don't believe what people say, they never stay anyway

by winterz77

Summary:

He starts slow, easy, “Have you been eating enough? Usually, people don’t just pass out like that for no reason.” Burr is no doctor, but he’s pretty sure of this fact.

Hamilton visibly shrinks in on himself, cowering and defensive like a dog bearing its teeth. “My health is none of your concern, Burr.” He tries to close himself off, shoving all of his vulnerable parts of himself in a safe and swallowing the key.

Burr is having none of it.

Chapter 1: the morning after

The morning after Philip’s funeral, Alexander went to work as normal.

His head pounded with the rhythm of his footsteps against the wood floor of his shitty apartment as he made his way to the bathroom. The door was still swung open from when he had rushed into the bathroom last night. Blood still stained the white porcelain of the sink.

Razors were still scattered about the counter when he entered; it seems he couldn’t decide last night. Alexander pushed razors to the side of the counter, reaching into the shelves hidden behind the mirror for new gauze and wrap. This had been his routine nearly every day since the divorce. He had been good while they were together; it wasn’t nearly as bad as this. Eliza leaving him had hit him like a truck, and frankly, he didn’t know what to do without her. He depended on her.

Stinging pain rushed from his arm throughout his entire body as he ripped the blood-crusted gauze away from his wounds. It felt good, the physical pain distracting him from the overwhelming sense of loneliness constantly clouding his mind. A smile tugged at his bitten and dry lips as he let cold water run over his arm, seeping into the dips and crevices created by years of his ‘problems’. It was a sick kind of comfort; pain had been his only comfort for so long.

This habit ran deep throughout him since he lost all he had on that island. As a kid, he tried to vent his pain and despair through his words, writing until his fingers bled onto the page. He’d come to realize that the only way he felt in control was when he was in pain, whether it was from working endlessly to support himself on the streets, writing until he was forced to stop, or when he picked up a razor for the first time.

Soap felt like salt in his wounds as he scrubbed the dry blood away. Cleanup was his least favorite part of it. Having to look at the gross and infected part of himself. It didn’t feel as pretty as when he’d made the marks, all clean and blood red. Now they were disgusting and scabby, some even leaked pus, mocking him for needing this. Replacing the gauze and wrapping his arm again, he looked into the mirror at himself.

Alexander could hardly recognize himself these days. His eyes were deep and sunken in, far from how he’d looked as a new and hopeful father. Those bright and hopeful eyes were long gone. Eye bags had always lingered under his eyes, and Eliza would always criticise him for staying up late into the night to finish his work. But he’s looked more sickly nowadays. Eliza wouldn’t have ever let him get this bad.

Eliza wasn’t here now. He dug his fingers into his wrist, cracking open a scab.

A shiver is pulled out of him as he reaches for his shaving razor; his facial hair has gotten out of hand lately. He used to shave daily, cleaning up his goatee. Now he just lets his hair grow until he can’t handle the scratchy feeling anymore. The razor is heavy in his hand; it’s odd to hold something sharp without the intention of hurting himself.

He doesn’t bother to clean the tiny hairs off the counter, only grabbing his toothbrush and scrubbing until his teeth bleed.

He spits into the sink, adding again to the blood stains. Then he took one last long look at the sad man in the mirror; he didn’t recognize that man, nor would Eliza.

The bathroom door slammed behind him, cabinet was left wide open. It was pointless to close it when he knew he’d return the next night.

He didn’t bother to cook breakfast; it wasn’t like he had anything to cook anyway. Eliza always made him eat breakfast, no matter how much he told her he wasn’t hungry. He’d never liked breakfast before her. She’d always made sure he ate. There was no point now.

There are no clean clothes left hanging up in his closet. Most are thrown on his mess of a bed or the floor, and he hasn’t bothered to clean in a while. He picks up whatever looks the least dirty, a green suit and black slacks. They fit a little looser on him than they had before.

His bag and coat stared at him from their spots on the unused kitchen table, and he stared back. It was tempting to take up Washington’s offer and take a few days off for himself.

He threw on his coat and swung his bag over his shoulder anyway. He wouldn’t get out of bed if work didn’t make him. He couldn’t afford to take more time off anyway.

Alexander takes the long way to work, walking through the thin layer of snow from the night before. It’s quiet in the early morning; the only people on the streets are tired workers. He’d never appreciated the quiet before.

~~

The office was crowded as usual, the interns bustling about from desk to desk. Hamilton quietly made his way to his office, not bothering to say hello to anyone. He didn’t have any friends here anyhow. Lafayette and Hercules were away on a business trip. They couldn’t make it to the funeral; he hadn’t ever bothered to tell them the news. And John…

John was dead. He’s been dead for years.

His stomach churns as he sits down at his desk, taking in the mess he’d left.

Remnants of Laurens are still scattered about Alexander’s office, letters and documents from him still tucked away in the drawers of his desk. He couldn’t bring himself to look at them anymore; they hid under all of his important assignments and whatever Washington had asked him to do. He was even less organized than usual these days.

