Storm [LAMS demigod AU]

John

Trigger warning: Mention of death/wanting to die, alcohol mention

A/N: I'm sorry this update is so late. College is really hard. The past month or so of my life has been absolutely insane. I know I disappeared for a while at this time last year but I'm trying not to do that again this year. I know it's only one chapter instead of the usual 3 that I post at a time but I just felt so bad about not updating for so long especially since the last chapter ended on a cliffhanger so I figured it'd be better to just post what I have done now. 

John had to be dreaming.

That was the only possible explanation.

There was no other way to explain why Alexander Hamilton was kissing him.

There was no other way to explain why Alexander Hamilton, the badass Roman Praetor, the boy who commanded an army before he was old enough to legally buy alcohol, the boy who could create storms and summon lightning bolts and start and finish wars with a single command to his legion, would ever want to kiss John Laurens, the world's lamest demigod, the demigod without any powers, the demigod who was so irrelevant and unimportant that Thomas and the Voice had based their entire plan around how irrelevant and unimportant he was.

There was no other explanation.

Apollo had done this.

He'd been visiting John in a dream.

He'd sent John that dream about Alex's past.

Before he'd gone back to Olympus to get back to arguing with the other gods instead of actually helping the demigods because the gods spent all their time arguing amongst themselves while leaving the demigods to risk their lives cleaning up messes that the gods could have cleaned up with a flick of the wrist, he'd decided to send John one more dream.

This dream was a happy dream, something to lift John's spirits and temporarily make him forget about the fact that the fate of the world was currently in the hands of two unprepared teenagers.

It was a glimpse of something beautiful and wonderful, something John would never be able to experience in real life.

It was a vision of what life would be like if he were anyone but John Laurens.

A vision of life for someone beautiful and powerful and loved and respected.

It was a vision of the life that John had always dreamed of but knew he could never have.

A vision of a life in which he was good enough for Alexander Hamilton.

A vision of a life in which he was worthy of that wonderful boy's affections.

John entwined his fingers in Alex's incredibly silky black hair. Alex lifted his hand and gently cupped his cheek.

John could feel the roughness of Alex's skin against his cheek, could feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers, calluses formed from years of handling weapons, years of swinging swords and throwing javelins and commanding an army.

Once again, John couldn't help but think about how Alex would make a wonderful musician. Perhaps he could play guitar. He already had calluses on his finger pads so playing wouldn't hurt as much as it typically did for beginners whose skin hadn't yet grown tough enough to withstand strumming the guitar strings.

He could also play piano. John had a feeling that Alexander Hamilton would make a wonderful pianist. For some reason, Alex just gave off that vibe. Precision. Passion. Discipline. The perfect combination.