Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

LVII: Fifteen Minutes of Pure Human Instinct

❝A broken promise is not a lie.❞
—Paul Ekman

July 5, 2059.

The present-day.

Is that right? Yes. It's past twelve, so that means it's the next day. That's a concept that Luka took very long to understand. Luka, my brother. My only brother.

But a couple of years ago, it was decided that if Alexander and I want to move through America, we have to pose as brother and sister. And we were doing so well. No one had any suspicion.

I wish I hadn't fallen for Alexander. I wish I hadn't surrendered to his will. I wish I hadn't let him kiss me.

But I was so desperate for it. It's been so long since our first kiss, and I was so sure it would be our last. The opportunity presented itself, and I couldn't bear to let it slip away.

And by horrible circumstances, John happened to see us at that very moment. To him, he saw the revolting sight of two siblings kissing in an alleyway. I had to chase him down ad explain to him that Alexander and I aren't siblings.

But that wasn't enough.

I was ready for something like this. Alexander and I are always prepared for the moment one of our lies are discovered. We have more lies to explain our lies.

So I lied to John to explain my previous lie. It's a masterful plot. 

Here's what I told John: Alexander and I have separate parents. I never knew my father, and my mother was sick. When my mom died, Alexander's mom (who happened to be close friends with mine) took me in. So while Alexander and I grew up very close, we are not related by blood.

It's the perfect lie because it doesn't alter Alexander's story, nor does it reveal lies about his documentation. Only mine.

It's the perfect lie because it assures that any perversion John assumed is disproven.

It's the perfect lie because I don't have to say we are Russians. Nothing about the rest of our story is altered. We're still Alaskans. We're still from Fox River. We're still loyal Americans. The rest of our lies and the entire of our story is intact.

It's the perfect lie because he still doesn't know I'm the Russian soldier he faced during the Moscow invasion. The very Russian soldier he swore to kill one day before letting her go.

John took what I said, then he took me away from the island. He said he needed a quiet place to think. I abandoned Alexander.

We drove off the island, and he stopped on the outer banks of mainland South Carolina. He led me to a beach. A beach. A beautiful beach.

And this is where we've been for several hours. Sitting in the sand, staring out into the ocean. Side by side. In silence. Neither of us seems to mind.

The beach's sand is a magnificent hue of muted gold. An earthy color, the texture is soft and grainy. I draw in the dry sand with my finger, tracing circles and swirls carelessly. We sit just out of reach of the tides. The cool water crawls up the sand, then falls back down. It reminds me of a story Alexander once read to me: a man named Sisyphus was given the punishment to eternally push a boulder over a hill — the deed to never be done, for the boulder will always roll back down to the bottom of the hill. The ocean in the distance seems to quiver with life, swaying back and forth as though to the rhythm of music. Along the horizon, small rays of light are beginning to make its appearance: sunrise is approaching, and although the sky is still dark and scattered with stars, it's only a matter of time before the sun reaches its arms around the world.