Sometimes, this desk made him feel like he was being haunted. Not only by the ghost of John, but by Eliza and Philip too. Hands he held dearly and held him the same. He can still picture John sitting on the corner of his desk, chatting with him while he worked endlessly. The secret kisses they shared when the door was locked.

In the same corner, he always put the lunch Eliza packed for him.

He leaves the door unlocked now, maybe hoping that John’s death was all some sick joke, like he’d walk in any moment and laugh at how gullible he is. Alexander sighs and opens his laptop, staring at the work that piled up when he’d left abruptly at the news. He lets himself type endlessly, the words blurring as he zones in and out, only half aware of his writing.

The high-pitched squeak the door makes as it opens startles him out of his work, freezing him in place with his hands over the keyboard.

“From Mr. Washington,” Burr says monotone, placing a brown paper bag next to his laptop. Burr was the last person he’d expected to see in his office. Hamilton relaxes a bit, nodding and staring at the bag. He expects Burr to leave immediately, but he doesn’t. After a while, he says, “I’m sorry for your loss, Hamilton.” His voice sounds anxious and small, completely unlike Burr's normal tone. Alexander looks up at him, searching his face for any insincerity, like Washington made him say it. He finds nothing, only genuine concern on his face as he seemingly searches Hamilton for something as well.

He only stares at the man for a few moments, confused. Then he manages, “Thank you,” it’s weaker than he’d wanted it to sound, and his voice cracks and fumbles the two simple words. He doesn’t like to seem weak. He adds a nod as Burr scans his face once more, lingering for too long on his bitten lips, then turns to leave.

Alexander digs the tips of his nails into his covered arm again as he watches Burr leave. He doesn’t need pity. Especially not from Burr.

The day goes on, coworkers come and go, dropping things off on his desk and leaving, asking things of him, demanding he fix something. He does whatever they want until they leave, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight, he’s highly unlike himself.

Hamilton never opens the bag Burr had dropped off to him; he assumes it’s lunch that Washington wants him to eat, since he never remembers to bring his own. The man’s done this since before the divorce. He can hardly bring himself to think of eating.

For a while, the feeling of emptiness, of hunger, reminded him of living on the streets and having to steal his food or scrounge up enough money to buy something small. When he and Eliza got married, he never had to feel that again, and he never wanted to feel that again. She made sure he ate three meals, more if she could get him to. He was healthy for a while.

After the divorce, Alexander relied on delivery and takeout to eat. Sure, he had enough money from work that he could buy groceries. But even the thought of going into a store with other people made him sick. He only ate when his body demanded, when the world started spinning, and his legs shook. The emptiness was some kind of twisted comfort to him.

~~

That night, Hamilton finds himself back in his bathroom, bent over the sink holding his razor. The distraction of work can only last so long, anyhow.

But something makes him hold the blade over his arm a little longer, just a few seconds of hesitation. Burr’s face crosses his mind, the genuine concern in his eyes. The way he hesitated to leave at first.

He glances over at his phone on the counter and sets down the blade. Scrolling through his contacts, he finds Burr, still in his phone from when they’d worked on a project together. Alexander smiles for a moment, staring at his name, the emojis he’d put next to it. This was all before things had gone wrong.

His phone dings, a message from Laf. It reads, ‘Hey, I just heard the news about Philip, I hope you are doing alright’. He types out a quick response that he hardly puts any thought into and sets down his phone again. He grabs the razor again and a couple of tissues out of an almost empty box, and sinks to the ground, resting his back against the sink. He should cry, but he can’t bring himself to.

Numbness runs through his body as he presses the razor to his skin, running long lines that are thick and deep into his arm. Some of them go over healed scars, reopening them over and over again. The less healed cuts scream at him, red and irritated, as he makes even more wounds for his body to heal. Anything to take away from the pain he already feels.

By the time he’s had enough, the tissues lie on the ground, soaked in blood next to him, along with the razor, stained with blood from overuse. Alexander stares at the ceiling, lightheaded and tired. Despite everything, he smiles; he can’t feel anything but the stinging sensation. If he were any more careless, he would have slept on the bathroom floor, but he pushes himself up to his feet, shaking as he grabs onto the countertop for support. His legs feel like jelly under him.

He lets the blood run off his arms into the sink, adding to the red stains already in it. The blood trickling down and plinking into the sink is almost therapeutic, the rhythm calming. The quiet drip was the only sound in the room. His head starts to ache as he looks up at himself in the mirror, his hair a mess and spots of blood on his cheeks, likely from rubbing his face with bloody fingers.

Once the bleeding slows down enough, Alexander reluctantly grabs the gauze and wraps again; he’d have to buy some more soon. He wipes the excess blood off his arm and face, not bothering with soap. Wrapping his arm quickly and carelessly, he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down. He feels exhausted and lightheaded; he should probably eat something before he falls asleep.

He drags himself to the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets, grumbling at himself for never buying groceries. Reluctantly, he grabs a cereal box, some kind of shitty off-brand. He doesn’t even bother to grab a bowl or milk, opening the box and eating straight from it. It’s a little stale, but it’ll work.

