To Your Satisfaction
With the election for the president of the student government coming up in exactly one week, the two candidates were campaigning full-force, each attempting to sway their classmates in whatever ways they could. It was a quietly brutal election season, with each party putting everything they had into their push for the presidency.
The Monday before the day of the election was proving to be a trying day, as Angelica tilted her head, evaluating her poster on the wall across from the cafeteria.
"Do you think it attracts enough attention?"
"Angie," Peggy giggled, "The whole thing is literally bright red."
"It's not bright red," Angelica replied irritably.
"You are."
Angelica just shook her head. "So that's a yes to the attention problem. Does it say all the right things?" She turned to her team— the other two Schuyler sisters, plus Alexander Hamilton —and raised an eyebrow in question. "We should be taking note of all this stuff if we're gonna hang these all over the school."
"I think it's great. It says just enough on it, and it's not too wordy," Eliza smiled, praising her sister's work with the same grace she always possessed. Angelica smiled back at her sister.
"Wordy isn't bad," Hamilton said, crossing his arms and reading the poster over again. "But this is much better than Lee's. I swear, if I see another 'we cannot be left alone to our devices— vote Lee for the good of the student body' poster around another corner, I will—"
"Well! Good! So this poster should be good enough to put around the building. Then we can get on with the campaign and get some votes." Angelica cut Alex off with an amused grin. Sometimes it was best to stop him from revealing his true thoughts, especially in a public setting.
"Absolutely!" Peggy picked up the stack of posters from the ground beside her.
"Where are we putting them?" Eliza asked, starting to follow her older sister towards the science wing.
"Two in the science wing, two in the lobby, three in the art wing, three in the math wing, one by the English rooms, one in the cafeteria, one outside the cafeteria, four near bathrooms, one in the gym, and two outside the library," Alex rattled off, his walking pace as brisk as his resolve.
"You know that by heart?" Eliza laughed. Even her laugh was sweet.
"I memorized it," Alexander grinned, taking a couple posters from Peggy. "Should we split up? If we could cover more territory, it would be better for time management. I can head one way with one of you and the other two can go the other way and we can meet somewhere when we're finished?"
"Good idea," Angelica thought for a moment, smiling slightly at Alex. "Okay. Peggy, you're with me. We'll cover science, art, math, and the lobby, and you two can take the rest. Sound okay?"
"Sure! We'll meet back here when we're done," Eliza replied, counting out the posters in Hamilton's hands to make sure they had enough.
"Great! I'll leave you to it." And with that, Angelica and Peggy retreated towards the science wing, leaving Alex and Eliza to start walking towards the English classrooms.
"So do you like it here, so far?" Eliza held half the posters, clutching them under her right arm as the two walked.
"Oh, definitely," Hamilton laughed, a genuine laugh that expressed joy rather than amusement. "I never really got to go to a high school like this where I'm from. And the people here— I mean, there are some that are insufferable. Jefferson, Lee, Seabury... But there are some amazing people, too." He shifted the posters to his other hand. "There's you, of course, your sisters... Lafayette and Hercules, and Aaron Burr and Washington, and I guess Madison is fine. And there's John, too."
Eliza grinned. "You and John are dating?"
"Yup. It's insane; he brings out this different side of me, you know? Granted, everyone here kinda does. But John... He's wonderful. He really is."
"In New York, you can be a new man," Eliza answered.
"Exactly!! I love it here. Uptown, downtown, outside the city, here in town. Everywhere."
"I'm glad you moved here," Eliza said, stopping to hang up a poster outside Seabury's classroom.
"Me too." Hamilton readied some tape, helping Eliza to secure the paper to the wall.
"A little to the left."
"There's a doorframe there, Angie!"
"Okay, then a little to the right."
"That's where Lee's poster is."
"Okay, fine, leave it." Angelica counted out the remaining posters under Peggy's arm— only three left. "Next stop, math wing?"
"Okay."
The two sisters started walking towards the math wing, only a few hallways away. Peggy turned a corner, close to the wall, when—
Smack.
"Peggy! Are you al—" Angie stopped in her tracks.
"Angelica Schuyler. Hanging up posters?" Charles Lee looked between Angelica and Peggy, who was now on the ground and making a halfhearted attempt to pick up the scattered posters. He made no effort to help her.
"Yes," Angelica replied stiffly, helping her sister gather the fallen posters. "Before you interrupted us, at least."
"Oh." Lee gave Peggy a distasteful glance. "Good luck."
Angelica's voice was cold. "To you too." She helped Peggy up off the ground, promptly continuing to walk towards the math wing with her.
"Schuyler!" Lee's voice once again stopped her.
"What?"
"Nothing's guaranteed in this election. Don't get your hopes up."
Angelica forced herself to show restraint. However, Peggy spoke before she could respond. "Right back at'cha!"
Lee looked surprised, but walked away without another word.
"Let's go," Angie said, taking Peggy by the arm and hurrying away.
She was not appreciative of Charles Lee, to say the very least.
