First Burn • Hamilton

Chapter One: Prologue

a/n: Hey! Here's a Hamilton fic, I got into the musical and I've always been a history nerd so this is going to be very fun. 

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Alexander slammed his office door in Philly, his hands in his hair, grabbing onto it and pulling it, almost straight out of his head. His cheeks fuming as he dropped his bag, papers flying out of his bag. He was his own enemy, he couldn't accept his own faults at points, and once he accepted this one, it would truly be the end of him for good.

Madison, Jefferson, and Burr, they all knew. At the slight thought of it he was angered, Alexander went to his desk, throwing his head onto the polished wood in defeat. Jobless, Cheater, and now  an embarrassment to the nation he helped to build. 

"Why, just why!" He yelled, rubbing his temples, he realized he was alone. He couldn't let them humiliate him, they couldn't let them destroy him. Not after that.

"Oh God"

"Gentlemen, let's go."

"The people won't know what we know."

Their voices stung like a bee fresh out of the hive, making Alexander scream. He shut up as soon as he realized neighbors would be next door, and could possibly hear him. He was alone after all, but wood was thin. He heard a lot of things on the island.

The island.

The screams through the walls and wood panels in houses piled with families in the Caribbean. Alexander remembered being alone in his dead cousin's  house. The thin walls barely holding together at the gusts of winds slamming against them. He heard his neighbors, they were screaming as their houses were torn apart, children being whisked away by the wind. The rain making people so cold and sick in the hot air that was turning warm from cold in a pace no one could comprehend.

These thoughts consumed him, he saw his quills in their inkwells on his desk, remembering the scramble for parchment as he wrote through that never-ending night. He just kept writing; everything he saw, everything he knew before, throwing up the stomach that was his mind onto the parchment. Writing paper after paper his thoughts, writing them at a constant. Two days passed and the boy looked up, the sun was above him. It wasn't the eye, as it already passed days ago.

Alexander came back to reality, looking at the desk, then to the window. It was raining outside, he looked outside, the streets empty despite a horse and carriage down the street. His hands were in his thinning hair once more, scratching his scalp as if he were a cat. Everything around him was hot, burning around him. Just like those days in the storm, an older gentleman finding him and taking him to the town centre. 

He kept falling in and out of reality, sitting down at his desk, holding his head in is hands, sighing greatly and looking around. He built this, he built everything. Nothing had been handed to him, nothing at all. He never admitted it, but it was his own fault that he was holding his head in sorrow in that moment, but of course the thought flew through his mind many times. He couldn't bare that being the answer. He never would.

The lovers.

Maria had approached him in such a way, his mind screaming at him in two forms. One to take her hand, but the main one was Eliza's voice. She was screaming at him, he was neglecting her already as he was working non-stop. Ever since the death of John Laurens.

Laurens.

Hamilton's eyes bared tears at the thought of his friend who he chose not to mourn. He had to distract himself, he couldn't do it. He didn't even attend the funeral, although he did visit the grave time and time again when he passed the cemetery sometimes. 

He remembered the letters they'd exchanged, before the war how they were together. He loved Laurens, and Laurens loved him. He knew no one would understand, and if anyone did it wouldn't be for centuries. He was in love with him, John never even told him about his wife and child. They were affairing with each other in a way that no one knew. It was a secret.

He felt John pass through the room, his emotions indescribable to the scholar.

Alexander opened his drawer of his desk, taking out a stack of fresh parchment and a well-used quill. Setting his stationery before him in his ordeal matter. Laurens took a seat in front of Alexander in his mind, crossing his legs and peering on. Tutting Alexander. Alexander picked up the quill, deciding how he'd get out of it.

Just like he did with everything else in his life.

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CHAPTERS WON'T BE THIS SHORT: I AM THE NARRATOR AND THIS IS JUST THE PROLOGUE (lmao why am I cringey)