Changing History

Chapter 1

(Y/n)'s POV

I've unpacked the boxes my parents sent me. I've finished decorating my room, helping (F/n) decorate the living room and kitchen. We'd moved in together after... I don't know... twenty-two years of friendship. Yep. We've known each other our whole lives.

"Hey, Red, what's up with wall here?" (F/n) asks loudly. I peer out of my room and find them tracing a weird colour difference in the hallway end. "Dunno," I reply, stepping up behind them and leading against said wall. That was a mistake.

Our small corgi jogged up to us was the wall spun and I just barely managed to catch myself. The hall leads downwards. "Red... did this apartment list having a basement?" They asked slowly. "Not that I know, B," I replied. Violet, the corgi, hastily made her way down the hall (ramp?) and hesitantly, (F/n) and I followed.

The downward hall lead into a large room. "Shit, Red, this looks like a goddamn laboratory," (F/n) cursed. The brick walls were visibly aged, there was a bookshelf with old dusty books in the corner, there was a desk with a black box resting against a wall, there was old looking history posters hung on the walls and other tables littered with science and medical supplies.

"It looks like a fucking clinic," I mutter, walking over to one of the tables off to the side and grazing my fingers over the dust covered medical supplies. A loud creek made us snap our heads up as Violet walked through a door off to the side. Instinctually, both (F/n) and I went after her.

A white light blinded us but eased out. Violet was nowhere in sight and the house we were in looked like a shop of some kind. Our outfits had changed too. I was wearing a black trench coat, a few layers of white shirts, a cravat, white breeches and brown boots. (F/n) wore a similar outfit but wore a cream coloured vest instead of a trench coat. Their hair was (if short enough; tied with a ribbon/ if long enough; pinned back with a... fabric of some sort that made it seem shorter than it was). My hair was tucked into a cute little hat that messenger boys wear in those olden day shows. What're they called again...?

We blink at each other. "What to fuck?" We ask simultaneously. Curiosity overpowered our sense of dread and we stepped out of the shop and walked down the street. "Everyone looks like they stepped out of Romeo and Juliet or some shit," (F/n) whispered in my ear, eyeing a particularly rich couple mocking some poor errand boy.

Being distracted, we ran into someone, said person was larger than both of us and we reeled backwards, (F/n) landing on their ass and letting off a string of curses. My immediate response was to apologise. "Eh-!? My apologies, mes amis, I really should've been- how you say-? WATCHING! Er- watching my own path, so sorry," the man replied.

I cringed, helping (F/n) up off the cobblestone path. "It's fine sir," I reply. "Merde," he groans, both of us noting the torn fabric on (F/n)'s elbows. They chuckle weakly. "I'm fine, just a graze," the man sighs.

"Anyway, my name is Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, just call me by my last name," He probably adds the last part at our shocked looks, thinking we were surprised at the long name. We were actually surprised we'd met a historical figure.

"I'm Red (L/n), and this is Blue- my brother," I introduce. He chuckled. "Nice to meet you both, would you like to join my friends and I at the bar?" He asks. That was forward, I thought. "Sure, we don't have much to do today," (F/n) shrugged. Lafayette smirked in a happy way. Well, it didn't look like a smile, but it wasn't bad in anyway, he just seemed exited, especially so as he literally dragged us to the bar yelling;

"Oui! Oui! Mon ami! Je m'appelle Lafayette!"

The men we assumed were his friends hollered from their table at him, beckoning him over. If history led me correctly; it was Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan and Aaron Burr.