It was around 5:30 by the time both parties returned to the hallway outside the cafeteria; long after the sports teams and clubs had all gone home for the night. It was mostly just the janitorial staff, the Schuyler sisters, and Hamilton in the building.
"We've covered our bases on posters, then," Eliza said, tightening her backpack straps.
"And had a run-in with Lee," Peggy added. She leaned against the wall and snapped on her gum, which she had unearthed from the depths of her bag.
"With Lee?" Alexander's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
"He ran into Peggy. It worked out fine. But he was a jerk about it." Angelica rolled her eyes.
"He'll get his justice served when you're elected, Angie," Eliza started to walk towards the main doors to the parking lot, her sisters following.
Alex decided to walk with them to the door. "True! I couldn't think of anyone less qualified for the position than him. You're sure to win."
Angelica laughed. "Thank you. Do you need a ride home, Alex? I'd hate to leave you..."
"Nah, John's gonna come pick me up, don't worry." Hamilton smiled, opening the door for the Schuylers.
"Alright. Thanks for helping today, see you tomorrow!"
"See you, Alex!" Eliza waved.
"Bye!!!" Peggy followed her sisters out, right on their heels.
Alex returned the wave, and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw one notification on the screen, that being a message from My Dearest, Laurens. Hamilton smiled and unlocked his phone, reading the text John had sent him.
Meet me in the art classroom <3
Alex had been under the impression that John was going to come pick him up, so this request was a bit surprising, but he walked towards the art room without further question. It was several hallways down, and Hamilton passed two of Angelica's campaign posters on the way. They were a dark— but still vibrant —red, and the words on the bottom stood out in a glorious font of Eliza's creation:
Angelica Schuyler: Satisfaction Guaranteed.
Alex grinned to himself, turning down the hallway leading to Laurens' art classroom. He knew John was in high-level art classes, but the only pieces he'd ever seen were his doodles of turtles on various papers. Whatever had drawn John to the art room at 5:30 at night instead of meeting Hamilton in the parking lot was, Alex decided, bound to be good.
He walked through the open doorway, glancing around until he saw John's curly ponytail, his head bowed over something he was working on at one of the large tables scattered throughout the room. All around were art projects, and covering all surfaces was creation. Alexander was by no means an artist. His penmanship and his handwriting were exceptional, but when it came to drawing or painting or photography or anything of the sort, he always found it was decidedly not his strong point. But this didn't stop Alex from appreciating art.
He walked slowly up to John, not wanting to disturb him. He looked so focused, so intent. But, lacking resistance and restraint, Alex wrapped his arms around John's waist, leaning his head on Laurens' shoulder and closing his eyes. "You asked to see me?" Alexander said through a grin.
"Alex!" John closed the book he had been working in quickly, hoping Hamilton hadn't seen its contents quite yet. "How'd it go?"
"Great! We hung up a bunch of posters. Tomorrow we're campaigning live, and you can help if you want. I'd love you to, if you're into it. The Schuylers are gonna meet me and Herc at lunch." Alex readjusted easily, standing up straighter as John rose from the tall stool he'd been sitting on.
"I'd love to." John turned his head to smile more in Alex's direction. "Hey, I wanted to show you something quick."
"Ooh, I'm liking where this is going."
"My sketchbook, Alexander," John laughed, picking up the book from the table. Alex took it, holding it in his hands and looking at it over John's shoulder. "I thought it'd be a good time. We're alone, and it's after hours, and we have time..." John trailed off. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying when Alexander opened gingerly to the first page, turning the papers as if they were made of gold.
Alex was greeted by a full page drawing of a turtle, as could be expected. Its shading was perfection, each line and each smudge drawn with a certain expertise that made Alex's eyes widen. "Holy shit..." He flipped through more pages, passing landscapes, a still-life of a cinnamon roll, a rough sketch of Lafayette, a collage made from clippings of an edition of National Geographic... Alex was positively overwhelmed by the quality of the work John was allowing him to see, by the sheer personality behind the work John was allowing him to see.
Then he turned to the last used page, and his breath immediately hitched.
Alexander's very likeness looked back at him from the page.
This sketch bore a determined grin; its eyes a near-perfect representation of Alex's own eyes, which were now wide with shock. Every last detail was perfection. Each line was drawn with conviction, and yet, there was a tender quality to each stroke that rendered Alexander Hamilton speechless.
Alexander Hamilton had been rendered speechless.
"Do you like it?" John had been holding his breath, too. He finally released and asked this question in a small, quiet voice.
In Alexander's mind, on the rare occasion that words were not enough to express himself, action was the only other option. This occasion was as such.
Alex caught John's lips, kissing this talented, wonderful, brilliant person who he was so lucky to be able to call his. He turned John around gently so he could face him all the way, and John wrapped his arms around Alexander with a delighted warmth. Alex smiled into John's lips in response, his hands sliding along John's sides as he tilted his head and pressed closer to John, just to get as much of John Laurens to touch as much of him as was completely possible.
