No, You! [Jamilton]

Chapter 12

Jefferson's POV

Hamilton was currently snoring in the passenger's seat and I couldn't do anything about it. I was the one who suggested that we go over our final notes for the debate tournament on the way in the car, but I did not count on this. 
"Hamilton," I whispered, keeping my eyes on the road. "Hamilton!"

That was of absolutely no use as he just kept on snoring. I didn't want to babysit a grown man-child who was too non-stop for his own good. I have a sneaking suspicion that he had stayed up all night trying to memorize his speech, against my explicit instructions, and I planned to berate him thoroughly after we woke up.
"Hamilton!" I whisper-screeched, and that seemed to have some sort of usefulness, as he immediately woke up with a start. 

"What happened?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, as I chuckled and made a turn. He was sort of cute right now, as he wasn't yelling.
"You were sleeping, you idiot," I said and passed my water bottle to him. "We're almost there."
"No! What happened to the points?" He looked around feverishly to find his notes.
"Calm down, you'll be fine." I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and Hamilton laughed. "You look like Lafayette, you know."
"He's my cousin, you dumbass."
He smiled. "It's still uncanny."

We made the final turn to the host college and I parked the car while Hamilton read out our notes one last time. After getting out of the car, Hamilton and I walked to the nearest entrance and finally made our way to the auditorium. 
"It's big, isn't it?" He said, looking around. 
"That's what she said," I replied, cackling. 
Hamilton elbowed me on the side and walked towards the stage, immediately being greeted by the usher human (I still haven't figured out what to call them) and I followed them to our designated table. There were a bunch of people around from other colleges, including our main competition, from Queen's College. (A/N - I don't know shit about US colleges, and I'm too lazy to look things up, so pls forgive me.)

Hamilton looked stressed, and I was kinda stressed too, but I decided to help him instead. My stress does not make an appearance on stage, but it looks like Hamilton's is. 
"What's wrong, Alex?" I murmured, running my hands down his back. That had worked the last time he was nervous on that night, and I really wanted him to not freak out again. 
"What if we lose?" He whispered, sniffling quietly. 
"We won't," I reassured him. "Just you wait."

He smiled a little and continued reading his notes, as I did mine, but I decided to put my hand on his arm, in a purely platonic way, of course. He's told me that John used to do that during high school when he was bullied, and it helped him keep control of reality, and I really didn't want him to stress too much. 

The moderator began the debate and a couple of speeches later, it was almost our turn, Hamilton's, to be exact. I suddenly felt a very sweaty hand grip mine, and I heard him say, "I have to win this."
"You will, Alex," I whispered back, and his hand relaxed. 
"You sure?" He looked at me, and at that moment, the strangest feeling happened in my stomach. 
Butterflies?

I brushed it aside and said, "Of course I'm sure, Alex. After all, you are non-stop."
He sniffled one last time as the moderator called out, "King's College!" and we applauded. I knew the others wouldn't know what hit them.

Alexander put his notes on the dais and began, "Ladies and gentlemen on the jury, I'm curious, bear with me -" and proceeded to give a  long speech with no time to spare, in classic Hamilton fashion. As the moderator rang the bell to indicate that he only had 30 seconds left, he went into a whole different argument and somehow managed to finish it as well. 

I was up next, and finished within my time, and received a proper round of applause from the audience. When I went back, and the next person started speaking, I looked at Alexander and he was writing again, getting points for the rebuttal round. I knew he would jot down questions for the proposition too, so I relaxed until the debate was over. 

I asked a couple of questions in the rebuttal round while Hamilton raised questions to every single one of the opposition speaker's speeches, and some were left gobsmacked by the complexity of the questions. I silently thanked Mr Washington for putting him on the same team as me, because I was the only one that escaped Hammy's questions. 

The judges went out of the room to deliberate, and I could see Hamilton sweating next to me. 
"You did well, Ham Slice," I said, trying to diffuse the tension and get a laugh out of him. 
"I sure as well hope so," he replied, fidgeting with his hands. "My scholarship depends on this."
"Well, I really enjoyed this," I said, not knowing what to say. "It's a pity Burr'll be back."
Hamilton turned around and stared at me for a second. "Mr Washington hasn't told you?"
"Told me what?"
"We're a team till nationals."
"Oh no," I said mockingly. "That is terrible."
"Suck a dick, Jefferson."
I chuckled and straightened (A/N - sure, jeff) as the judges came back into the room, holding what I could only presume was the marking sheet. 

Hamilton gripped my arm with such force that his nails started digging into my epidermis, but I ignored it.
"In third place, we have Barnard."
We clapped out of compulsion, while the team went up and accepted their certificates.

"In second place, we have Queen's."
Alexander whispered, "There's no way we're getting first."
"Shh," I said, watching the judges closely as they gave them their certificates. 

"And in first place, advancing to nationals, is -"
Hamilton's grip on my arm somehow got tighter -
"King's College!"

I heard a small gasp from Alex as the two of us got up. At this point, I was operating out of pure muscle memory, unable to believe what was happening. I won a debate with Hamilton. 

I won, with Hamilton. 

We took the trophy in our hands as the photographer took a picture, and sat back down at our seats, letting the end of the debate finish. I could hear Hamilton hyperventilating and I could only concentrate on his breath. 
In, and out.
In, and out. 

The auditorium emptied as we sat in our seats, accepting congratulations from our opponents. At one point, Hamilton texted Mr Washington, and was now tugging on my suit jacket to go to the washroom. 
"Go alone," I said.
"No, I want a picture with the trophy and it's too embarrassing in public."
"The photographer will upload the pictures."
"It'll be too late."
"Fine."

We went to the washroom where Hamilton struck a bunch of stupid poses holding the trophy, including but not limited to a recreation of saltbae which he later wanted to Photoshop. (A/N - forgive me, my meme knowledge is regrettably just musicals and tumblr textposts) 

"Hey, come here," Hamilton said, and I shuffled to his side, handing him his phone. He told me to strike a pose and took a very bad mirror selfie of us, and I kept laughing. 

"Don't post that," I said, tears almost coming out of my eyes. "Please."
"I will," he said, also dying of laughter.

We fixed ourselves up and kept giggling, and I turned around to walk out. I heard a small exhale and turned back around to say, "Hamilton -" and soon got cut off by a pair of lips to mine, fireworks exploding in my stomach. 

What the fuck?

A/N : After eleven chapters, the first one happens, and I'm a lil evil to leave y'all on a cliffhanger, but I ain't Rick Riordan and I'll be back probably tomorrow or even today. Have a merry Cliffhanger Christmas :3