Just you wait~ Lams AU

Chapter 2: Marquis de Lafayette

It wasn't long before we were stood outside their dorm room. From inside, there came unintelligible shouts. Confused, I looked at Hercules, but he just responded with a shrug and proceeded to unlock the door and step inside the room.

The second we did, I was hit by a wave of noise.

"I am NOT a gay pineapple!" Yelled a low voice.

"Ah please, mon ami, you are ze definition of a rainbow."

"Have to agree with Laf there, Burr," Greeted Herc, "and, face it, you are a smol pineapple."

A tall, clean shaven man stood in the middle room. Taking a wild guess, I landed him as Aaron Burr. Beside him was a skinny man with wild, messy curls that poofed out around his head like a cloud. This was either George or Lafayette, so going by his thick French accent I labelled him as Laf.

"I will not stand for this oppression of my rainbow rights!" Burr called out in anger. Before, I had been silently watching. Now I spoke up. I don't know what overcame me, but I got a surge of confidence.

"If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?"

Both mens heads whipped round to my direction. My confidence drained away. I lowered my eyes, so as to not be too forward.

"Alexander, this is Aaron Burr and Marquis de Lafayette." There was a squeal. I raised my eyes, only to be met with the sight of a turbo-speed French man hurtling towards me. I instinctively hunched backwards, expecting a hit. Needless to say, I was amazed when I felt two fingers pinch my unbruised cheek.

"Well aren't you just ze cutest?" Lafayette said, turning my face this way and that, somehow managing to completely miss my bruise. I felt my face heat up as he stepped back and blatantly checked me out.

Averting my eyes, I caught contact with a wide-eyed Aaron Burr. He met my gaze and dropped his eyes to the floor, a delicate blush rising on his cheeks.

I shrugged it off, turning back to a hyperactive Lafayette, who was talking animatedly to Herc:

"HE'S SO SMALL! CAN WE KEEP HIM? He would be sooo much fun! I can just imagine him moaning my name as I fu--"

"OKAY! Okay, that's enough." Herc yelled, blushing uncontrollably as I stood stock-still and shell shocked. I spluttered out a laugh, but I winced as my smile made my cheek throb in pain. As my chest rose, I felt stinging in my side.

Aaron caught my pained look and grabbed my arm. He pulled me quite close to him, my head just reaching the base of his neck, whilst he scrutinised the bruise on my face. In the background, I heard Lafayette being scolded by Herc, but it soon quietened down and they chattered about nothing in particular.

Aaron sat me down on his bed. He tied back my hair and unbuttoned the first three buttons of my shirt, pulling the material out of the way. All the while, he made meaningless chatter, to which I responded with nods or pained laughs.

When he noticed, Herc was instantly on my other side, pressing down on my stomach lightly. As the skin stretched, I felt some old cut reopen. I was preoccupied with the thought of blood that I didn't realise that Herc was moving his hand towards my side. He reached a certain part of my torso that made me yell out in pain, and he recoiled.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, worried, but I just breathed deeply and muttered a "s'okay". He cautiously lifted the side of my shirt, before gasping in shock and pulling the fabric completely up. Luckily, the long sleeves still kept my arms covered.

I felt Aaron stiffen beside me, and was about to turn to him when Laf  (who had been anxiously watching from the edge of his bed) cursed in French.

Craning my neck, I looked at what the damage was. All along my side was a bright purple bruise. It stretched from just under my arm all the way to below my hip. It dipped into my black jeans and disappeared from site. Three of my ribs were swollen, and when Herc gently ran a finger over them, pain rocketed through me like a bullet. But the worst part? Along my side, written in harsh, jagged cuts, was a word.

One word that had haunted me everywhere. My village. The care home. My old school. A word which I thought I had left for dead in the stormy ocean waves. But no, here it was. Back again to make my life a living hell. Scratched into my side, by what I can only assume as a pair of art scissors, was my downfall.

For the fourth time around.

"Faggot."