Chapter 1: (1411 words)

To Alexander Hamilton, it was just another ordinary day at Washington Academy, his college.

Step 1: write all night long, and finishing essays and homework due in four months. Step 2: have Laurens throw a sock at you when it's an ordinary time to wake up. Step 3: Go to school and finally… Step 4: his favourite, outshine everyone at school at debate club. Unfortunately, there was a certain afro-haired student who seemed keen to destroy his good day.

It was the end of the school day, and Hamilton thought that nothing unusual would happen, just his normal routine. He wasn't expecting a large storm to be brewing healthily outside. He only watched political news, saying that other kinds 'are utterly useless in day to day life.'

A year ago, he was still in Nevis, the wind refreshing on his neck. The hurricane hadn't occurred at this point and he was barely living, yet still alive.

His cousin had already committed suicide and he was left to fend for himself. About three months ago, Alexander arrived at New York Airport and headed to his new school. His life had changed so much in such a small amount of time.

After a few hours, he already had new friends, Laurens, Laf, Mulligan, the Schuylers, and even a young alcoholic by the name of Maria. He is now roommates with Laurens, his closest friend.

Even though he had made so many new friends, he hadn't told anyone of his past. No one knew, so when a terrible storm was being concocted, no one was worried when Alexander wasn't at his dorm room.

Of course, they all just assumed that he was at the library completing next month's essay on immigrant rights, he was non-stop after all.

Class had just let out and Hamilton was heading to the library to look up a book on the founding fathers of America, when it began raining heavily.

Sprinting through the open door of the library next to the college, he didn't even acknowledge the presence of the middle Schuyler sister, who was volunteering as librarian there.

He knew what was about to commence, so he bounded to the hidden corner at the back of the large antique room.

It was his favourite place in the library. It was hidden behind two bookshelves that leave a miniscule gap in between them in which Alexander went behind whenever he wished for privacy.

He was certain he was the only one who knew of this place so he snuck in a few blankets and pillows from the children's area of the library a few weeks ago to be more comfortable.

By the time he reached the wall, which had a beige wooden texture, a large orchestra of the thunder and lightning danced outside, leaving him breathing heavily. He felt like he was being strangled, like the storm was twisting, twirling around him, tugging the already jagged gasps away from his suffering body.

Suddenly, he was back in Nevis, trapped in the attic by the collapsed building. He felt the sea salt swirling in the stuffy air, the water rapidly rising with rage, the stunningly beautiful amber sky.

He always loved and admired the ocean, it reminded him of his mother, since she loved to take him there to the borderline beautiful beaches, the glittering golden glow from the silky sand tickling his feet, whenever she had the extremely rare day off work.

The water was the best part. It was gorgeous.

Stunning.

He could watch the turquoise water of the ocean swirl and sway as if to a secret rhythm that only they knew. It made him feel like he was special, like he belonged, which he hadn't felt for a long time, not since the death of his mother.

That idealistic and picturesque view of the ocean was quickly ruined when he witnessed the many islanders, who despised him for being the whore's son, being swept away by the pitch-black waters that screamed danger.

It was even worse the next morning.

At some point during the humid night, he squeezed out of the collapsed rubble and debris and tried to get some rest, the hurricane had really tired him out, as expected.

He didn't sleep.

When the sun blessed those that survived with its presence, it felt more like a curse. Everywhere and anywhere he looked, all that could be seen was the bodies of the dead already decaying from the moisture. There were flaps of skin hanging off their bodies and there were some with their faces ripped off to the muscle and bone.

Those images imprinted in his brain haunt him to this day.

He was so lost wandering in his thoughts and memories that he didn't even realise someone watching him through the miniature gaps of the ancient bookshelves.

"Thomas? Where are you going?"

"I was just heading to that boring library by school to work on Washington's essay due next week, Jemmy. Don't feel like heading back to dorm yet, that's all," Jefferson responded politely, though with a smile that few were allowed to see, he was glad he had a friend like James.

"OK, see you later, Thomas," Madison whispered, ending the short conversation with a cough.

Jefferson nodded to him as he left the college building and began his short trek to the library. It was quite dull and ordinary on the outside, though on the inside, it was like a treasure trove of literature.

He began looking for a book, and was delighted to see a book called '101 ways to cook Mac and Cheese.' He picked it up and checked it out at the desk. Finally, he sat on a very fragile and old looking chair by a table near the front of the large room, by the door.

He was so absorbed in the book that he almost missed the little gremlin he despised so much rush through the doors. The short nuisance didn't even acknowledge that his very fabulous rival was right there, he just flew to the back of the room.

Thomas was astounded; he had never seen that man, a man who always seemed filled to the brim with rage and confidence, look so vulnerable and afraid.

Jefferson saw him go through a short gap in between two gigantic bookshelves that Thomas didn't even realise was there.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he snuck to the back of the room and peered through a gap in the bookshelf where there was a smaller density of books, so he could see what Hamilton was doing.

Seeing your evil arch-nemesis cry is very… awkward. What were you supposed to do at a time like this?

Unsure of what to do, he stepped away from the bookshelf and squeezed through the tight gap. It looked very homely and cosy, there were blankets with a variety of colours covering the floor and cushions and even some chairs. Then, in the corner of the small hideaway, was Hamilton.

He looked so cold and vulnerable. His eyes were shut tightly and his face was covered with tears which weren't stopping any time soon.

Thomas knew what was happening, he has had many panic attacks before when in tight places, since he was claustrophobic. He approached Hamilton slowly, as to not terrify him even further.

Even after standing there for a few minutes, he still couldn't believe that someone as arrogant as the man before him could seem so weak and afraid.

"Hamilton?" pleaded Thomas. "Can you hear me?"

The man in question didn't respond. The deafening sound of thunder filled the library, making Hamilton flinch violently at the sound.

Storing away this information for later, Jefferson requested, "I'm going to count to ten. Now count along with me."

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." Jefferson, and after a few seconds Hamilton whispered along... in French:

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix," the words werehardly audible with the chorus of noise that could be heard outside. That was new, he didn't know that the writer knew French, he would have to ask his twin brother, Lafayette, about it later. His breathing seemed to improve each time Thomas preformed the little trick Jemmy did on him whenever he felt claustrophobic.

After a few minutes of doing this, the man he thought he despised so much opened his tear-stained eyes.