𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

This Isn't Love

Alexander walked home instead of calling a cab or taxi, something that he regretted as soon as he stepped outside. It was the middle of April, it was supposed to be warm with a light breeze. However, it was freezing cold, nowhere near the seventy degrees it should have been. The sharp, biting winds of an almost winter scene bit at his skin and cut through his veins to get to his bones, sending a nonstop shiver to run up and down the collagen. And, yes, he shouldn't have continued walking when he realized how cold it was. He should have gone back into Jefferson's home and called a ride to take him there, so he didn't have to risk his ass freezing in his spot. Still, though, he was too stubborn to admit that he was at fault, always having been one to follow through with plans instead of stop midway. Which, led him to where he was now, a shiver running through his goosebump-covered arms, attempting to fight the pushing winds to get home.

Really, he didn't know why he had left. It was just a dream. Just a dream, just a dream, just a /dream/, and Alexander still couldn't forgive the star, even when said Virginian had not a clue as to what it entailed. Jefferson didn't know what he had done in Alexander's mind to have put him so on edge, to have him leave his house with nothing but a few exchanged words and a received plead to stay. He didn't understand his own actions - nor, though, did he understand Jeffersons. He didn't understand why the other had woken him up from his nightmare, instead of just leaving Alexander there. He didn't know why the Virginian didn't insult or belittle him when he began crying, sinking to the floor like some child without their toy. He didn't know why, for when he had said he was leaving, why Jefferson had asked so many questions before he had a chance, what Jefferson was close to saying before being cut off, what sparked the other's curiosity. He didn't know, nor understand any of it. Jefferson was confusing, and that was all Alexander knew.

When the immigrant finally made his way home, thankful for the lack of wind even though the house itself had no heater and the temperature was practically the same, he wasn't greeted with any noise or sight that he would have been previously used to. There was no sound of the TV in the background, warning him of a possibly sleeping John, or a perfectly awake one. There were no bottles of beer or shattered glass, aside from the earlier day, that would promise any sort of activity within the building. The only thing there was, was a soft glow of a golden light under Alexander's closed door, one that Alexander had no memory as to turning on. That must be where the other is. Alexander wasn't sure if he should be glad to find the freckled male, or if he should be worried about the fact he was in Hamilton's room. He was a mix, in all honesty.

Alexander quietly shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it when he slowly made his way up the stairs, halting in front of the door to his room, hand hovering above the doorknob. He had two options, of one he had already picked before realizing that there was a choice. He could leave. He didn't have to face Laurens at all. He didn't have to walk into his room, didn't have to confront the male, didn't have to risk whatever the hell would happen if he were to do so. Or, he could. He could open the door and speak to his lover. He could have a normal conversation with him, not have anything happen, and be happy in his arms. Both of these were possibilities. And still, knowing that he could walk away at this moment, he put pressure down on the doorknob, turning it and opening the door.

The sight was one that worried Alexander in the slightest. Laurens, laying on /Alexander's/ bed with /Alexander's/ phone in hand, reading something off of it that Alexander didn't even want to guess on. He had a grin on his face, despite being matched with glossy eyes, and when he looked up to see Alexander, his grin widened. He hummed, sitting up, and Alexander already knew that something bad was going to happen. He could practically feel the sharp hiss of a burn under his feet, him walking on firely coal with whatever move he was about to make, whatever he was about to say, whatever he could do. Laurens stood up, tsking, taking a step towards the immigrant.
"When?"

The question his lover had proposed rung in his ears, making Alexander's face screw up into a look of confusion, deep brows furrowing into his eyes. He shook his head for a moment, taking a step back to accommodate for the new lack of distance.
"What do you me-"
"Tomorrow, after work, your place."
When Alexander had taken a step backwards, Laurens took a larger one forwards, trapping Alexander between him and the harsh wood of the door behind him. John's words finally caught familiarity in his mind, as he could finally place where the hell they were coming from, what the hell John was quoting.

~ And, yet, Alexander was the one who pushed Thomas off of him, earning a huff in return. Alexander was the one who moved over to his desk, breath heavily as he wrote down his phone number on a sheet of paper, pushing it into Thomas's chest without care.
And, like that, without an exchange of words, Jefferson was out of his office, and out of site. It didn't take even a minute before Alexander got a text, though, from an unknown number. He changed the name.
> Incoming message: Jefferson.
"When?"
It was one question, that sent a shiver down Alexander's spine. He really shouldn't be doing this, knowing fully fucking well it was going to land himself in a trap, but he responded anyway, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his bag.
> "Tomorrow, after work, your place." ~

Alexander's eyes widened, his breath being knocked out with the realization he had just managed. He parted his lips to speak, to deny, to explain, to /anything/ - but John simply continued, placing his free hand next to Alexander's head, palm flat against the door as he continued to read.
"You're such a slut. You know that, yeah? You need a fuck so badly, that you resort to your political enemy. Maybe I should leave you on my doorstep. Oooh, or I could drag it out. Make you wait until the next day, meet me in my office. Actually? Nevermind. I don't want your ugly ass soiling the beauty that is my office."
With the next part, Laurens set Alexander's phone down, keeping eye contact with the immigrant's hazel eyes when he spoke -
"See you tonight."

Alexander once again opened his mouth to speak, almost having a word escape his lips, before a sharp slap to the face halted the decision, a whine instead breaking down in his throat, causing him to close his mouth.
"Jefferson really is right, you know. You're nothing but an ugly, useless slut. And you know that, don't you? God, how pathetic."
Laurens narrowed his eyes when he spoke, pausing for a moment to allow a response from Alexander, who simply nodded, blinking back a wetness in his eyes.
"J-John, please, I d-didn't know-"
Before Alexander could finish speaking, there was a hand in his hair, pulling with a sharp and painful movement, slamming Alexander's head against the door behind him.
"Shut /up/! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
With each and every repetition of the words, John slammed Alexander's head against the door, again and again, each hit harder than the last. With his final one, he let go of the Immigrants hair, leaving him to quickly fall limply to the floor, undoubtedly losing consciousness.

"Stupid bitch."
Laurens muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes and kicking at the seemingly lifeless body before once again grabbing Alexander's phone, calling an ambulance for the fucker in front of him. Really, he had no care as to if he lived or not, or if he was damaged or not.
However, John was not about to get arrested for Alexander Hamilton's murder, and have to spend the rest of his life in jail.
Besides, the immigrant was a source of entertainment for him. He wouldn't want to break his favourite toy, now would he?