Forty Five Crayons (Hamilton Fanfic)

Day One

Alex's POV

In New York you can be a new man. I took a huge breath as I exited Grand Central Station. This is my fresh start. This is my new beginning. This is my--

My overly dramatic silent monologue was cut off by a taxi whizzing by me, a little too close for comfort. In the first sixteen seconds of my new life I already had my first near death experience. This is going to be one hell of a year.

The first thing I noticed about the city that never sleeps was how alive it was. It was like there was a million things happening at once, as opposed to Saint Croix where a new fly on the wall was exciting. I really didn't know where to look. Somehow, my eyes landed on Not Your Average Cup Of Joe. I figured it was some kind of hipster coffee place by the amount of people with fake glasses and Polaroids going in there. I shrugged and tried to pull open the door for at least forty five seconds before someone called out "it's push door, dumbass!" Great, I couldn't even make it five minutes in New York without embarrassing myself.

I sat down at the counter next to a tall, pompous looking guy. He seemed about my age. A flurry of butterflies exploded in my stomach, could this man be my first New York friend?

"Can you pass the sugar?" The man asked without looking up from his newspaper.

"Ummm, yes," I replied a little too cheerily.

"You know, I used to trade sugar back on Saint Croix," I added. Oh my god, Alex, what are you doing? You're embarrassing yourself! He looked at me with an expression of fake interest.

"Yea, it was a lot of tough work. But I don't even like sugar that much. I actually prefer salt. You know what I really like? Writing. Writing is the best, man!" I rambled. Oh my god, someone stop me. Please. Anyone.

"Yea, I actually wrote a series of essays about the hurricane that struck my island. The people of the island thought I was such a great writer, they sent me to New York with a one way ticket. But even here I can't outrun my deep seeded emotional issues that probably go way back to everyone calling me 'whore child', my Dad abandoning me, my Mom dying, my cousin committing suicide, and my grandfather leaving me out of his will. But maybe if there's a war I'll achieve glory, and perhaps even go into politics! But deep down, I know no one will vote for me because in the end I'm just a bastard orphan!" I explained in a way too upbeat voice. Oh dear god, kill me now. The man looked at me incredulously. I was opening my mouth to speak again when he, thankfully, cut me off.

"Look, dude, I asked for the sugar, not your whole damn life story. Can you just be cool for one second? You know, talk less, smile more sort of deal? Because believe me, you keep talking like that and this city is going to eat you alive," the man took his computer bag off the bag of his chair, signifying his intent to leave. I honestly don't blame him.

"Here's my card. Talk to me when you've sorted out whatever hot mess this is," he scoffed, gesturing towards me.

"Oh, and buy yourself something from here. But nothing with too much sugar. Or caffeine. Lord knows what would happen if you drank an Espresso," he laughed a little and tossed a ten dollar bill at me. I sat there, slightly offended. I looked down at the card in my hand. In fancy, cursive letters, it said: Aaron Burr. As I walked up to the counter, I suddenly got an idea.

"Which of your drinks has the most caffeine?" I inquired, smirking to myself.

"That would be the Ultra Double Shot Extreme Espresso," the cheery barrister informed me.

"Great, I'll take three."
•••

As soon as I downed all three Espressos, I knew it was a terrible mistake. Nevertheless, I had to prove that stuck up Aaron Burr wrong. Bleh. Even his name sounds pretentious.
Aaron Burr, more like Aaron Buttface. I laughed too hard at my own stupid joke. I glanced over at the clock above the door. 3:35.

"Shit, I gotta get to Columbia!" I shouted. I didn't even care that the whole café was now silent and staring at me. I raced out the door with all the energy of a person high on coffee. My hands were literally shaking. I felt like a coffee-induced version of The Flash.

I sprinted through the crowded streets of New York. I must have looked quite suspicious running full speed with a mysterious black duffel bag.

By the time I arrived at Columbia, everyone else had already gotten there schedules and room assignments. I went up to the desk where two very annoyed looking secretaries had probably been waiting for the last two hours for me to show up.

"Mr. Hamilton, I presume?" One of the ladies snarled.

"Y-y-y-yes ma'am. My name is Alexander
H-h-h-hamilton," I stuttered. I fully regretted drinking those Espressos. The other lady looked me up and down with her judging, beady eyes.

"And let me, guess: there's a million things you haven't done, but just you wait? Get in line, honey, that's the life story of everyone here," the other lady growled and handed me a Manila folder. I didn't even have the courage to say anything more, I just got the hell out of there. There was no way I was going to embarrass myself anymore.

I slid my schedule out of the envelope. Room C18, Left Wing, Floor 3.

I wondered around the building for what seemed like ages before I found the right room. I took a deep breath in before knocking on the old, wooden door.

I heard the doorknob turn and the door creak open. Standing in front of me was the most stoned man I had seen in my entire life. His shining brown eyes were going two different directions. His mouth was slightly ajar, exposing his perfectly straight teeth. His ruffled hair fell perfectly across his forehead. And, beneath the heavy scent of pot, I swore he smelled like the ocean. Despite the fact he was obviously very high, he was undeniably very cute.

"Hey, dude, I'm only forty percent sure you're actually standing in front of me, and if you are I am one hundred percent sure you do not have the unicorn horn sticking out of your ass that I see. Anyway, so do you happen to be... Ummm.... Alec... Allen... Ariel-"

"Alex?" I interrupted.

"Yea, that's the name of my roommate," he recalled. "I'm John Laurens, by the way," he introduced himself, snorting slightly. Then that snort turned into a giggle. And that giggle turned into a laugh. And then, suddenly, he was rolled over on the floor cracking up.

"Yea, I'm just gonna go in, ok?" I said. I opened the door to find two more guys sitting on one of the neatly made beds.

"Oui, oui, mom ami je m'appelle Lafayette. Et vous êtes un beau sandwich de l'homme!" The slightly taller one remarked flirtatiously.

"He says... He says your a beautiful man sandwich," the other one translated. He took a long drag of what I could only assume was weed.

"I'm Hercules, by the way, and that," he motioned towards the French one, "is Lafayette. He gets a bit... Forward when he's high," Hercules explained. I nodded and sat down on the bed not occupied by two very high, very friendly individuals.

"Do you want one?" Lafayette asked in a heavy French accent.

"You mean the weed?" I asked, taken aback.

"What do you think he means, stupid?" Hercules questioned playfully.

"No... No, I'm good," I declined. "I'm going to get some fresh air," I excused myself.

"Come back soon!" John called to me as I closed the door behind me.

"Ok, they seem nice," I began talking to myself.

"Slightly forward and flirty, but I'm ok with that. John was really hot. They seemed really fun. Then again, they were stoned. Wait, are they going to be high all the time? Oh god, how am I ever going to be able to keep snacks in that room? I might as well be sharing a room with Scooby and Shaggy," I muttered, looking at my feet. As soon as I glanced up I saw the three most fashionable women I had ever laid eyes upon in my entire life.