood a boy with glorious freckles and curly hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a smile on his face, with these hazel-gold eyes that were focused on Alex. They were focused on Alex?
John Laurens.
Hamilton blinked.
He didn't belong in this building, among these paintings, in his old jeans and his complete lack of experience with formality among the wealthy. (Was it bad that he wished to become acquainted with the feeling of being rich? Well-acquainted, at that? Perhaps it was just a product of his lack of financial security all throughout his life.) He didn't belong in this foyer, face-to-face with a staircase that clearly cost more than every possession he had.
And yet, somehow, a sense of belonging still rang throughout him.
He had no choice but to pin this feeling on John Laurens.
And so he followed him, through the hallway, into a kitchen. Alex relaxed. This room was smaller; still large for a kitchen, but it was manageable, and didn't provoke the same intense insecurity as the main foyer. And Lafayette and Hercules were there, too, eating a bizarre mix of foods— croutons? Baguette? Potato? Olive oil in shot glasses? Alex didn't even bother to question the last part before taking one for himself.
"Ah, salut, Aléxandre! How is the novel?"
"Novel? I was writing about civil liberties and lost track of time. I think it's you who has explaining to do," Alex gestured to the mess around the group before picking up a crouton and popping it in his mouth, "Not that I'm not on board with this."
"I was making a snack," Herc shot Alex a joking glare.
"The baguette should still be salvageable," John picked it up and cut a piece, offering it to Alex with a smile and a raise of his eyebrows. He accepted.
"I don't know about salvation for this poor baguette," Laf said, glancing teasingly in Herc's direction, whose hat was currently being used as a sack in which to store potatoes.
Alex took a bite. "Debatable."
A tinny-sounding song started playing out of Laf's pocket, and he did a sort of jump in surprise, leaping off his seat on the counter— regally, somehow —and pulling out his phone. "Madison...?" He pressed the screen and held the phone to his ear.
"Lafayette? Are you there?" James Madison's voice, punctuated with a cough, came through.
"Yes, I am here," Lafayette replied, looking around at his friends, who all had questioning looks on their faces. "Is everything alright, mon ami?"
"Uhm, no, well, kind of. I—" Madison's voice cracked slightly. "Can you come to Thomas' place? Everything is fine, he just... He's worrying me. A lot." James coughed again, shallow coughs, as though on top of his normal head-cold, he had been breathing at unnervingly varied intervals.
"What is the matter?" Lafayette took a sip of John's apple juice.
"He's on the phone with a friend in France, and it's not going well, and I don't know what's happening, and I can't console him; he's speaking in French but he's at a loss for words, and," James paused for breath, "Nothing I'm doing can help. He needs someone who can speak fluent Thomas Jefferson and fluent French."
"Do you know the situation? I can arrive soon..."
"Not entirely."
"D'accord. Ehm, okay. I can arrive in a few minutes."
"We're at Monticello. Thank you," Madison breathed a sigh of relief, audible through the speaker.
"De rien," Laf answered absentmindedly, feeling around in his pocket for the keys to his car. "Goodbye, James, see you soon."
"Oh Lordy, thank you."
Lafayette hung up, sighing lightly. "I have to go," he said to John, pulling out his keys. "Thomas needs a better French speaker than himself, and Madison is on the verge of... How you say...? Oh. Suffocation?"
"Hyperventilating?" Alex suggested.
"Oui!"
"You're my ride," Hercules picked his hat (and potatoes) up and met Lafayette towards the exit of the kitchen. "I'll come, too."
"You want to accompany me to the house of Thomas Jefferson?" Laf raised his eyebrows at his friend. Alexander visibly shuddered.
"Naw, but yeah." Herc gave the Frenchman a gentle shove towards the door. "See y'all knuckleheads tomorrow," he said, flashing a grin at John and Alex.
"See you later, dad," John said, winking after the pair. Lafayette gave a wave and an "Au revoir," and he and Hercules were off.
"Does this mean we're alone?" Alexander ventured to ask after the door slammed shut, taking another crouton from the counter. Not to say he was hoping, but, he wasn't impartial about what he wanted John's answer to be.
"Well, not exactly. A couple of my siblings are around, upstairs." There was a pause, after which a sudden grin crossed his face. It was reckless, in the sort of down-to-earth way Laurens always seemed to be. "Do you want us to be alone?"
Alex looked at John and tilted his head. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. "Yes."
John's grin only grew. "I have to agree." He turned around abruptly, starting to clear the mess off the counter. After a moment, Alex joined him and did his best to help, wrapping up what remained of the part of the baguette that could be saved. Once the counter was clear, John turned back to Alex, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him.
He took Alex by the hand, beginning to lead him out of the kitchen. "I think I know somewhere you'd like."
"I thought your siblings were upstairs," Alex said, his blunt nature taking precedent over his sharper intellect.
"Upstairs? Oh, no, we're going outside." John laughed, and the two walked out through the front door. He led Alexander down the path to the grounds behind the house, and, finding that Alexander was surprisingly passive in response to John leading him to an unknown new place by the hand, Laurens let go of his hand, instead flinging his arm across Alex's shoulders. It would have been an awkward way to walk had Alex not wrapped his arm around John's waist in return with no signs of hesitation or restraint whatsoever.
"So, where are you taking me?" Alexander smirked at John, turning to face him as much as he could.
John's eyes lit up, and Alex couldn't help but notice the gold in them shining. "I'm about to change your life."
"Then, by all means," Alex grinned, "Lead the way."
