Jamilton Oneshots // Hamilton ✔️

Therapist [JAMILTON]

our lovely request for the day (i forced her to request something);

"DEPRESSION AND HELPING AND FLUFF"

watch me beat the fuck outta that plot i feel like this chapter will be long because we want to end on fluff and dating and stuff and it'll start with meeting. have funnnn

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Eliza waits with me in the waiting room. She occasionally looks at me. My face is buried in my hands and I slightly feel like crying. I know my depression was bad, but I didn't quite know it was this bad. Yesterday, she found my suicide note. I didn't want to give that to anyone, but she found it. She found it and forced me to go to therapy.

The sessions were going to be terrible, I knew that for a fact. I didn't want therapy, I wanted Eliza's help. Maybe her care. But she said she wouldn't be able to take care of me and her girlfriend, Maria. Maria is anorexic. To be honest, I'm jealous of their relationship. No one loves me enough to go out on a date.

"Alexander Hamilton?" A voice calls my name. I continue staring at my hands as Eliza puts her hand on my shoulder.

"That's you, Alex. I'll be here waiting." She says softly.

I finally stand up, nodding a bit. She'll be here, waiting for me. Soon, the therapy will be over and Eliza will be here waiting for me. It'll all be okay. I walk over to the voice and follow its shoes. They're Vans and the feet are large, so I assume it's a boy.

He leds me to his office, opening the door and then closing it. I nod quietly, taking it all in without actually looking at the face of my therapist; the man I'll be spending two hours a week with. It's a messy roon, but it somehow looks organized. Papers stick out of bins thrown everywhere, but nothing does not have a place. Except the bins. The bins are scattered everywhere. There's a desk and I sit on one edge, staring at the oak wood.

My therapist speaks, "Hello. Is there anything I should know about you?"

I keep looking down at the wood, his voice making me shiver, "No." I whisper. I can hear him write something down on a piece of paper, but he's angling the clipboard away fron me. I'm curious to know what exactly he writes down on his paper.

"We got a call yesterday from that girl in the waiting room, correct?"

I nod.

"She said she found your suicide note. Why, Alexander?"

I know what he's asking, but I can't seem to come up with an answer. Whenever I think about it my breath catches in my throat and I can't even form proper sentences.

"Why, Alexander?" He asks again. It's not like how Eliza asks though. She acts in a harsh and demanding way. His way is soothing and caring. I muster the courage to look up and see the face of my therapist for the first time; beautiful. I like his look. His face is in a thinking position and he stares right back at me.

"I-I don't k-know." I finally say, but that's not true. I know damn well why I wanted to be in heaven with the angels, although I don't actually know if it'd go to heaven. There will never be a full chance of me ever going there, mostly because my entire life is a sin.

I am a sin.

"Alexander?" He's tapping my shoulder and rubbing tears off my face with his thumb. I'm crying, aren't I? God, I'm such a crybaby. I absolutely hate this.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, standing up. He stands up, too, looking down at me. I push the chair back from my knees and run from the room.

I run down the red carpeted hallway with oak walls, just like his desk. I run all the way into the waiting room, with the empty desk where the secretary used to be. There's a small sign on her desk that says 'On Break.' I look around desperately for Eliza, but she's nowhere to be found. On the chair where she sits, there's a note.

'Maria called me. I'm sorry, Alexander. I left your car in the parking lot and rented a bike. Lots of sisterly love, Eliza.'

The therapist runs into the room and grabs my arm. I look down at my arm, realizing my sleeves went up in all of this commotion. Fresh blood runs down my arm from what I did on the car here in the backseat of the car. I stare straight ahead, looking at my therapist's nametag.

Thomas.

Oh my god, he's probably so disappointed in me. Just like Eliza when she found my note. Just like his face when he grabbed my arm.

"Alexander?" He shakes me. I'm crying again.

Before I know what's happening, my legs collapse under me and the tears start flowing even worse. He sits next to me on the floor, pulling me into his lap. I don't even blush, it feels natural. He holds my bleeding arm in one hand and wraps his arm around my waist with his other.

"Alexander?"

"Y-Yeah?" I ask, stopping halfway to breathe and catch air.

"You'll be okay..."

I nod, looking down at my arm in his hand. I'm so small compared to him. And for some reason, I actually believe his claim. No matter how many times anyone said it to me, I never believed them. Nothing was going to be okay. I was not okay. But not this time.

This time, I could feel my agreement as clear as sunlight on a cloudless day.

Everything was going to be okay.

And why was everything going to be okay?

Because I was resting in my therapist's lap, having just cried. I was resting in his lap, being told everything was okay. Someone cared.

~~~

yeet this was long as hell i'm proud though
word count is 998 but i made long paragraphs so it doesn't feel like it sadness