Hamilton angst book

Alliance 'part 2'

Word count:1187

Thomas sat against the cold wall of the cave, his back pressed uncomfortably against the rough surface, as he watched the sunrise. Had he stayed up all night, or were there moments where he blinked, and his eyes shut longer than he had thought, his mind at rest and his consciousness diminished? He shrugged. His head was spinning, a sharp ache radiating through it, just above his ears. It never felt particularly good to stay awake all night, even if he had been blessed with a few minutes of slumber, here and there.

He yawned, shaking his head tiredly, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Could he really complain though? He was in the arena, engaged in a violent fight to the death, there were more important things to dwell on.

His eyes glided away from the fiery sky— from the light flooding through the arena, illuminating the beginning of a new day. Slowly and reluctantly, they traced the floor of the cave until they landed on Alexander. Thomas could hardly look at him, but once he began he also couldn’t look away, like some sort of paradox, or perhaps it fell more along the lines of irony.

“What the hell are we going to do?” He muttered to himself, as he quietly moved closer to Alexander. He sat crosslegged, a few meters from him. Staying far enough away, that if he woke, Thomas could pretend he wasn’t staring— looking, whatever it was he found himself doing.

He felt his cheeks heat up, as he wondered to himself, what was he doing exactly? It was as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away, though with nothing else to do, he could excuse it as restless curiosity couldn’t he? He shrugged, letting out a heavy sigh. He busied himself with his own thoughts. Thoughts of strategy, of maximizing their chances of survival— of winning. But Alexander was in no condition to fight, his eyes fell to the messy bandages wrapped around his thigh, and Thomas himself, couldn’t defend them if confrontation arose. He felt hopeless in a sense; the odds were certainly not in their favour.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed Alexander shiver. He turned his head to the side in his sleep, his arms crossing over his chest. Thomas chewed on the inside of his lip, a pained expression was painted meticulously across his face, eliciting overbearing sympathy.

Without much thought, Thomas slipped off his wind breaker, then unzipped his sweater he wore underneath, shrugging it off as well. He figured the thin synthetic material wouldn’t be as warm, so he carefully laid the woollen sweater over Alexander, hoping to somehow lessen his discomfort. As he did so his mind wandered to the ridiculous promise he had made the night before, upon meeting the other tribute. It must have arose from a fit of passion, of hope, or something equally as foolish. Besides, Thomas had to worry about himself above all else; he couldn’t allow himself to take such a liking to this career, to Alexander. He hardly knew him anyway. 

The thought soon passed, as Alexander turned more in his sleep, his hand moving to loosely grip the sweater. His eyes fluttered open, his lashes brushing against his cheeks as he blinked, then looked up at Thomas. “T-Thomas?”

He couldn’t suppress the smirk that pulled at his lips. “You’re finally up,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you feel any better darling?”

Alexander raised a brow at that as he struggled to sit up and lean against the wall of the cave. He groaned quietly, biting his lip when he moved too quickly. He rearranged Thomas sweater over his lap, then offered him a questioning look. “Darling?” He laughed, “is that what I am now?”

Thomas shrugged in response. “I don’t mean anything by it,” he rubbed the back of his head, his eyes finding the lip of the cave, anything but Alexander’s cocky stare. “Just say it sometimes, you know?”

“I guess, thanks for the sweater by the way.”

Thomas noticed the way his fingers curled tightly around the fabric; his jaw was clenched too. It was clear he was experiencing some discomfort, to say the least. Thomas felt awful, but there wasn’t much he could do, other than ignore it. It sounded cruel, but Alexander seemed prideful, he couldn’t exactly coddle him or anything— not that he wanted to. Thomas flushed at the thought, turning away for a moment, embarrassed.

“Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, no need to worry.” He turned to look at Alexander again, just as the other tribute leaned forward, worry etched into his face. Had they moved any closer, Thomas swore he’d be able to feel Alexander’s laboured breathing, or perhaps they’d bump foreheads or noses.

From this distance he noticed more things about the other tribute; his deep brown eyes were wide with surprise, but as the light steamed through the opening of the cave, landing on the two of them, he couldn’t help recognize their beauty. Thomas own eyes were a golden brown, but Alexander’s were dark, mysterious in their own way, a hint of hazel glimmering in the morning light.

“You have,” nice eyes, he thought, his mind willing himself to speak the words out loud rather than leave them to rot in his mind. But those words simply wouldn’t breach reality, not when Thomas was fully conscious, not when every moment that passed he felt himself grow more and more flustered. “Something on your face, let me just get that for ya.” He wiped the sleeve of his windbreaker across Alexander’s cheek, clumsily busying himself with removing the dirt from his face.

He swatted at Thomas’ hand, laughing lightly. “Knock it off Thomas, leave me alone!” His tone was playful, and for a moment he could almost imagine himself sitting in one of the vast forests in his district, taking a break from the tireless work of cutting down trees. Carefree, like the smile on Alexander’s face.

The sound of a canon tore Thomas from his daydream, and suddenly he was back in the arena. He looked to the mouth of the cave instinctively, then something else caught his eye. A parachute. A gift from a mentor? It wasn’t until it landed just outside of the cave, that his mind made the connection. A gift from his mentor, or perhaps from Alexander’s. It was very early to be receiving something, but somehow, one of them must have amassed enough donations.  

“Looks like we got something.” Thomas hurried to the cave’s exit, snatching the package along with the parachute. There was a note attached to it, scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting.

Alexander,

The capitol is immensely interested in the alliance you have formed with District 7’s tribute. Entertain them, and it is to my belief they will reward you with donations.

May the odds be ever in your favour,

George Washington

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