Hamilton Oneshots

Fluffy Lams - Essays

A/N

It's been such a long time since I last posted a Oneshot, so I apologise if my format is a little different. Recently, I watched Hamilton again with my family and it sparked the inspiration for this, so here we go!

Historical AU

Alexander's P.O.V.

As the war rages on, my days get busier and busier- not with fighting, but with writing. Yay. Fun. Just a day ago, Lafayette wrote a letter to the French and set off with some troops to solidify a new camp, and today Hercules leaves for New York.

'G'bye, Alexander, hopefully, the next time I see you we'd have won the war,' Hercules grins as we shake hands (and sneak a little friendly high-five).

'That would be most wonderful.'

We go our separate ways, him onto his stead, and me back to my study. More writing. Yay.

As I enter my study I notice papers flying everywhere. My desk is decorated by crumpled up balls and splattered ink, and sitting behind it is a certain freckled man. I sigh. John hears me and perks up, beaming.

'Alexander! Just the man I was looking for!' John stands up, holding some paper. 'Here, read this! For the past few hours, I've been writing this essay to convince the public to abolish slavery, and how we can create jobs for them, like fighting in the war!' John stuffs it in my hands and I give it a quick read. Oh god...lots of run-on sentences, no structure in the points he makes, and it just screams John Laurens even with the pseudonym he uses. I look up and John is smiling expectantly at me. 'Is it up to your standard, oh great Alexander Hamilton?'

I laugh. 'Cut the fancy talk, John.' In public everyone talks politely, especially in the presence of officers and generals, but in private (or in a bar) we all go back to who we are - rowdy, loud drunk Americans. And we're proud of it!

'Aight, sure, but what do you think of it?' He continues. I sit down on my side of my desk and give it a proper read. A few minutes later, I answer.

'It's...a good first draft. Definitely could use some work.' I set it down on my messy table but John pushes it back to me.

'Right, so you're going to help me,' He says determinedly. I gape at him. Help him? With all the work I have to do? With this hella messy desk?

But the expression on John's face with his blue eyes shining back at me...I couldn't say no. Not to him.

I grin and start to clear some papers off my desk. 'Bring your chair around to my side, and let's get started!' John whoops, knocking over his chair. What did I tell ya, us Americans are constantly drunk. Except for people like Burr.

We quickly get to work, and I brief John on the basics of essay writing. As I tell him about topic sentences and catching the attention of your reader, I notice how when John is listening hard, his brow slightly furrows and his mouth sets into a firm line.

John starts his second draft but quickly gets distracted. 'Why don't we do a competition?' I look up from a letter from Congress.

'Huh?'

'Whoever can write the best essay against slavery gets to publish it.' John raises an eyebrow when I don't reply. 'What, you scared, Hamilton?' I break out into a grin.

'No, I'm just trying to figure out how the madness of the King got into you,' I tease. 'You're challenging the right-hand man of Major General Washington, Alexander Hamilton himself, to a battle of writing?'

John nods with a broad smile on his face, and I can hear my heart thump. 'Right, then let's get into it!'

I'm going to thrash him.

I collect two pieces of blank paper, and we begin. Luckily, we're both avid abolitionists, so this essay is fairly easy to write.

As I write my fourth paragraph on how black battalions will benefit the economy and save hundreds of American lives, I look over to John's essay. He's taken my advice to heart and is writing with a topic sentence and structured paragraphs. I smile, and a weird feeling gathers in my heart.

Soon, when it's a quarter to seven, John puts down his quill and exclaims 'Done!'

I clap. 'I've been done for a while, but sure! Let's switch.' We switch papers and start reading. John's paper is much better than his first draft, but something's missing. Once I get to the bottom and read his (crappy) pseudonym name, "Arrow," I realised what it was. There's no heart in this essay. It's just stating facts and reciting his beliefs, but with no real passion.

'Wow,' John murmurs. 'This is really good.' Something inside me jumps with excitement at the compliment, even though I had heard it plenty of times before from other people, and in much better terms than "good."

'Yeah,' I hear myself saying. 'Yours is pretty good as well. Just don't use the pseudonym "Arrow," because that's pretty crappy.' John laughs but with not much heart.

'I suppose you win the contest,' He says, staring at my essay. We switch papers again, and John stares at his own essay, frowning. A pang of anger flows through me. His first essay was much better, even if it didn't have topic sentences or...structured paragraphs! It had passion!

In a flash, I grab his second draft and rip it into pieces. 'There's no heart in this essay,' I huff. 'Your first draft had what's important in persuading people - heart, passion, the whole lot. Even if it didn't have proper essay grammar or whatever, that can be edited! You don't need to rewrite the whole thing with facts and figures to make it good.'

The essay was in tatters on the floor. John had his mouth hanging open, staring at me. I look up to face him with a sheepish smile.

'Well, I suppose dinner is quite soon. I'll see you tomorrow, Laurens, where we can start editing your first essay' I absentmindedly switch back to fancy speak, as if we were in public. I stand up and walk him to the door. Before Laurens leaves, he turns back to me with a small smile on his face. He quickly leans in and kisses my cheek, leaving me speechless as he strides out the door. As my eyes follow John down the path, I look up towards the full moon.

I never noticed how beautiful the moon is at night. Big and bright, illuminating the world around me.

It's beautiful.

He's beautiful.