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The sun blinded Laurens enough to stir him awake. He cracked his eyes just wide enough to see his surroundings. Dawn's light poured into his quarters, illuminating scattered coats on the floor. His only good cravat sat atop a pile of bloodied ones on his desk. God, his desk. Stacks upon stacks of sloppy watercolor birds, unfinished paperwork, whatever had piled up since he moved in. And he didn't need to look down to notice Alexander. Sweet, satanic Alexander. The Scotsman’s thin arms wrapped around Laurens’ chest, sharing the warmth of his skin. Loose red curls shielded his face, etched in the perfect serenity of sleep. He looked nothing but a Greek hero in the early sun. Someone you'd make statues of. Laurens was sure he would if he knew how. Yet between war and life, there wasn't much time to figure out how.
Laurens tried his best to sit up without disturbing his dearest boy. Between the aching in his back and the way the man clung to him, it wasn't as easy as he anticipated. A deep grunt escaped his throat, wincing in pain. Alexander chose to lay on his bad side. Alexander knows that arm doesn't work as well as it should. Alexander knows John’s been shot there. Multiple times. Nonetheless, he knew he wasn't in a position to be cross with him. Especially after he'd practically devoted himself to him a few hours ago. Blush crept up Laurens' neck, so he looked up at the sky and tried not to think about anything.
And speak of the devil. Speak of the fucking devil himself. Hamilton nuzzled into Laurens' chest, mumbling sweet nothings. For a moment, Laurens thought he was in the clear. That was until Hamilton's deep violet eyes twinkled up at him, blinking behind thick, dark lashes, not stopping until he got a reaction.
“Morning, lion. Fine morning.”
Laurens groaned, rubbing Hamilton's shoulder without glancing over at him. His voice was raspy and unmistakably southern in the early morning, but still John enough to satisfy the kid.
“Yeah, aye, morning to you too, Jacky.”
Hamilton beamed in that catty voice he always used. The voice that made people swoon. Rich women, at least. The voice that made Laurens roll his eyes despite the color blooming in his cheeks. The voice that in this particular occasion made Laurens frown down at Hamilton, hitting him lightly. Not enough to hurt him, though the standard wasn't easy.
Through the deafening silence, Hamilton opened his mouth to speak again. And then closed it when he saw how… still Laurens looked today. And then opened it again, widening into a smile, knowing Laurens wasn't really angered. “You sleep okay, John?”
“Äh. Fine. Et toi?” Laurens took a deep breath, trying his best not to look at Hamilton.
“Quite well, if you must know.” He smirked to himself, tilting his head when Laurens nodded. Hamilton tied his curls back in an emerald ribbon, propping himself up on his elbow. The light hit Laurens in a curious way. Everything about him looked sad. Everything but his face. His brows were furrowed in… worry, perhaps? His dusky blue eyes were stuck in a squint, like he couldn't see the wall well enough. His lips were tucked down in a slight frown, causing Hamilton's to follow suit. He studied Laurens' expression a few seconds too long, apparently, and averted his gaze when he was caught. Instead, he looked down, seeing hollow pink scars across the other man's skin.
“I was on your hurt side. Sorry about that” Hamilton muttered sheepishly.
“Doesn't hurt as much as you’d think it does, you're alright.” Laurens whispered coldly. Real coldly. Entirely monotonely, actually. Laurens hoped he wasn't being bitter, though he knew he was. He already knew he was being snappy. He wasn't trying to be. He wasn't in a bad mood. He was simply quiet today. From what he'd seen, Hamilton didn't understand quiet days. Hamilton either saw upset or ecstatic, nothing in the middle. Laurens didn't blame him. He didn't blame anyone like that, really, but he couldn't get himself to blame Hamilton for anything at all. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the subject's voice.
“You alright?”
Laurens only nodded. His eyes glossed with unushed tears. He didn't mean to be aggressive. He hoped he wasn't seen that way.
“You ashamed?”
…
Laurens didn't answer immediately. Truthfully, he was. He was ashamed more than anything. He was ashamed to lay with another man in a room that wasn't his. A room that reeked of sin and sex and nothing else. Yes, he was ashamed. What else could he be? What could he think about besides holding his father's hand in church, dressed in his formal best, skipping across the aisles, the seats taller than himself. At the time, at least. What else could he think about besides being a good Catholic? Just the fact that he once was. Just the thought that he was normal at some point. Not sinning, not lying, not anything but Henry Laurens' son. He didn't even see the man as his dad anymore, just the man in Congress he responded to. Maybe it was Alexander's fault. Maybe it was Henry's. Maybe it was his. Maybe it was God himself punishing the lad. He knew he deserved it. Yes Alexander, I'm ashamed. But he didn't say that. He couldn't say that.
“You know I'm not caught up on that stuff anymore, darling.”
He forced out, smiling like he'd die if he didn't.
“I love you, Alexander.” The words hurt to say. It hurt his head, his chest, his heart, his strained lungs, though mostly his self-perception. Laurens knew he couldn't say that.
“You know I love you more, Jack.”
Hamilton sighed softly, burying himself into Laurens' chest once more. Birds chirped in the distant trees. Laurens would identify them if he cared enough. The light of dawn blinded Laurens enough to stir him awake. Truly.
“No you don't, lion.”
His voice was raspy and unmistakably southern in the early morning, though still enough to soothe his Scotsman.
John wrapped his bad arm around Alexander, sighing in the gentle relief you got from loving someone.
He couldn't even disturb Hamilton. Maybe he was a sinner. Maybe he deserved death. He was sure he did. But he was also sure he was alright. He was safe. He was okay with Hamilton. And as unintimidating as the younger man looked, he'd protect him.
“No you don't.”
He finished, a sweet smile tugging at his lips. He closed his eyes once he felt Alexander smile back against his skin.