his dead boyfriend//lams

half there; whenever you are not

When Philip was born, John Laurens awoke from the dead.

He had awoken in a small room with a woman screaming in pain as a child was pushed out of her. A man, presumably a doctor, helped the process of birth a long quickly as it happened with yellow rubber gloves and a white tarp over his waistcoat and trousers. Holding onto the woman's hand, swearing, nervous, hair pulled back into a haphazard pony tail, sat Alexander Hamilton.

John had cringed and closed his eyes because this moment was too intense and intimate for him to look, stepping back into the wall and falling straight through it. He stopped only after hitting the first floor of the house and losing all of the oxygen in his lungs.

John was not alive.

He was not dead, either. He was pale and half transparent, his hair and all of his out reaching limbs ended with wispy curls of himself. His freckles, they seemed to give off more of a reddish light than usual, and he could not see himself in any reflection or mirror. These were the basics.

Learning how to grasp things and not fall through the second floor where things he picked up as Philip grew. How to toss the toy block to Philip when he couldn't seem to find it. How to sit down in a chair when he wanted to feel civil again, how to watch Eliza play the piano(which didn't take practice, but he rather enjoyed listening to the woman's music).

John, as the first year went, learned many things. Not just about living in his new ghostly state, but about the Hamiltons.

Alexander was not a family man. He tried to talk to Philip and help with changing him, but he could not deny that the office was the place for him. Hamilton had not changed much since the war, John reminisced, and he was ever affectionate towards his wife when he gave himself a break from his work(almost never).

Eliza was a petite woman with strong facial features and soft colors. Eliza was also witty, not necessarily at Alexander's level, but smarter than most. She was a loving friend, wife, sister, and mother. Her hobbies were embroidering and the piano. She cared for her family more than anything in the world.

Philip was as reckless as a baby could get. He was picky with what mashed foods Eliza would serve to him(no peaches, bananas were good only if served with milk) and he had curly hair much like John's. His eyes where his mother's, his nose his father's, and he always had a rosy tint to his cheeks.

John loved them all dearly.

He felt as if he was part of the family. He felt as if it was his family. He would sit at the extra spot at the dinner table when all of them sat down to eat. He would answer their questions and comments to one another like they could hear him. Clean the food off of baby Philip's face when they weren't looking. It made him wish he could have stayed alive. He wished he could have somehow actually been part of this family.

Alexander had brought it up only a few times, drunkenly after a night at a saloon or breathlessly after sex, that he wished to bring John home with him after the war. Alexander would smile, no matter the occasion he said it on, and elaborate on why.

"Betsy will love you, no doubt. Philip will think you his uncle and it will all be good. It will be so good, Laurens."

John believed he was playing the part well. Alexander might not of been able to bring him home, he might not be alive, but he did his job well. Why else would he have awoken the minute Philip was born? In the Hamilton house? This was what he was meant for, alive or dead. He was to take care of the Hamiltons.