This is your captain speaking. Fasten your seatbelts and prepare to cry.

"I may not live to see our glory…"

Alex laughed, pulling John by the arm as they tore through the streets in search of their friends. People shot dirty looks at them, some people cursing them out as they knocked over trash, stalls and carts.

"Come on, Jackie, run!" Alex laughed, long hair whipping around in his face as the wind blew.

"I am running, you're dragging me along too fast!" John replied, not even able to see where he was going. Oh, and his arm also hurt like hell from the tight grip Alex was maintaining on it.

He thought back to the first time he and Alex met, in that bar. He saw Alex and maybe… just maybe… wondered why he bothered with women. But, of course, it wasn't his place to wonder about that.

He smiled at the way Alex passionately ranted on that day about his dreams, dreams so much like his own that it seemed too good to be true. That night, there had been merriment and dancing and drinks on the house, all with a newfound friendship that resulted in closeness between him and Alex beyond all belief.

They'd always support each other, pledging among the group for them to have each other's backs. Sometimes literally. The amount of times Herc had to stop Alex from falling off of a building was way too many times for anyone to possibly have to. And it was all part of the fun for all of them, going everywhere together like a four-way sandwich. Wait, no, that sounded perverted. Never mind.

When the four of them went together to join the revolution, it was luck for them (and hell for Burr) that the four and the protegé of Princeton College were together in their own little barrack.

Up until late at night screaming about Lafayette being French bread and about how sewing pants was a pastime of the passive, with a lot of screaming of 'shut up' and 'screw you all' from Burr was only one of the many endeavors they had together. There were ones with tents set on fire (boy oh boy had Washington been mad about that one), Laff having to be saved from sharks (long story), John supposedly giving birth to a turtle (no way to explain this one) and randomness to the point where Washington had to separate them wherever they went.

After a while, Alex and John began to drift away a little, spending more time with each other, slowly starting to lean towards more hugging and occasionally holding hands. Laff and Herc knew they needed some more time to themselves, giving them that space while still being the parents of the group.

Slowly, Alex started opening up more to John as his counterpart did the same, sharing more personal secrets and starting to become attached at the hip. They shared some of their darkest fears, their biggest secrets and would always be there for each other.

Once, Alex found John lying on his cot, once-neat sheets all rumpled with his face buried in Alex's pillows and in tears. After a lot of soothing from Alex (and the brunet pushing down the irritation at having to remove all the dust off and put back together the sheets), he finally spoke about how his father had refused to accept him at home until he stopped with the foolish acts of speaking out against slavery.

Alex was outraged, but kept it down as he soothed the other man with a gentle smile. "It's alright, Jack. He's just being an ass. I'm amazed at all the effort you've put into the abolitionism, I know I can't do that much."

John laughed, a sheepish smile on his face as he gently pushed Alex. "Excuse me," he poked Alex's forehead with one finger. "I'm not the one who can write a thirty-six page essay in a week!"

Alex flushed a bit, feeling his face go warm. "I'm not that impressive!"

John grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him vigorously until Alex was like a scholar-shaped, very dizzy, cooked noodle. "Not that impressive?! You been living under the rock of self-denial or something? You're amazing!"

If Alex hadn't been blushing before, he definitely was now. His mouth became kind of a goofy smile as he turned his head to the side. "Damn you, stop making me feel good about myself!"

Both of them laughed, John pulling Alex into another hug. "Thanks. I feel much better now."

Alex closed his eyes, leaning his head on the taller boy's shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around John's back. He smells nice, like cinnamon and wood smoke. "I'm glad."

The oil lamps glowed, light bugging his eyes even with them closed. He buried his face in the rough fabric of John's war jacket, lips curving upwards when he felt John chuckle. "You laughing at me, pretty boy?"

John held him by the shoulders, pushing him back to where his gaze met Alexander's. A rosy pink colour tinged his cheeks, his freckles standing out even further and making what had to be the most happy, adorable face ever. "No, you're just being cute."

Alex scoffed. "Me, cute? Never."

The taller boy reached out, pushing Alex's soft bangs behind his ears before flicking it all back in his face and stealing his glasses.

A midnight chase across the entire camp may have landed them cleaning duty for the next week, but it was well worth it.

"But I will gladly join the fight."

As time went on, Alex and John found themselves more… infatuated with each other.

When he and John were walking across the camp with the others behind them, bantering playfully, John ended up singing a bit of a song he wrote about Alex. "Helpless, look into your eyes and the sky's the limit—"

"Shut up!" Alex said, leaning his head down and brushing his hair into his face to try and hide his blush.

Laff laughed quietly at the spectacle of the two, leaning against Herc and gripping his arm.

"Hey Jackie, how come you wrote that song?"

Okay, now Alex was just being stupid. More stupid than usual.

John flushed red before grabbing Alex's hand and dragging him away. Lafayette whistled. "We may need earplugs tonight."

Herc proceeded to hit Laff over the head, reminding him of the younger audience watching them. Laff hit him back, snappily reminding him not to break the fourth wall.

Behind the buildings, John bit his lip before rushing out a jumble of words. "Uh, I am gay for you and in love with you and.. uh.. I JUST WANT TO MARRY YOU, OKAY?!"

Alex was at a loss for words, but not for long. "That was the oddest proposal I've ever heard, but I absolutely accept."

John went stock-still. That did not go down how he planned. But he found himself smiling, and Alex smiling back and Alex was kissing him-

"And when our children tell our story…"

Kissing him? Yes, he was, and John was kissing back. It was messy, imperfect but absolutely perfect at the same time. The warm wind blew Alex's long hair while it was still held in his ponytail, since John loved how Alex looked with his hair tied back. The kiss seemed to last an eternity, but it was so short at the same time. It was soft and slow and so full of pent up love- John's lips tasted like fennel and mint- an odd combination that was amazing coupled with real love and John's soft lips.

Alex was officially smitten.

"They'll tell the story of tonight."

Two soldiers stood hidden behind a tent, talking in hushed tones. One of them had an expression of elation, the other looked both sad and happy at the same time.

"I told you I'd get it approved. Now all that's left is to win the fight and they'll be free! Free, Alexander." John gripped the other's hands, tears of joy leaking from the corners of his eyes. "We're so close."

Alex smiled. "Yeah. You be safe, alright?"

"I always come back, don't I?"

"True." He leaned forward, kissing John on the cheek. "I'll see you on the other side of the war."

John held him close by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "You be safe too, okay? And stay healthy. Sleep. Eat food. Go outside. Don't overwork yourself. Laugh."

Alex rolled his eyes. "You sound like Washington."

"For good reason."

"Hmph. Good luck, Jackie."

"Thanks." John waved goodbye, shouldered his rifle and walked off in the direction of the setting sun. When Alex looked back again, he had already climbed astride his horse and taken off in the direction of his battalion's camp. The brunet sighed, scuffing some of the dirt with his boot and reminding himself that he'd see John in a year at most.

Little did he know how wrong he was.

Ten years later and the pain had not changed. August 27th was a day of mourning, where he could only look out the windows forlornly, thinking of the day he had gotten the letter of Laurens' death, from his father no less. The very one John had hated.

The war was over. John was almost home. The fighting was almost done. They could have been happy. If not for that damned regiment.

No matter what he had done, he would have been too late.

It was something he still could not grasp.

So he sat in silence, watching the early mist shrouding upper Manhattan, thinking only of what could have been.

Goodnight hahahahahahahavefunhatingmenow-