Alexander makes his way to the couch, plopping down on it and turning the TV on a random channel. He hasn’t a clue what the people are saying, just staring blankly at the screen and forcing himself to chew. Before long, he falls asleep on the couch, still in his work clothes with the cereal box in his lap. The TV is only white noise in the background.

Chapter 2: wait for it

Notes:

these two are IMPOSSIBLE i hate them dearly

[Aaron]

 

Either Alexander Hamilton had a terrible case of being oblivious, or didn’t care about Burr. 

 

Years of shared glances at bars, of heated arguments with an odd tension in them, of working together, and Hamilton still hadn’t taken notice of Burr. Not in the way he wanted, at least.

 

So, Burr hid his feelings.

 

He denied projects where he would have to work with Hamilton, sat as far away from him at meetings, he even avoided crossing his office at all. They didn’t speak for what felt like years.

 

Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

Until he heard the news of Hamilton’s overall downfall, of his destruction of his life. First, the divorce, then his son’s death.

 

As sick as it was, he took that as an opportunity to see Hamilton at his most vulnerable, to connect with him in some way. Not that he didn’t empathize with the man, Burr knew how it felt to lose the people dearest to you.

 

So he took up Mr. Washington’s offer for someone to deliver him lunch. The man was busy, but not busy enough to disregard Hamilton altogether. He was like a father to Hamilton.

 

That one interaction reopened his box of feelings he’d worked so hard to shut away, underneath all of his work, and yet Hamilton had managed to dig it all up in one single exchange of words. Like a Pandora’s box, everything came spilling out at once without any hope of shutting it again.

 

Nervous habits from his youth returned all of a sudden, bouncing a leg under his desk, biting his nails, and fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt. He was restless, sitting alone at his desk all day, and even more so during meetings. It was nearly impossible to think about anything else. Even with his nose buried in a book, he could only see Hamilton in the ink.

 

Burr started leaving little signs of his affection in plain sight, leaving Hamilton coffee in the morning before he arrived at work. He’d picked up how he likes his coffee after years of working with him and watching the man drink the same concoction numerous times throughout the day. 

 

Sometimes, if he’d picked up breakfast on the way to work that day, he would buy the man a bagel or something small to eat. Even if he didn’t eat it, it was the thought that counted. It was worth the effort to attempt to get him to eat; he’d noticed how his appetite had declined since everything went south.

 

Still, in his tiny apartment building, he couldn’t get Hamilton off his mind. The dark green spines of worn-down books crowding his bookshelves, the tiny succulents on his windowsill, even the grass stains on his welcome mat, tracked in from many long walks through parks and forests, reminded him of Hamilton.

 

They were opposites, complementary colors. Burr waited patiently while Alexander chugged along relentlessly. In no world should Burr love Hamilton as he does.

 

And yet he does.

 

~~

 

Burr set a brown paper bag and coffee on Hamilton’s desk, left unlocked after he left late the night before. The office was barren, no one walking about the halls, no interns running about.

 

It was peaceful for once.

 

He definitely missed something.

 

Making his way to his own office, he walks by multiple open office doors, not a single one occupied. Even Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison’s offices were dark and empty.

 

Weird.

 

He shrugs it off, taking a sip of his coffee, still burning hot from making it this morning. It was sweet, too. Something inclined him to put a bit of honey in his black coffee this morning. The heat was a nice contrast against the cold still lingering in his body. It was still blizzarding outside from last night.

 

Burr settles down in his seat, taking his laptop out of his bag. 

 

The first thing he sees upon opening it is a mass email from Mr. Washington. Letting everyone know that conditions are too severe outside for the office to run today…

 

And everyone should take today for themselves.

 

That explains the quiet.

[Alex]

 

The room melts around him, the walls turn to mush and swallow his legs. Thick goop sucking him in like quicksand. Alexander recognizes nothing around him and can only see a figure in the distance. The room looks to be endless without boundaries; it doesn’t comply with physics.

 

Goop that was once walls envelops him, it feels somehow boiling and freezing at once against his bare skin. At least he got to keep his boxers and sweater he’d slept in.

 

He can’t swim, but he can’t let himself drown either. He’s stuck in a constant limbo between suffocation and gasps of air. The feeling is an awful kind of familiarity, and drowning in general was all too familiar to him.

 

He tries to call out to the figure in the distance, but his vocal cords fail him, and nothing comes out. It stares off into the distance, focused on something that isn’t him. He can only make out a black blob, maybe a black dress? Was it mourning?

 

His thoughts are cut off as his gums loosen, letting his teeth fall into the soup below him. He feels each fiber disconnect; veins stick out from his gums, sending shocks of pain throughout his body with every movement of his mouth. 

 

Alexander tries to scream, but his throat closes up, choking on his teeth that didn’t make it out the right way. He can’t even cough. He might die from choking before the goop swallows him whole.

 

Then, he’s falling.

