𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 // Hamilton

C͓̽h͓̽a͓̽p͓̽t͓̽e͓̽r͓̽ T͓̽w͓̽o͓̽: 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌

As I sat down at my desk, I still couldn't shake off the nightmare I had last night. It had felt so real. I didn't dream about the hurricane often, and it was usually only when I was having an anxiety attack. But it hadn't been storming, and I had been completely fine when I was going to bed. I wasn't sick, so it couldn't have been a fever dream.

What if it was just a normal nightmare?

...

Yeah, right! Everything has a cause. That's a fact. 

Wow, I think Angelica is rubbing off on me.

As the Schuyler sisters popped into my mind, I couldn't help but reminisce. The first time I met the Schuyler sisters was back at the Winter Ball. I've always been bi, but a bit more attracted to guys, so I befriended the three of them, nothing more. Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy are a delight to be around, so we've hung out a lot, and now we're good friends.

Speaking of friends, I wondered how the Revolutionary Set was doing. I remember how John and I had set Lafayette and Hercules up; ah, it felt good to be matchmakers. The last time I saw those three was last week at the bar. I'd been joking around with John when we realized how close Lafayette and Hercules were getting to each other...and that they were holding hands. I hope those two lovebirds weren't too embarrassed by how loud John and I clapped and cheered- I mean, we got a scolding from Momayette, so I guess we must've been making a scene. Aaron had just shook his head in disappointment. He was never really the drinking type, so he just watched us all get wasted and laughed.

I need to hang out with all of them more often.

One of my quills falling off my desk brought me back into the present. As I picked it back up, I reflected on how we were going to have a cabinet meeting today to debate immigration. Obviously, it felt more personal for me, but there was no way I was going to let anyone know that, especially Jefferson.

Ah, Jefferson. The sassy gay a**hole (at least, I think he's gay. He sure seems at least partially). He's always been a massive jerk, mainly because he doesn't agree with my ideas. Psh. He's so close-minded.

Thinking back to the cabinet meeting sent nerves shivering up my spine. I have to do this right. I have to convince them. If I don't, I'll not only have failed myself, but all the other immigrants...

"Good afternoon, son."

I easily recognized the voice as Washington's and looked up from my writing. "Don't call me son," I muttered under my breath. It had always felt strange for me whenever he called me that. It reminded me too much of my father, who had abandoned me and my mother, which only evoked the sense of how I couldn't trust anyone.

Well, except some people, of course.

I snapped myself out of my thoughts. Louder, I replied, "Good afternoon."

"How are you doing?" Washington asked.

Does he know? I wondered, a little panicky, but I took a deep breath. There was no way anyone could know- I made sure of that. "I'm doing well, just writing."

"Are you preparing for the cabinet meeting?"

"Yes, sir," I confirmed, glancing back at my paper, which was nearly filled with my argument supporting immigration. A pang of self-consciousness rushed over me for a reason I faintly knew- nightmares and stuff like that are worse than hangovers, trust me- and I scooched the paper ever so slightly so that Washington wouldn't be able to see.

The older man sighed, disappointment and longing shadowing his eyes.

That was unlike him.

"Are you alright, sir?" I quickly asked, getting to my feet.