Chapter Text
small oneshot of lamilton angst that may or may not become a full story:
It wasn't fair.
It was never fair.
It began when Alexander enchanted Eliza with those letters. Letters that would put Shakespeare to shame. John had seen the way her eyes would light up, how she would sigh, how she would swoon at the mere mention of Alexander's name.
Swiping away a tear uselessly, Laurens watched enviously as the couple exchanged their vows.
Such an impulsive man. It was quite shocking to marry a wealthy woman.
Hercules Mulligan’s voice shook him out of his despair. “Don’t cry, Johnny. Alex ain’t gonna be gone forever. Well, that lady’s not gonna let him go any time soon. He’ll still have his freedom…I hope.” If only that were the problem.
Laurens had set his eyes on Hamilton since the moment they met. The stolen moments, small gestures, shared glances—weren’t they supposed to mean something? But no. All that thrown away for some stupid woman for her father’s wealth.
John knew Alexander well enough to know he would cheat on Eliza in a surge of stress.
Only a few thoughts coursed through his mind as Alexander gently slipped a piece of the golden gimmel ring onto Eliza’s slim finger.
She doesn’t deserve you.
It’s not fair.
I loved you first.
It’s not fair.
It’s not fair.
It’s not…It’s—
“John! Why the long face?” Alexander said joyfully, as if John wasn’t having the most anguished time of his life. “I’m a married man now, and it seems you may have a fair shot, too!” If only my shot included you.
“Nothing. Not at all,” John quickly composed himself to look just a bit nicer to impress, though that wouldn’t help. The love of his life was already betrothed to another.
“Have a drink, my friend! One shot and you’ll understand my obsession with alcohol.” Marquis de Lafayette shoved a wine glass in his face, the red liquid dripping down John’s front. He felt his ears burn a red to rival the wine as he frantically wiped away the stain. He couldn’t become more disheveled than he was now. “Uhm…Thank you, Monsieur Lafayette.” Marquis smiled drunkenly. “Pas de problème, mon ami.”
John drained the glass, feeling quite glad that the effect was stronger than his average nightcap. However, it didn’t pull away the nagging doubt in the back of his mind that Alexander was out of his reach. Forever.
“Oh, John!” Alexander seemed to be shining with glee. “I’ll be a married man. I’ll have children of my own, a home to lead them to, and the most wonderful woman to ever exist!” John couldn’t help but smile. He seemed very happy these past days, and John didn’t want to ruin that for him. “That’s amazing, Alexander!” John prayed that it sounded genuine.
The rest of the celebration dragged by both painstakingly slowly and speeding with hurtling paces. John vaguely remembered eating something too sweet for his suffering, drinking more and more wine to the point Angelica had to physically drag him away from the bottles, and crying some more.
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John was so ready. He had never felt more bold in his life. He was going to confess after endless nights of yearning. Yearning for Alexander.
“John.”
“Yes, Alexander?”
“Do you think there will ever be a moment of peace? After the war, I mean.”
“Maybe. But that’s a world far away. All we can do is build the basis for it, friend.” If John aimed his shot correctly, the title “friend” would be nothing but the past to the two.
“We’ll build it together, John. Us two, with Mulligan and Lafayette, President Washington, and even that prissy Burr.”
“Together,” John agreed. “Hey, I have something to tell you—”
“What a coincidence!” Alexander grinned. “I also need to inform you of a certain predicament that occured a few days prior this present date.” He was speaking too formally, which John thought was amusing.
“You go first,” John said. “No. We say it together. Always together.” Alexander insisted.
“Fine,” John sighed, praying that they were about to say the same thing.
“I’m getting married—”
“I want to—”
John froze.
Alexander? Married?
“You want to marry someone?” Alexander shrieked with joy. “Who’s the lucky lady? We’ll say at the same time—”
John’s blood ran cold. His throat was dry. He blurted out the first female name he could think of.
“Martha Manning.” It was the name of his secret wife, though they had drifted apart over the past months.
“Eliza Schuyler.” Schuyler, as in the rich man Schuyler?
“Lucky you, John!” Alex said, oblivious to John’s marital status. “We should have a same-day wedding.”
“Yes…That would be great.” John needed to leave. Now. He sprang up to his feet, dusting himself off. “Good talk, Alexander, but I need to go—”
Alexander caught his wrist.
“But no, you don’t, John.” Alexander’s voice was terrifyingly calm. Like a pond full of still water, waiting to be broken by a single drop of rain or the faintest drop of a pebble. “You don’t get to hide from your problems.” His eyes trailed to the wine stain that just appeared on John’s lapel.
John’s hand flew up to his collar, suddenly insecure. “That’s not my—”
“You can drown yourself in alcohol, pour six hundred shots a day. But you cannot escape reality.”
“Alexander?”
“I’m right, John. I am always right.”
John Laurens started to bolt, clumsy feet tripping over. Running over a frozen lake.
“Don’t run, John!”
“You’ll have to face it soon!”
“John.”
“John!”
“JOHN LAURENS!”
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John snapped open his eyes, palms and forehead sweaty from the dream—or nightmare.
“Jesus Christ. John Laurens, I swear you drank half of your body weight.” A disembodied voice registered in his mind. Who was it?
“Can’t blame him. He’s so envious.”
Yes, I’m envious! I’m envious that I’m not the one getting married to Alex! John wanted so desperately to scream, to shout, to announce to the whole world.
“Yeah, jealous to be still single. If that rag Alexander managed to catch a woman, we might have some hope!”
“Man, I wanna be married to such a wealthy woman…”
The voices became distant, irrelevant to the man still thinking about his nightmare. He shouldn’t drown in alcohol. He shouldn’t even be attracted to another man. But yet he did. A painful throb shot up his spine, neck, and into his head. Holy shit. He really was hungover.
John groaned. “Look who’s finally come back to the real world. Welcome back, John Laurens! Hope ya didn’t forget your name!” The voices snickered.
“Hercules?” John murmured weakly, trying and failing to force his eyelids apart.
“The one and only.” Hercules sounded very smug. He liked his name. A lot.
“There are certainly more people named Hercules on earth…”
“And Marquis de Lafayette—” Marquis started.
“Nobody cares, Frenchman.”
“Va te faire foutre.”
“Non!” Hercules protested in French, albeit having a terrible accent.
“Leave him be,” Alexander’s voice made John freeze, shaken by the nightmare. John glanced at his hands, hoping that the ring was gone, and the marriage was a fever dream.
The ring was still there.