 

His teeth return miraculously, reappearing in his mouth. The pounding pain was suddenly gone.

 

His teeth are the least of his problems as he wizzes through an endless sky. His ears ring, and his nose starts to bleed as the sky warps and changes, turning into something like an optical illusion. He’s spinning and falling straight down at the same time, screaming and at the same time inaudible. The air around him is unimaginably cold, piercing through his skin as it blows past him.

 

He tries to grab onto something, anything, even the deformed objects that fly past him, pens and papers and books, but his hands only pass through them. His fate is sealed when the ground becomes visible in the distance.

 

Something–hands? Catch him. The hands seem to melt him and through him as he’s whisked away through the air. Flying sideways through the endless expanse around him is somehow warmer, or maybe it’s what caught him, radiating heat.

 

What did catch him?

 

Discomfort and uneasiness run through him when he looks at the hands holding him tightly; they flicker like a broken lightbulb before his eyes, almost like they are glitching. They flip between light and dark skin, both awfully familiar.

 

He brings himself to look at the creature.

 

Alexander can’t believe what he sees.

 

Its face is a horrible combination of his wife and…

 

Burr?

 

It–He–She? Looks at him, eyes flickering between concern and anger. It looks resentful and loving all at once.

Alexander wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. He feels around the bed underneath him, sighing in relief when he feels familiar sheets and pillows. 

 

His relief is short-lived.

 

Why was Burr on his mind?

 

He shakes off the feeling, or at least tries to, groaning as he throws himself out of bed. Groaning as his joints pop and crackle, he needs to buy a new mattress sometime.

 

It’s been a few weeks since Philip’s passing.

 

Still, his apartment is a mess. Items were thrown about and disorganized. He’s still a mess, only a little more like himself. He argues with his coworkers, shouts in people's faces, and is almost back into a normal routine.

 

But something is still bothering him.

 

The bandages on the sink counter lay untouched, his razor next to them. He hasn’t been able to cut since that night. 

 

Burr. 

 

Burr clouds his mind still, his eyes burned into the back of his eyelids. Something about the concern in his eyes, something reminds him of…

 

Eliza.

 

The softness, the care, the yearning for him to give them something, anything ; it was nearly identical.

 

No. Burr could never care for him like that. They were enemies, friends at most, and nothing more. No one, especially not Burr, would ever look at him like that and mean it. 

 

He was broken glass scattered across the floor, to be swept up and discarded, to be replaced.

 

Anyone who tries to pick up the pieces would only be left disappointed and bleeding. He couldn’t be put back together.

 

Alexander tries again to ignore these feelings, only getting dressed and throwing on his winter coat. Walking to work in this snow was gonna suck.

 

[Aaron]

 

Burr and Hamilton find themselves to be the only ones in the office today. With the snow and wind picking up, it would be incredibly stupid to try and go home now. Especially for those who had to walk. They had no choice but to stay until the snow stopped.

 

Burr finds himself in the break room with Hamilton, after realizing neither of them should be here, they decide it would be best to stick together and try to buy some time.

 

By buying time, they mean sitting in the same room silently while Burr reads and Hamilton types what sounds like many angry emails. Whatever his keyboard has done to him must have been horrible for the way that man treats it.

 

He keeps his eyes on Hamilton, watching his face and hands as he abuses the keys. Not just because it was quite amusing, but also because he’s been worried about Alexander. He’s still off; he’s been a bit off since his son’s death. Not only that, he’s gotten smaller. He’s always been small, and not just in stature, forgetting to eat or pack his lunch. But now it almost seemed intentional, like he stopped trying to remember.

 

Hamilton only nurses his coffee, which he most definitely knows Burr brought him this morning.

 

Burr sighs, taking a sip of his coffee and trying to focus on his book. The snow had calmed a bit, but not enough for either of them to leave. Well, Burr knew Hamilton walked to work, so while he could drive home from the office now, he chose not to. He wanted to make sure that Alexander would make it home safely.

 

As soon as he regains focus on his book, the chair Alexander was sitting in is pushed aside, screeching against the hardwood floors, followed shortly by the sound of something hitting the floor.

 

Alexander’s body hit the floor.

 

Aaron can’t do anything but freeze and stare for a moment, staring at Hamilton on the floor, unconscious and unmoving.

 

He drops his book on the floor; he couldn’t care less about keeping his place in it now. Dropping to his knees next to Hamilton, he flips him over easily. He pushes up his sleeve to check his pulse…

 

A thick layer of bandages stands between him and Alexander’s artery.

 

Burr’s eyes go wide for a moment, before shoving his sleeve down quickly and instead pulling the fabric around his neck down. His heart beats slowly against his fingers, too slow. Alexander’s breath is weak and shaky in his ear when Burr leans down. At least he’s breathing.

 

“Hamilton?” Burr shakes his shoulders. “Alexander?” His voice cracks.

 

The panic in his voice and breath subsides when Hamilton slowly blinks, immediately bringing his hand up to shield himself from the bright lights. 

