Our Little Secret ||Historical Lams Oneshots||

Adieu

BELATED JOHN DEATH ANGST THAT I ACTUALLY WROTE THREE DAYS AGO BUT FORGOT TO PUT HERE AND IM SHARING IT NOW IN APOLOGY FOR MY ABSENCE TIME!

John Laurens still remembered the last time he saw Alexander. It lived fresh in his mind, as though permanently imprinted. He remembered how, just before, he'd held a letter in his hand, small, salty tears blurring the words that set his future in stone. A future that didn't include John, though he supposed that was all but fair.

He remembered how Alex had approached him as though nothing had happened, his lips quirked up into an almost crooked smile, his freckled cheeks dusted with a rosy blush. He remembered how Alex had leaned up and touched their lips together, and how John hadn't responded to it, despite the desperation begging to arise.

"Ja- John, you know I leave in the morning, can you not at least humor me with a bit of support?"

No, John had stayed stoic, giving in only for a moment, for a mere few hours the night before Alexander left the camp.

"Goodbye, Alexander."

"...Goodbye, John."

A last, hard kiss, their fingers entangled as long and far as their arms could stretch, as far as their hearts would allow them to, John staying in place as Alexander left through the canvas flaps of their tent.

John had turned away before he could watch Alex leave.

Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great a distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters.

You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.

The early morning had a slight chill to it, even for South Carolina. A soft breeze ruffled Laurens' light queue, and with one hand he pulled his overcoat a little tighter. Crickets and cicadas chirped from the woods, a steady, albeit irritating, rhythm.

At least they covered up the loud breathing of the men he had in tow behind him.

John peered into the darkness, attempting in vain to make out any redcoat silhouettes. He hissed in pain as a sharp sting cut through his head, pressing the ball of his hand to his forehead. Perhaps leaving with a fever wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

No; he'd rather die in battle than to the mercy of sickness.

Clenching his teeth, John regained his composure, beckoning for his small troop to begin coming forward. He kept his hand raised in the air as they crept up, keeping a determined gaze at the scene ahead oh them, checking for any movement or telltale sign of advance.

John suddenly held his hand still and erect in the air, the soldiers coming to a halting stop. The silence was tense as his eyes flitted around the area.

A snapping twig broke the quiet, startling John. He whipped his head around, one hand on the handle of his gun and the other gripping the reins of his horse. He narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to sigh as one of his men slowly approached him.

"What did you not understand about silence, damn buffoon?" Laurens hissed, teeth clenched.

The soldier winced, clearly taken aback by the sharp remark. "Colonel Laurens, I was merely wondering if we were a bit too late. I sense no motion, and I be picking up that neither do you."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. It's early, he told himself, give him a break. "Captain Johnson, do you or do you not wish to return home to your family tonight?" he asked, trying in vain to keep the slight contempt from creeping into his voice.