Cliché Hamilton Imagines

#104 Lin~Dancing Queen

You jump, swinging your leg behind you before landing harshly on the shiny, wooden floor. "Fuck," you whisper. You groan and stand back up. Just as you start your next dance, you hear a voice behind you.

"I never want to hear another word about how I overwork myself."

You roll your eyes and start over again. "What time is it?"

"Oh, only three in the morning." Your fiance walks over to you and wraps his arms around you, effectively stopping your practice. "Come on, babe. Come home."

You shrug him off. "I will as soon as I get this move right."

He shakes his head and grabs your arms. "(Y/N). I will give you one more time to practice. Then, you need come home with me."

"If I do horribly, you have to let me do it again."

"We'll see." He walks over to the back corner of the studio and leans against the wall.

You take a deep breath before starting your dance. In two weeks, you were going to be on Broadway (again) in your fiance's musical about the founding fathers. The nerves were killing you. Not only will this be on Broadway (yes, you were starting off-broadway, but you had complete faith that Lin wrote a remarkable show that will make its way to Broadway shorty), but this is also your fiance's show. You can't help but think that if the show happens to fail, that he would blame you. You finish the dance with fear coursing through your body.

The clapping sound behind you mildly calms your nerves. "Perfection."

You release a breath. "Are you sure? My footing was a little-"

"You were fantastic. Trust me."

"Years upon years of dance school, four separate Broadway shows, and countless off-Broadway productions shows that you are an incredibly talented dancer and are deserving of every role you get."

You sigh. "It's just... I don't know. I always feel talentless around you. I mean, your last show won a Tony! You have people who actually know who you are and who love what you write. The most my dancing has ever earned me was a third-place trophy in the county fair talent competition." You fold your legs under you and sit on the floor.

He sits next to you and places his hand on your back. "(Y/N), look in that mirror." He points to the mirrored wall in front of you, causing you to look up. "Now, you know what I see?"

"If you are about to go into some cliche 'you are beautiful and talented' shit, I will not hesitate to restart this dance."

He laughs slightly. "Okay. Okay. You would not have been cast in my show if you weren't good. I'm sorry, but girlfriend points don't get you anywhere with casting directors. They're ruthless."

You laugh and bump your head against his shoulder.

"Really. You've been on the same stage as Idina Menzel. You are so incredibly talented. Also, your mom always brags about your third place trophy."

"Damn that juggler. And that bitch who 'sang' 'Time of My Life'. She only won because her father was one of the judges."

Lin laughs and stands up, grabbing your hand. "You're always first place in my book."

You groan but take his hand. "I wish I could say that that was the cheesiest thing you have said, but I am sure that's not true."

"Are you coming with me?"

You stand up. "Fine."

The two of you walk back to your apartment, hand in hand. You've always loved nights like this. Nights when the two of you would reminisce about the past five years of your relationship. Stories that begin with "remember when..."

"I can't believe it," he whispers as you remember your first kiss.

"Can't believe what?"

"Just one week from now, you will officially be my wife." He squeezes your hand and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"One week."