 

Then he’s back to himself, “What- Get the hell off of me, Burr-” Hamilton attempts to shove Burr away, missing completely with his eyes covered.

 

Burr settles a bit, his heart eventually slowing from ‘oh my god Hamilton is dead and it's my fault’ to ‘that was a little scary’. “You passed out. Let me get you some water. I think I have a granola bar in my bag, too.” Hamilton looks up at him finally, grimacing while also cursing at himself internally. “Stay there or I’ll tell Mr. Washington about this.” Hamilton sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

 

Burr disappears for a few moments, returning with a plastic water cup and a squished granola bar from the bottom of his work bag. He hands Hamilton the cup, making sure he drinks enough before giving him the bar. He sits on the floor next to Alexander, now sitting up and chewing on the granola bar.

 

His stomach churns as he glances down at Hamilton’s wrist, covered and resting in his lap.

 

Hamilton notices, because, of course, he does. “What?” He asks, crossing his arms and subtly trying to hide his arm. His eyes are different now that they’re alone. They aren’t the same crazy and eager eyes he sees from across the room in meetings when debating Mr. Jefferson. These eyes are cold and piercing.

 

But underneath, he can almost see something soft, scared.

 

He starts slow, easy, “Have you been eating enough? Usually, people don’t just pass out like that for no reason.” Burr is no doctor, but he’s pretty sure of this fact.

 

Hamilton visibly shrinks in on himself, cowering and defensive like a dog bearing its teeth. “My health is none of your concern, Burr.” He tries to close himself off, shoving all of his vulnerable parts of himself in a safe and swallowing the key.

 

Burr is having none of it.

 

“When was the last time you ate? A real meal.” Hamilton goes quiet. Staring down at the half-eaten granola bar in his hand.

 

Recognizing that this conversation will go nowhere and Hamilton is too stubborn to admit anything to anyone, Burr sighs, changing the subject instead of pressing on, “Let me give you a ride home. You shouldn’t walk home.”

 

Before Alexander has a chance to make a snarky comment or insist he will be fine, Burr takes his hand and brings him up to stand with him. Awfully close together, that is.

 

Burr holds onto Hamilton for a moment, making sure he isn’t going back down. The closeness is nice before Hamilton pulls his hand from Burr’s grasp.

 

Hamilton steps back first, murmuring to himself, “Let me get my things first.”

 

Burr narrows his eyes as he walks away, frowning to himself. 

 

~~

 

The ride to Alexander’s apartment is near silent, only the low hum of the engine and the men’s breathing audible over the soft radio. A song Burr doesn’t recognize is playing with barely any volume.

 

Neither of them moves when Burr pulls into the parking lot, sitting in silence, waiting for the other to speak up.

 

Burr speaks first.

 

“I know, Alexander.” He stares straight ahead, hands still on the wheel, gripping it hard to the point of discomfort.

 

Alexander looks over at him, his countenance a mix of mock confusion and genuine fear underneath. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Burr sighs, “Yes, you do. I saw your arm, or the bandages at least.”

 

There is a tense silence for a moment. A dog barks from a nearby yard.

 

Burr starts again, “I won’t tell anyone.” Alexander visibly relaxes, as much as a man like him could. “But I want you to know that you have my number. If you… need anything, or if anything gets worse, you can always send a text or call.”

 

Silence.

 

“Okay.”

 

Alexander opens the car door, taking his things and stepping out.

 

“Thank you for the ride, Burr.”

 

Aaron nods, “No problem.”

 

He watches Alexander walk away, makes sure he makes it inside safely before driving off.

 

“Someday, I’ll get through to you, Alexander.”

Notes:

hi hope u like my insanity this took me way too long to write

Chapter 3: you look perfect, you look different

Notes:

sorry that i havent updated in a while i started school and forgot about this fic

Alexander finds himself on the bathroom floor the next morning, face smashed against the cold tiles. 

 

He groans as he stands, his joints popping and his back screaming at him. Stumbling, his ears ring for a moment before he can grab onto the edge of the sink. At least his skin was still cool from the tile, a nice contrast from his lukewarm apartment. The AC had been broken since last summer, and he hadn’t bothered to call anyone to fix it.

 

His arm aches; he’d tried to claw off the bandages last night in a state of shame and rage, too shaky to pull them off alone. Now they were bloody and bitten, torn and ugly. He grimaces as he tears them off all the way, dry blood sticking his arm to the gauze underneath.

 

Staring down at his arm, he can’t find a word to describe what he sees or how he feels about it. Most of them had healed over, but they were still wet and sensitive, in an odd place between scars and cuts.

 

He felt disgusting.

 

And not only because it had been a while since he’d last showered.

 

He finds his phone on the sink counter, with no notifications. The time reads: 4:37 a.m.

 

Sighing, he sets down his phone. He turns the shower on to the hottest setting, even in the heat; he enjoys the burning water against his skin. It reminds him that he is living, breathing flesh. He is meat. The water gradually heats up as he sticks his hand under the running water, running down his arm and dipping into the crevices he’d made on his arm.

