𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

Lost Trust

It wasn't really surprising how easily Alexander could comply with directions. If Washington were to tell him to write something, he would. If he was told to swear somebody off from stupidity, he would. Though, what /was/ surprising, was how easily he gave up on any sort of fight, how he was knocked into place as a silent tomb.

Hamilton was never the shy, quiet introvert. Everybody knows this. The fucker was loud, opinionated, brave, and spiteful. You'd never see him in a room by himself, or in a group without speaking in quick tounges. Even when the man was exhausted and torn down, which happened to be every single day, was he quick and rambunctious. It must have been some sort of talent. Maybe it was the coffee. The gremlin seemed obsessed with it, anyway.

Though, that wasn't the same anymore. Well, he was still loud, forsay. Nothing was going to destroy his volume, or the impact he has on others. Though, instead of a "speak more, teach more" ideal, he balanced on the likes of Burr, perhaps even Washington and Madison when he converts to "speak less, teach more". And his silence wasn't something Thomas was used to. He wasn't used to the immigrant being in his passenger seat, silent for nothing but occasional yawns, curled up like some sort of ball of himself. Thomas has never seen the man without his mouth open, without his quite colourful vocabulary reaching anybody's and everybody's ears. But here he was, unlike himself, and unlike anything Thomas could place. He wasn't sure if he was grateful for the silence, or frightened, in a way. It sure as hell unnerved him.

When Thomas had led the smaller male inside, Hamilton already knew his way around, and Thomas wasn't going to plead innocent as to why. He knew exactly what the two had been up to in previous circumstances. Enough, and enough times, for Alexander to be acquainted with every wall or flat service, for his knees to burn from any cold tile or rough carpet, for him to know just how soundproof the walls are. It wasn't something they should want to hide - at least, from themselves. The world didn't need to know, and if it did, Thomas wouldn't know what the hell to do with himself. Though, it was slightly comforting, in a way, when he watched Alexander immediately make his way upstairs, disappearing into a large room to the right, which had just so happened to be his bedroom.

Instead of joining with the immigrant, Thomas stayed downstairs for a few moments longer than he would have liked, busying himself on his phone. He would have gone out and actually purchased and made a dinner, but Hamilton was already in his house. He should have had it done previously, as to not make the other wait longer than he had to. - Though, since when did Thomas give a shit about Hamilton and how long he waited? - Besides, that's what Postmates is for. If Thomas was going to have the app, he was going to fucking use it. So, he did. He bought quite a hefty amount of Chinese food, which was probably terrible for them, and two bottles of wine, which he doubted they would even get through. Hell, it barely put a dent in how much money he had, so why not buy more than necessary? Alexander was thin and fragile as shit, anyway. He could use the extra food.

After Thomas paid the man in advance, and checked his address in, he finally went upstairs, surprising himself with how slow he had bothered to arrive. He was hesitant in going to his room, in seeing the other, because he had no fucking clue as to what he might view, what sort of sight could ruin him. And, yes, those thoughts were irrational. It's Alexander Hamilton, in Thomas's bedroom - there wasn't much to see. However, with all else in the fucking world currently happening around the two, it slowed down Jefferson's movements, if not by the smallest amount.

It was like a dance. A dance with two partners, not knowing which one would come out to lead at the end as they both swirled around him, pulling him from the left and the right. One partner danced the waltz, movements flowing and perfectly calculated, like a math problem that a student had all the skills and experience to solve, but no matter what, would make a tiny mistake in the paragraph long problem and fail. And the other partner.. They didn't seem to have a dance in mind, using salsa and ballet to approach Thomas, to spin him out of the other's arms. And, no matter where he would be whirled to, Jefferson still hesitated, still didn't let his hand wander down and press the handle, until both left him, standing off to the side with perfect attention and posture that dancers possessed. He shook his head, clearing himself of the thoughts currently obstructing his mind, before opening the door.
The scene he was greeted with was one he wouldn't mind holding in his memory for the rest of his life.