Slowly, Alex eased John down so he was sitting on the stool again, and John restrained a grin, leaning backwards against the table. Alexander slid his hands down to hold onto John's hips, and he pulled back to take a breath before pressing a line of kisses along John's jawline.
"So... That's a yes?" John finally grinned, running his right hand through Alex's hair.
"Fuck yes, John Laurens..." Alex managed to say between kisses, "Fuck yes..."
The sketchbook still lay open on the table, where Alex had left it. He was no artist himself, but damn, could he appreciate art.
The whole room was suddenly filled with possibility, filled with the art all around Hamilton coming to life, in a way. Every piece sang, every color illuminated. Alex kissed along John's neck. It occurred to him around halfway down that John was part of this beautiful, vibrant collection of art.
Alexander pulled back to look at John, grinning.
"What?" John let out what could be considered a giggle.
"You're attractive, John Laurens."
John grinned, pulling Alex forwards by the shoulders and pressing another kiss to his lips. Alex closed his eyes. Everything about John was a work of art. His curls, the unique shade of golden-green his eyes were, his smile, his freckles— his fucking freckles —his personality, his talent, his story... It all combined to make a beautiful, meaningful, real piece of art. Maybe everyone was a masterpiece of a sort. And certainly to Alex, John Laurens was a wonder to behold, in all ways.
When John pulled back, he tilted his head, looking over Alex's shoulder. "Dammit," he muttered, sitting up.
"What's the matter?" Alexander took John's hand, sliding the sketchbook closed with the other.
"It's almost six. My father's gonna flip shit if he gets home before I do."
"Oh, shit," Alex grabbed the sketchbook and his backpack, still holding onto John's hand as the two started to leave the art room, shutting off the lights as they left. Once in the hallway, he continued. "Thank you. For showing me this. You... You're so talented, John."
"Thank you," John blushed, leaning on Alex's shoulder as they walked. "I figured you should see it. It's kind of a gift for you, you know?"
"Holy shit, John. What did I do to deserve you?" Alex laughed, but it didn't contradict the sincerity in his tone.
John simply smiled, opening the door for the pair as they walked into the night air towards John's car. "I should ask the same question."
"You are perfect, John," Alex said, kissing his cheek.
John's world seemed to burn.
Alexander Hamilton was as much his as he was Alexander's.
And it felt so good.
"Dad?"
John's tentative call echoed through the foyer, receiving no answer. A door opened upstairs. John hesitated to move. Onto the landing came Martha Laurens, leaning on the railing and looking at John. "He's still at work, I think."
John sighed, relief coursing through him. "Oh. Thanks, Marty."
"He should be back by seven. Were we supposed to make dinner?"
"Hmm," John put his bag down, "Probably?" He paused, holding out a hand to stop Martha when he saw her starting to come down the stairs. "No, I'll do it, don't sweat it."
Martha continued down the stairs, stubborn as ever. "We both will. It's okay."
John sighed but relented, and the two walked towards the kitchen. Martha looked a lot like John's father, but their personalities were opposites. Besides their fiery tempers, which the whole family seemed to share, no resemblance on the basis of personality could be found between the two.
"What are we gonna make?" Martha pulled out a recipe book. She always opened it for reference, lest she make a mistake or forget a detail when cooking.
John shrugged, looking at the open book. He glanced towards the front door. "Whatever he'd want. How about spaghetti?"
"Sure."
It would have been ludicrous for Henry Laurens to say, upon his son's asking how his day at work was, that he had not had a terrible day, and, as Henry found honesty and integrity to be fundamentally important when the matter at hand was harmless, he was quick to answer truthfully.
"Terrible. Have you made dinner?"
"Yeah, Martha and I started it awhile ago. It should be ready really soon." John smiled at his father, and some dull reaction in Henry made him give his son a weak smile in return before heading towards his office. John followed, Henry's bags in hand.
"Jack," Henry said, easing into his chair.
"Yeah?"
"Can you bring me the mail from the table by the front door? Martha brought it inside but I forgot to pick it up..."
"Yeah, one second."
John left the room, sticking his head in the doorway to the kitchen and shooting a thumbs-up in Martha's direction before rushing to retrieve the mail from beside the front door. John took the stack, heading back to his father's study. Once he'd gotten to the door, he opened it and entered, putting the mail on Henry's desk. John took a seat nearby on a tall-backed chair.
His father sorted through the letters, scanning each envelope. His eyebrows drew closer together, and John could only assume the contents of said envelopes were not helping to improve Henry's mood. However, a glance at the clock provoked a look of humor on his face.
"Jack."
"Yes?"
"Someday, when you have a wife, she won't be half as glad as I am right now that you can cook."
Henry laughed lightly, and John forced himself to do the same, despite the quivering knot that had just tied itself in his stomach at the mention of the expectation that John would someday have a wife. Henry had meant no harm by this statement. It was a joke.
But the seeds were there; Henry didn't want his son to be gay.
John tried to convince himself this conclusion was a step too far, returning to the conversation. "I hope it'll be good. We made spaghetti."
"Ah," Henry smiled. "You never seem to let your old father down, do you?"