 

Alexander makes his way back to the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked better, still horrible, but better.

 

His eyes weren’t as sunken in, his eye bags were less noticeable, and his skin overall looked better. In time, maybe he wouldn’t look like he’d escaped the graveyard. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like it, either.

 

He stares into his own tired eyes as he lifts his shirt over his head, an oversized shirt he’d managed to change into before falling asleep. He frowns when he sees his naked figure in the mirror.

 

Ribs stuck out of his chest, bones visible under his skin wherever they could stand out. It reminded him of living on the islands. A hungry, scrawny kid, crawling his way out of poverty. Now he was merely a sick, lonely man. He was going backwards, with no way to switch directions.

 

Steam starts to fog up the mirror before he can stare any longer and start hallucinating. 

 

Sighing, he pulls his sweatpants and underwear down in one go, stepping into the shower before he gets a chance to look at himself anymore. 

 

Warmth envelops his body as the water runs down his figure. His body hadn’t felt warmth like this in a while; it was a welcoming sensation. 

 

A hand makes its way down his thighs, fingertips ghosting over soft skin. Wrapping one hand around his length, he supports himself on the wall with the other. 

 

He leans against the shower wall, letting the water drip down his face and closing his eyes. He lets his mind wander wherever it likes, letting it lead him down an unknown, dusty path of his deepest desires. 

 

Burr.

 

It’ll always be Burr now, won’t it?

 

His hand tightens around himself, taking long and slow strokes. 

 

His eyes are the only thing he can focus on at the moment, the concern on his face when he woke up on the ground. The way he spoke so softly, as if he raised his voice even a bit, Hamilton might break.

 

Alexander lets out a broken moan, arching his back against the wall.

 

He hears his phone ding somewhere in the back of his mind. It’s overpowered by the sound of Burr’s voice. It doesn’t matter what he’s saying; just the low hum of his voice in his ears is enough. Burr could lecture him on politics for hours, but Alexander wouldn’t care as long as he was talking.

 

His body shakes and his hips sputter as he releases, mouth agape and eyes shut tight, all evidence of his thoughts being washed down the drain.

 

The humiliation that fills his mind can’t be washed away.

 

The water had gone cold. Shivering, he quickly washes himself up before he can think any more about the matter.

 

~~

 

Around lunchtime at the office, Hamilton finds himself wandering. He knows exactly where he wants to go, but he has to give himself time to ensure he wants to do this. His feet still led him to Burr’s office.

 

The door is cracked slightly, inviting and at the same time repelling. He slowly opens the door, looking inside to find Burr alone, typing on his laptop. 

 

His office is much different from Alexander’s; it's organized and neat, papers in stacks on his desk and labels on the stacks to remind him which stack is for what. The room smells like vanilla, with a hint of something only describable as a rainy night. It’s comforting, something Alex has missed.

 

Burr only glances up at him, giving a warm smile, and goes back to his work. Alexander’s heart flutters at that; he hasn’t seen Burr smile in so long…

 

He slowly advances further into the room, taking in the atmosphere, reading the spines of his books, and most importantly, trying not to stare at Burr for too long. Just existing in the other man’s space makes him feel nauseous, in the way a high school girl would when she sees her celebrity crush on TV.

 

It was incredibly embarrassing to be this nervous over someone who probably doesn’t even like him. Burr was just being nice that night. It meant nothing.

 

Still, he finds himself eyeing the sofa in his office, sitting on the edge closest to Burr. Alexander pulls his laptop from his bag, sets it in his lap, and begins to type furiously.

 

Eventually, in about five minutes, Hamilton couldn’t take the silence anymore, sighing loudly and picking up his stuff. He drags a chair over to Burr’s desk, and he can just barely hear Burr chuckle at that.

 

While he normally wouldn’t care and would simply shove Burr’s piles to the side, he makes sure to keep them as he’d had them, finding a small corner of his desk to place his laptop on.

 

Hamilton types for about thirty seconds before becoming tired of being ignored.

 

“Why did you do that?” Loaded questions make for great conversation starters. Hamilton crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair and staring at Burr.

 

Burr finally looks up from his work, confusion on his face when he processes Alexander’s question. “What?” It's all he can manage, his eyes examining every part of the other.

 

“Why did you care enough to offer me a ride home?” Hamilton asks, watching Burr’s face run through about fifty emotions in five seconds. Part of him loves the show, but he also wants answers. Burr was setting him up, he was sure of it.

 

It takes Burr a moment to piece together a sentence, “Because I care about you, Alexander.” He has that same look in his eyes. Like he cares. Alexander is too stubborn to believe it. “Actually, I wanted to ask-”

 

“No-” Alexander points a finger at him, “I know you are trying to get something out of me! You’re setting me up! You’re gonna get me to admit-”

 

Burr cuts him off, “Alexander, I wanted to ask if you’d like to go out with me.”

 

That shuts Alexander up.

 

He searches desperately for something insincere in Burr’s face, something deceptive, something to tell him he’s lying.

