The scratching of a pen on paper echoed through the house. James was sitting at his desk, scribbling furiously, ballpoint pen in hand. His usually sad resting face was now an angry one.
Why was Thomas never home? He hadn't even woken James to say goodbye before he went to a meeting this morning.
Work had been practically empty without Alexander Hamilton and Thomas yelling at each other. Both of them had gone to the meeting with Mr. Washington. James had spent the whole day with George Fredrick and his work partner Samuel Seabury.
James placed the pen down on the table, then re-read his note.
Dear Thomas,
What to say to you?
I don't think you realise just how painful it is to sit and wait each night for your boyfriend to come home, only for him to come the next morning drunk out of his mind.
I don't think you realise just how hard it is to trust that boyfriend, especially when he can never just tell you where he's been.
I don't think you realise how painful it is, night after night of feeling rejected and unwanted by that boyfriend.
I don't even think you realise what this letter is about. You're probably too drunk.
I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore. I've looked into new apartments and such, and there are plenty open.
Goodbye Mr. Jefferson.
Sincerely,
J.M
James folded the letter, then stood and walked to his, no Thomas' bedroom. He placed the letter gently on the pillow, then picked up the suitcase he had packed.
He didn't own very much. This apartment had been Thomas' originally. James took one last look at the magenta bed sheets with matching pillows, then walked out the door. He picked up and pocketed the ballpoint pen that he had left lying on the desk.
James froze as he heard the lock on the door being twisted open.
A lean, muscular man walked in. "James, I'm home!"
From what James could tell, he was sober. He was walking normally, his voice was clear and he looked tidy. James just stood still with the bag, waiting to see what Mr Jefferson did.
Thomas furrowed his brow. James usually called out to him and told him where he was. He walked past the foyer of the house, heading for the bedroom.
James sighed. A gasp came from the bedroom, then Thomas ran out.
"James! James are you still here? Please still be here!" He looked directly to where James stood, then ran toward him, arms out.
He wrapped his arms around James.
James pushed him off. "Don't try convincing me to stay." He tried to walk away, but Thomas grabbed his case, yanking from his hands.
James yelped in pain. He'd had a tight grip on that bag. Thomas just stood there, waiting to see what he'd do next.
Tears pricked at James' eyes. He just wanted to leave. He didn't want to fight.
The other man was frowning. "I'm not even drunk." He reasoned, but James wasn't buying it.
"You read the letter. Please, Mr. Jefferson, let me go." James pleaded.
Thomas froze. "What did you call me darlin'?
"Our relationship is strictly professional from now on." James grabbed his bag from the now stunned Thomas.
He began to walk to the door. Thomas ran in front of him, pressing his hands against James chest.
