Jamilton Oneshots

Shit, Forgot my Keys

Alex leaned against the door, pushing his hair back from his eyes. He needed a haircut. He hated work. He hated Jefferson. All he did was make Alex feel like shit. He wanted to go home, but he was already home. 

Take a nap. Perfect solution. He was stressed and exhausted, a nap sounded amazing. Alex tottered into his lonely room, still in his clothes, and fell onto the bed. He climbed in and pulled the covers up over him before closing his eyes. Sleep came quickly, but dreams did not. 

When he woke up, it was well past dinner time. 

Whatever, Alex could stand to lose a few pounds.

He shuffled his papers at his desk. Time to get to work. Financial shit-—what did he have to do in life anyways? There didn't seem to be an upside here. Just work, work, work. He took out his pen and started to write, more and more words coming out with no meaning. Words about the plan, words about finances, the bank, everything he needed to take care of. Finally Alex set his pen down and looked at the time. Well past two. Weird, he didn't feel sleepy at all. 

He walked to his coffee machine and started it up.

 The familiar high-pitched squeal shook the thickness from Alex's brain. He was new again, ready for work. 

Which started in four and a half hours. Hey, he had the key and it wasn't like anyone would actually be there at two in the morning, right? He straightened his clothes and threw on a green cardigan for fuck's sake. Being twenty-six wasn't that great, in all honesty. He was in elementary, he was in middle school, he was in high school, he was in college, and now he was here. Every decision he had ever made led up to this moment: driving to work at two in the morning because he didn't have anything else to do. No friends to wake up, no movies to watch, no books to read. Just him and the road.

As Alex was driving to work, all he could think about was Jefferson. Having to see him again, having to stand strong and put on a brave face during their stupid, stupid debates. And still, he was supposed to pretend like it didn't affect him at all. He had to throw the same insults back at him. 

What if Jefferson felt the same way? What if he was up late at night, crying because goddammit, words hurt? 

A loud honk and a screech woke him from his daze. He swerved to the side, missing an oncoming car by a few feet. The driver flipped him off, but in Alex's tired stupor he gave the driver a thumbs up instead, because Alex was just that smart. 

He continued driving, this time paying a little more attention to the road. Finally he pulled into the parking lot and unlocked the door. He didn't have anything to do exactly, and he didn't really know why he had driven to work. 

He just sat in his office for a while, looking through papers, writing down the occasional half-baked idea, and thinking about what to have for dinner before reminding himself he was too fat for that.

Life sucked overall. His work used to intrigue him. He used to love coming here, the feeling of a pen in his hand, ideas flowing out of him and onto the paper in front of him.

Now he felt lonely and lost.

He heard a knock on the door.

He glanced at his clock. Six in the morning already.

"Come in?" He called, but Washington was already barging in.

"Did you leave the office unlocked?!"

He shouted, jangling his keys in front of him.

Alex blinked. Fuck.

"For fuck's sake, get yourself together! You can't leave the fucking office unlocked for the entire night!"