Uneven {Lams}

Chapter Eight

Quick thanks to everyone that complimented me on that face reveal.
Why did you do that?
I'm ugly as fuck-

Oh and John Laurens died 236 years ago today. Gonna write more about this at the end of the chapter-

John Pov
I woke up in my bed, and saw Alex sleeping, sprawled next to me. This has happened before. No we didn't fuck. Though that makes me panic every time I see him passed out on my bed. I sat up quickly, wiping his eyes quickly.

Alex jolted awake, glaring at me and flipping me off momentarily before shifting a bit and falling back asleep. I punched his arm and said, "Go sleep on the couch asshole,"

He groaned, wiping his eyes, flipping me off again and stumbling out of my room. He paused and leaned on the doorframe, wiping his face.

"Did we get high?"
Alex asked, his voice groggy.
I glanced around my bed.

"Not sure."
I told him.

"For fucks sake,"
He muttered.

"I swear man, you gotta go to rehab for drugs and shit," I said.

0I don't do drugs Laur,"
He said, narrowing his eyes.

I put my hands up, shrugging. "Sometimes it seems like-"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't you say it you southern fuck." Alex hissed.

I raised an eyebrow. "Get outta my room Hamilton." I said.

He muttered something under his breath and closed the door. I wiped my eyes again, looking around my bed. No sign of blunts or e-lit cigs so..
Not sure how the hell Alex and I managed to sleep together.

Maybe we got drunk?
I don't know though.

Alex is a lightweight so I can't imagine that he would be able to really hold himself without falling over if he was hungover. I've seen it before.

It ain't real pretty.

Picture it,
the day after Alex's twenty first birthday, Alex is over a toilet and me trying to get him to stop throwing up, while extremely pissed because I was hungover as well.

I got out of my bed, and walked to my desk, looking at a couple papers I didn't finish because I realized I was writing about the wrong shit. Our teacher gives very vague assignments which is..difficult.

But I also have a teacher that is so exact, I never know if I'm doing it right or not but fuck it, if he got a problem with it he damn outta discuss it with me.

So when there's D's on my progress reports, I ain't to happy. And yeah I know my standards have lowered since high school but C's get degrees and my dad ain't next to me to say otherwise. Unless you count me occasionally writing fucking letters to him.

I grabbed my phone and glanced at the time. I slowly got up and went to the living room. Alex was on the couch staring into space, eyebrows furrowed.

"Alex.." I trailed off.

His eyes darted to me and he hummed, "Yes Laur?"

"Why the fuck is it three pm?"
I asked slowly.

"Yeah, you see there's a thing called time and that reall-"

"No you dipshit, god why do even try with you?" I said, grabbing my head.

He shrugged, drinking his water.
"I'm your best friend," He hummed.

"Yeah, yeah fuck off." I muttered, still rubbing my head.

"You sure we didn't get high?" I asked.

"If we did I think I'd be dying Johnny," Alex shrugged.

I sighed, silent for a moment.

"I really gotta stop being a prick. No guys gonna date me if I keep up like this." I muttered.

"Ay, I've gotten guys to date me while I was at my worst. And girls," He added with a smirk.

"Oh yeah? Name one girl." I said, crossing my arms.

"Both Eliza and Angelica Schuyler."
He said, yawning.

"Name a gu-"

"Remember Morris? And Dale and I had a friends with benefits thing for a while." He said.

"That's fucking nasty."
I hissed.

He shrugged.
"Felt good,"

"You're an asshole Hamilton." I said. "Yeah I know." He replied, rolling up his sleeves and falling back asleep.

Fucking prick.
So I decided to be an asshole and filled up a cup of water, then poured it on Alex. Not all at once, but slowly onto his face.

I watched his face contort into fear and then opened his eyes, that look changed to hatred. He pushed me away from him while I snickered.

"You bitch," He grumbled, wiping his face.

"You were asking for it Hamilton,"
I said.

"I was fucking sleeping," He hissed.

"So? You also told me you and Dale has a thing which I did not need to know but it's too late because that imagine is etched in my mind forever." I said.

"How can it be etched in your mind? You haven't even seen Dale's dick." Alex said.

"I've seen enough dicks to have a good guess what it looks like and I've fucking seen yours-"

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that."
He muttered. 

I rolled my eyes and went back to his room. "Wait. How long were you and Dale fucking?" I asked.

"Bout a year. When I was like..
twenty one? Sometime around then." He replied.

"Jesus Alex," I breathed, going to my room.

Well that's in my mind forever.

~•~•~•~

Alright so at the beginning of this chapter I mentioned how John Laurens died 236 years ago today.

He died in a gunfight almost immediately after the British opened fire. John was one of three men that died in that short encounter.

The battle was over but word hadn't spread quick enough before the British opened fire on Laurens' troop.

His last word was "CHARGE!" Sending his fleet forward and was quickly sent back after Laurens had fallen off his horse, hit by a bullet.

On hearing of his death, General Washington wrote, "In a word, he had not a fault that I ever could discover, unless intrepidity bordering upon rashness could come under that denomination; and to this he was excited by the purest motives."

Which Washington basically said is he couldn't find a single flaw in Laurens unless it was fighting for what is right and he was always at his best when someone agreed with him over even the smallest of things.

Which is sad as fuck-

but let's hear what Hamilton has to say about his unofficial husband dying,

"I feel the deepest affliction at the news we have just received of the loss of our dear and ⟨inesti⟩mable friend Laurens. His career of virtue is at an end. How strangely are human affairs conducted, that so many excellent qualities could not ensure a more happy fate? The world will feel the loss of a man who has left few like him behind, and America of a citizen whose heart realized that patriotism of which others only talk. I feel the loss of a friend I truly and most tenderly loved, and one of a very small number."

He said this in a letter to Nathanael Greene. And can we just take note that he usually writes a fucking lot more? If he didn't feel something special for John he would be able to write something with far more words. But because Johns death impacted him so greatly, his words were limited.

"Sweet and fitting it is to die for one's Country"