They walked to the edge of the grounds, John leading Alex into an alcove of sorts. Here stood a tree, which stood tall among the other trees which lined the expansive yard in a thin woods. To Alex's surprise, John withdrew his arm from around him, proceeding to climb the tree. Alex noted that there were several footholds— manmade —sticking out in between branches, making the climb nearly effortless.
John beckoned for Hamilton to follow. It seemed an odd request. He submitted.
It was a short climb upwards, and the holds extended almost all the way to the treetop, a considerable distance from the ground. Alexander reached the last foothold shortly after John, meeting the latter on a sturdy—and surprisingly thick—branch. He took a seat beside Laurens.
"I love it up here," John said quietly. Golden sunlight shone in his face, few leaves blocking this interaction. Alex stared at his companion. The edge of his jawline, the soft shadow below his cheekbone, soft lines that glowed. The way his eyes looked, golden hazel blending even more in evening-sunlit profile. His hair; curls falling out of his loose ponytail. No breeze blew these curls out of the way. Freckles dotted John's entire complexion, gentle marks that had somehow, in so little time, become comforting to Alexander. They softened his features, and they were always accentuated above a blush.
It was simple. Alex was smitten.
John pointed into the distance. Alex noticed there were freckles on his hands, too. "Look at the view," he said, and Alexander followed his finger.
His breath hitched. "New York City," Alex said. He no longer cared about oversharing or overdoing. "I flew in there. It was nighttime. I'd never seen a city quite like that before... All the lights were shining, and there was so much happening all at once. There were so many people down on the streets and in the buildings. It was like all these stories were just..." Alex searched for the right word. "Converging. All these people coming together, and I thought, maybe we were changing the world. There was a feeling there. It was bigger than me. It was bigger than anything I'd ever felt before. It was like you could be a new person, just breathing the air."
John looked at Alex. "That's beautiful..." What was it about Alexander Hamilton? His eloquence, his ambition, his intelligence, his outlooks, his looks-looks... What was it that drew John to him, like a moth to a flame? And damn, he was a hot flame... And a smart flame... And one who he'd just found another tie to. "When I moved to New York, I didn't think much of the city. I flew in, and we moved to this place right away. But man," he took a moment, turning back to look at the city in the distance. The sun wasn't setting, but the light was dimming, becoming more golden. "I found out about this tree before my sisters or my brothers. I never told them, 'cause I guess I wanted this view to be mine. I want to show them, though, once I leave for college, you know? The city's beautiful." John smiled. Warmly. "Someone should enjoy this view, it shouldn't go to waste."
"No. It shouldn't." Alex didn't know where to look, which beauty to behold. The city or John Laurens. "So you brought me up here, John?"
"Yeah," John turned back to Alex. "My father has these... Expectations— for me. They're not set in stone, it's just..." John sighed. "I like having a place I can be myself. All the way. It's me and the city, one-on-one." He paused. "I kinda wanted you to be part of that."
"Oh," Alex said. "John... Thank you." He moved his hand half an inch, so his and John's hands were touching. John took the cue, gently taking Alex's hand, intertwining their fingers. Alex continued. Inhibitions were a foreign concept to him. "My father left my mother and me. I was around ten. Around two years later, my mother and I got sick, and... She died. I was in her arms... I clerked for her landlord after she died. It was cousin-to-cousin after that. My cousin killed himself. So then it was foster care, and then a hurricane destroyed my town. I wrote these papers to a local newspaper about it, and my account of it, and after that, people I'd never even met raised all this money for me to come to school in New York. I moved in with Mr. Knox and his wife."
"God, Alexander... I'm sorry."
"It was worth it. This opportunity was worth it. And if it takes all that for us to meet, it will have been worth it."
"God, Alexander."
"You said your father has certain expectations for you," Alex prompted.
John relented, moving closer to Alex. "My mother died, too; it was two years ago. My sister Martha and I; we've been picking up slack since she died since my father works really hard all the time in the city, so Martha and I cook for our siblings a lot of nights, and take care of them. I know we've got a lot of money, I know it, and I'm lucky," John glanced at his house over his shoulder, "But... I feel the whole loss thing, Alex. I miss her. And ever since she died, my father has more of a legacy to pass on alone. And I'm the one to do it."
"So that's our difference," Alex said. "You have pressure put on you by your father, and I put it on myself. With help from circumstance."
"Yeah. Actually, really, yeah."
"Legacies, huh."
"Legacies." Laurens smiled, almost bitterly. "So I'm supposed to be this perfect young man for him. But... That isn't who I am. I don't want to disappoint him." He looked back at the cityscape. "So the privacy here, it's good."
"John Laurens, I think you're perfect. Who would be disappointed in you, of all people?" Alex said this with a fierceness that brought something out in John's heart, a sharp pang.
"I'm gay."
Alex smiled, which stirred apprehension in John. "That's convenient."
"What?"
"That's convenient, because I can never think straight around you."
"Alex, are—"
"I'm bi. And you're perfect, John, you're perfect." Alexander squeezed John's hand, and comfort flooded through him.
"I'm not p—"
Laurens was unable to complete his sentence, though, as he was promptly cut off by Alexander's lips on his.
Alexander Hamilton was kissing him, on his treetop, overlooking New York City in the golden sunlight, and it was perfect. It was perfect. It was sweet, and pure, and it was perfect. He wrapped his arms around Alex, warmth filling him from head to toe. Alexander's hand was in his hair. If the sunlight felt good, Hamilton felt magnificent.
Alex pulled away, arms still around John, his eyes opening after a moment. "You are perfect."
He stared at Alex. It was simple. John was smitten. A single concise thought crossed his mind.
I could get used to that feeling.