 

He finds nothing, only a hint of nervousness under undeniable sincerity.

 

“You- you what?” Alexander asks, baffled that of all people, Burr was asking him on a date. He feels even more nauseous than when he’d first walked in. And incredibly hot.

 

“It doesn’t have to be anything more than two friends getting dinner, unless you…” Burr trails off, chewing on his lip and looking away from Alex.

 

For once, Alexander has nothing to say, staring at Burr with his mouth agape.

 

Burr frowns, “An answer, please, Alexander.” He pauses, waiting for a response. When it doesn't come, he starts again, “It's okay if you don't want to, I know this is sudden. It doesn't have to be anything fancy either-”

 

“Yes. Yeah, of course.” Hamilton shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers on Burr's desk. “I'd love to go out with you.” The words fall out of his mouth without a second thought, his eagerness shining through. His eyes are glued to Burr, watching as he flips through expressions like TV channels, eventually landing on a fond, longing look.

 

How long has Alexander been oblivious to this? Had he never noticed before?

 

“I packed an extra sandwich, I knew you wouldn't bring anything.” Burr chuckles, pulling two wrapped sandwiches from his bag.

 

Maybe Burr wasn’t so bad after all…

 

~~

 

A few nights later, they make plans to go to Denny's at seven that night. 

 

Alexander finds himself pacing around his apartment an hour before Burr said he would pick him up. 

 

It had been so long since he’d gone out with anyone, he’d almost forgotten how all of this works. He threw on a sweater and jeans right after work, and had been overthinking all of this since. Normally, if he was like this before something, an important meeting or a serious talk with a friend, he’d…

 

No.

 

He can’t do that anymore, especially not when he was about to see Burr. Especially when he’d already raised suspicion by wearing a sweater. It was getting warmer outside, warm enough to wear short sleeves. Soon, it would be nearly impossible to hide his arm.

 

A knock on his apartment door startles him out of his thoughts. 

 

“One second!” Alexander calls out, stumbling over his own feet and random objects thrown across his floor. Managing to get his shoes on fast enough, he trips over to the door, smoothing out his clothing and taking a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door.

 

His heart flutters when he opens the door. Burr gives him that same warm smile when he sees him, “Hi.”

 

Alexander briefly forgets how to speak, “Burr- Hi.” He internally thanks himself for wearing baggy jeans. 

 

Seeing Burr outside of work, in casual clothes, slacks, and a t-shirt, is oddly calming and a bit arousing.

 

“Here, I brought you this,” Burr holds out a rose to Hamilton, the thorns cut and petals a dark crimson color. 

 

“Oh- thank you, Burr- I didn’t get anything-”

 

“I didn’t expect you to, but I thought I should.” Burr hands him the rose, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “How about we get going? I don’t want to keep you too late.” 

 

A pang of guilt hits Alexander through his lovestruck haze; Burr didn’t expect him to get him anything? Did he think lowly of him, even now? Alexander didn’t think either of them would bring anything-

 

“Yeah, let’s.” Alexander forces himself to speak, feeling his pockets to make sure he has everything, then locks the door and closes it behind him. Standing next to Burr, their hands are awfully close; if he moved just slightly, their hands would touch-

 

Burr starts first, leading Hamilton to his car. He recognized the deep, nearly black, purple color.

 

~~

 

After eating and chatting for what felt like 10 minutes, Burr insists on grabbing the bill. Alexander hadn’t even noticed him grab his card out to give to the waiter before it was too late.

 

“You didn’t have to- I could have…” He trails off, bouncing his leg under the table, feeling nausea rise in his stomach.

 

“You can get the next one.” The cheeky smile Burr gives him should be funny, endearing even, but it only makes him feel worse.

 

“Sorry, I have to excuse myself for a moment.” Alexander gives the other no time to respond, standing up without pushing his chair in and speedwalking toward the bathrooms. He only catches a glimpse of Burr’s countenance turning to concern.

 

Shoving the door open, he immediately grabs onto the closest sink, attempting to calm himself down as he looks in the mirror. His cheeks are red, his eyes are wide, and a few hairs stick out of the slickback he’d put it into. He looks weak. Vulnerable.

 

He saunters over to the nearest stall, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Tears start to flow down his cheeks as he gags, grabbing onto the toilet seat and positioning himself over the bowl. The dry heaving burns his throat, coughing up nothing but spit.

 

Shaky, uncertain fingers rise to his mouth, pressing past his teeth and into the back of his throat. He rips his hand out fast, scraping his knuckles on his teeth as the contents of his stomach are ripped from his body. Snot, tears, and bile fall into the water below; gasps and disgusting noises are the only sounds in the empty bathroom.

 

Coughing, he clutches his stomach, vision blurry and unfocused. Through the burning pain in his throat, he feels light, free from the guilt for just a moment. He wipes his mouth, flushing the guilt.

 

He can only stare mindlessly at the road ahead on the way home. Burr allows him the silence.

 

The car stops. “I hope we can do this again sometime, Alexander.” Burr places his hand on top of his, resting on the center console. Alexander pulls away.

