Let Me Inside Your Heart || Jamilton

Desperation (REUPLOAD)

Okay so I'm really sorry for the spam, but I need to reupload this
Don't hurt me ok ily

I'm watching it burn....

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Silence. It was something that the lawyer had become accustomed to within his home. Never had it bothered him - he hadn't yearned for anything different. There was a constant dismal atmosphere hanging around his home. The continuous quiet was rarely broken - only if the solitary inhabitant dropped something or muttered under his breath. It was habit now for him to do this, especially when writing. He had become his own company. The only voice he heard during the day belonged to himself. Did he care? No. Should he? Probably. A normal person may not care for the constant isolation that followed Alexander Hamilton throughout his life. Despite the fact that he had a physical office in a public building, he rarely visited it. He much preferred to work from home. Away from it all.

Alexander was writing. No surprise. The scratch of led against paper was comforting to him, as much as an infant would find comfort in the heartbeat of its mother. Oddly enough, Alex preferred to write on paper. Of course he would copy down his work onto his laptop when he was done, but it brought him satisfaction to see what he had written. What his own hands had produced. He found it easier to focus when he wrote on paper. But said focus was shattered when a loud knock boomed, startling poor Alexander. With a childish yelp, he went tumbling as his body jerked. A ridiculous mountain of paper crashed down with him. Damn. He stood up, a burst of unnecessary anger sparking through him. Whoever had disorganized his papers would be greeted by a very unhappy Alex. Not that he was intimidating in any way - the man stood at a mere 5'9, and could be considered lanky. He approached his door, looking outside. No one. He swore loudly. He hated teenagers.

He went back inside, and heard an odd sound at his back door. He went to inspect it, his footsteps soft as he stepped lightly in an attempt to get to the source of the noise hastily. But he wasn't quick enough, because once he flung open the door, he was once again met with the sight of an empty lawn. Nothing even indicated that a trespasser had been within the limits of his yard. He let an annoyed growl escape his throat. Of course they were already gone. Of course they were torturing poor Alexander, who hadn't slept in two days and was even more irritable than usual. He swore to God that he would get them next time. He noticed that his thoughts were similar to the words spoken by cranky old men in the cliché movies, and that lead to him being slightly uncomfortable with his train of thought. Alex was only thirty.

He entered his kitchen to find something to eat, and whined softly to himself as he found nothing but rotted vegetables and some canned foods. He would have to actually leave his house. End me. With a (definitely overexaggerated) sigh, Alexander turned to the doorway of his kitchen with a grim expression. He looked as if he were about to walk into the pit of hell as he reluctantly walked to his living room, where his coat hung over the arm of a leather couch. He picked it up as if it were toxic and put it on. God, he hated grocery shopping. And on top of that, it was six o'clock in the evening. Already darkening outside, thanks to the time of year - December. Snow lay thick on the ground outside. His footsteps crunched against the flakes, leaving prints in the indention of his small shoes. He looked up at the rapidly darkening sky, which was a melancholy abyss of grey. With another drawn-out sigh, the scholar entered his car and drove to the nearest fast food restaurant, being a Sonic. He decided that tonight just wasn't the night to enter a large grocery store and make the effort of walking around with a heavy basket.

The drive was short, only around five minutes. He didn't exactly live in a rich area. Sure, Alexander earned more money than he actually needed, but he definitely wasn't the type to just blow it. He of all people knew better than that. Knew that any moment everything could be ripped away and you would need everything you have. But he didn't know that it wouldn't be long before his nightmare scenario was to come to reality.

He arrived at the Sonic and ordered. He knew strangers were staring at his disheveled hair. He knew anyone who got close enough would notice that he didn't look good at all. He was pale, too thin for his natural body frame, and just looked entirely exhausted. He didn't much mind. No one else mattered. Their opinions didn't effect him. Not unless they had anything to do with his job. That's the only time he would pay attention. He gave up on friends a while ago. John Laurens had died last month. Marquis de Lafayette, his second closest friend, was all the way in France. Hercules and himself had never been close - after the death of John, they lost contact completely. Not even the occasional friendly text - it was as if they were nonexistent to each other. That may have been in part of Alexander, in a blind rage, blaming Hercules for the death of his friend. They worked at the same place, and John was covering for Mulligan that particular evening when the armed robbery occurred. Horrible words were exchanged - at one point, Alexander finally snapped. He looked Hercules straight in the face and yelled, "it should have been you!" before storming away.

It took around fifteen minutes for his food to be brought to him. In that time, the sky had become a black infinity. His meal was eventually delivered to him by a thin young girl, probably a college student working as a carhop in an attempt to keep herself stable. Stable enough, at least. With a polite smile she left with Alexander's payment and disappeared into the building. Alex ate as he drove, hardly any time between bites. He was ravenous. That is, until his stomach dropped. Because as he approached his house, an orange glow flared from the windows.

Throwing his meal to the side, Alexander rushed to his house. He stepped inside. How had the fire already gotten this bad? It was everywhere. The heat blasted straight into his face. His office. That's where he needed to go. But it was ablaze. In fact, it was burning more than any other area of the house. Almost as if it were the source. All his pictures, mostly consisting of him and Laurens - gone. All his work? Gone. He called the fire department. They rushed over and began dousing his house. But the entire thing was a blur to Alex. He felt dizzy. He had nowhere to go for the night. Nowhere. He had no contacts that lived in the area. Except... one. But... he couldn't possibly - could he? With a numb feeling in his entire body, he thumbed through his phone. He was very clumsy, and it took him a good five minutes before he got to the name on his contact list. With shaking fingers, he pressed the call button. It rang for about six seconds before he was greeted with an expected question. "What do you want?" Asked the voice on the other line. "Well hello to you too," he muttered. At first he thought he had been hung up on - there was a drawn out pause. Right as he was about to remove the phone from his ear, he got a response. "Alexander? Are you crying?" "What?" It took him a moment, but he then realised that his voice was shaking and there were tears slipping from his eyes. His entire face felt hot as the fire that was destroying his home. "No," he said quickly, straightening himself and steadying his voice. "Listen... I... I need a place to stay. Just for the night." He again was met with silence.

"Please. Thomas."