Rewind (Lams Fanfic)

Part Eight

Alexander's sleep that night was fitful. Despite the effects of the alcohol wearing off, rudely dropping him back onto the hard concrete that was reality, he couldn't seem to stay asleep for more that 45 minutes at a time. A headache had begun to develop around 4 am and was now a head splitting hangover that had Alexander pressing his hands to his temples, feverishly massaging them in attempts to make it lessen. His thoughts still refused to let him relax.

He slipped out of bed at 6:30 am when he realized he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep. Carefully opening his door and quietly tiptoeing across the hardwood floor, he made his way into John's kitchen. He basically tore open the bottle of painkillers that was still sitting on the counter from his last visit and swallowed two pills without water. Trudging back into the bedroom, still quietly as to not wake John, he drew back the curtains to see the sun begin to rise over New York City. The sidewalks were begin to fill up with workers returning home from long nights at work and those going in for early morning shifts. Alexander knew John would probably be awake soon; this was a thought that panicked him. He needed to be gone by the time John woke up.

It was probably cowardly, running away like this before John awoke, but Alexander didn't really care. Alexander was never good at facing his feelings. It wasn't like John would want to see him anyway. He was obviously extremely pissed off at Alexander and probably pretty embarrassed on top of that. One of the only things Alexander could remember from the night before, or rather only 5 hours ago, was the icy edge in John's voice after Alexander had kissed him. Alex tended to be impulsive when sober and was extremely rash when drunk, he knew this, but John didn't. Whatever odd friendship the boys had shared, which had basically consisted of Alexander bottom feeding off John's slightly naive generosity, was surely out the window.

So now, Alexander was slipping on his shoes in the dark of John's little living room area. Opening his satchel that still sat on the coffee table, he ripped a piece of paper out of a random notebook and pulled out his favorite black pen. He scribbled a note on it, squinting to make out his own writing in the darkness. He set it on the breakfast bar/everything counter and pulled the strap of his bag over his head. Yawning, he tried to wipe the remnants of his fatigue out of his eyes with no avail. His eyes scanning over the kitchen, they came to rest on a red Keurig in the corner on the counter across the room, a spinning rack of K-cups beside it. Alexander had remembered seeing a thermos in the cabinet that housed the cups...Maybe one cup of coffee wouldn't hurt. Maybe John wouldn't mind. Maybe Alexander could make it and still slip out before being caught. Maybe the only reason Alexander was making the coffee wasn't to wake him up, but because he would have to have to return the thermos at some point. Maybe that would mean he would see John again once they could pretend nothing had happened.

He pulled out the thermos and set it under the Keurig, leaning against the counter and tapping his foot as it warmed up. It seemed like a million minutes had gone by when Alexander was finally able to pull the top down and start filling the thermos with coffee. When it was done, he put the top on, deciding not to put anything in it; he liked black coffee just fine. Walking over to the door, he took one more look around the apartment, just in case it was his look. He couldn't really see much because of the darkness, except the ugly blue couch in front of him (Alex was only a little upset it was the last thing he was going to see) and the blinking lights and digital clocks on various kitchen appliances. He turned the lock on the door, opened it, and slipped out. He pulled it shut after him, a little louder than he intended, and set down the hallway at a brisk pace, John's thermos full of hot coffee in hand.

-

John woke up around 6:30, and rolled over burying his face in his pillow. He still felt as tired as he had when he forced himself to sleep five hours earlier. He was also less than please with himself that the first thing he thought of when his mind came into consciousness was Alexander Hamilton. Groaning, he rolled back over to stare at the ceiling. He should probably get up soon to have breakfast ready for Alex when he woke up; Alex wouldn't want to stick around long, John figured. His thoughts shifted to what to make for breakfast. After deciding on scrambled eggs, his thoughts were flooded with Alexander again. He just really needed to talk to him, sort things out. He also really hoped everything wasn't fucked up.