 

“Sure, see you tomorrow, Burr.”

 

He hears only the start of a goodbye as he slams the car door, trying not to trip over his own feet as he makes his way to his apartment door.

 

Sweat drips from his brow, his sweater clinging to his skin. His arm stings, and his hands shake.

 

Alexander needs it. 

 

Metal razors clink against the side of the tub, and Alexander leans over it, staring at years of stains ingrained into it. His arm seems to match, years of pain engraved into his skin.

 

His phone buzzes from where he’d left it on the sink counter. 

 

Hamilton picks up a razor, a new and fresh one, sharper than the one he’d been clinging to. The world seems to still around him, the stinging running throughout his arm rendering everything else irrelevant. Guilt seeps from his wounds, falling into the tub beneath him and being whisked away into the drain. He felt free; he was cutting the shackles that bound him, freeing himself of captivity.

 

This time, his ringtone fills the room. He lets it ring out as he watches blood trickle from deep wounds.

 

A particularly deep line stuns him, and he stares helplessly at the blood now pooling underneath him in the tub, pouring out like a faucet with no handle to turn off. His ears ring and his head reels, feeling as though he might pass out, bleeding into his bathtub.

 

A knock jerks him out of his head, a familiar voice twisting his stomach in knots.

 

“Alexander? Alexander!” Burr’s voice rings in his ears, his fist banging against the door, pounding in the back of his mind. At least he locked-

 

The door swings open. 

 

He’d been too out of it to think about locking the door. He squeezes his eyes shut as Burr’s footsteps get closer, “Shit.”

 

They stop in the bathroom doorway, already wide open from when Alexander rushed in.

 

Burr kneels beside him, holding a towel he’d taken off the floor.

 

“Give me your arm.” Hamilton can’t look at the man as he holds his arm out, blood still flowing rhythmically into the tub. He hisses as Burr wraps the towel tightly around his arm, applying pressure to the still bleeding wound.

 

“And the razor.” Reluctantly, Alexander hands over the blade. Burr sets it aside, staring at Hamilton’s averted eyes. 

 

With care, Burr’s other hand cups his cheek, turning his face to look at him. 

 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Alexander.” Burr’s voice cracks, staring at Alexander’s blank face. He rubs a bloody thumb over his cheek, looking for something, anything in Alexander’s expression. Finding nothing, he pulls the man into his arms, wrapping his free arm around his shoulder.

 

Without warning, Alexander’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes watering as he presses his face into Burr’s shoulder. His entire body shakes with sobs, his tears soaking into Burr’s shirt.

 

He was weak, vulnerable, and disgusting. Ugly sobs ripped out of his body as his fingers grabbed at Burr, fisting the fabric.

 

“You’re gonna be fine, Alexander. You’re going to be okay.” 

 

Alexander believes him.

 

For once, Alexander believes him.

 

Burr lets Hamilton stay there for as long as he needs, not loosening his arm wrapped around him until his sobs die down. Slowly, Alexander pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

 

They say nothing as Burr slowly unwraps the towel. The bleeding had slowed down in the time they stayed tangled in each other’s embrace, no longer as alarming. Burr dabs the towel over his wounds, soaking up the last drops of blood before standing. 

 

He grabs the wrap and gauze from where they’d been left out on the counter, kneeling next to Alexander again.

 

“I’m sorry.” Hamilton blurts out as Burr wraps his arm up.

 

Burr doesn’t respond, only finishing wrapping his arm tightly. He stands up, grabbing onto Alexander’s hand.

 

“Come here.” Burr sighs, pulling Hamilton off the ground and pulling him close. He wraps both his arms tightly around Alexander, holding the back of his neck.

 

“You’re going to kill yourself if you keep up like this.” His voice is quiet and broken in Alexander’s ear, even though he can’t see his face, he’s sure Burr is crying.

 

Hamilton wraps his arms around Burr’s middle, being careful of his sensitive arm. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, at a loss for words, for once. His own voice betrays him, barely above a whisper.

 

The room goes quiet; the only sounds audible are their breath and synchronized heartbeats. It’s oddly peaceful.

 

Alexander is the first to break the silence, “Will you… Will you stay with me?” He pulls out of the embrace, staring at the tub instead of Burr.

 

He tilts his head to look at him again, a smile on Burr’s face. 

 

“Of course, Alexander.”

 

Hamilton tugs his sleeves down, in just his sweater and boxers, and sits at the edge of the bed. He can’t help but watch Burr, slipping his shorts down and his shirt over his head. Aaron sits down on the bed next to him, taking one of his hands in his. 

 

“This doesn’t have to be anything.” 

 

A pause.

 

“I want this… I want this to be something. Us to be something.” 

 

Burr tilts his head to rest on Alex’s shoulder. “I’d like that.”

Notes:

enjoy your temporary happiness heathens

Notes:

this idea was gonna just be one chapter but here we are.... expect like 2-3 more chapters after this one!!!!

i think i might only be good at writing angst....