Chapter One

Thomas Jefferson didn't like to think himself a particularly picky person, but he couldn't deny it: high school was boring. And this idea was only further backed up by the boring social media accounts he was currently scrolling through on his phone that he had in one hand, sipping a Sunday morning coffee from his mug with the other. For goodness' sake, why was everyone so plain?

He stopped at an Instagram suggestion that had popped up: someone by the username of "a_dot_ham". Thomas boredly tapped on the profile, vaguely recognizing the person in the icon picture. The name slot only had "tomcat (kitten emoji) (kissy-face emoji)" on it but there was only one person this could be: Alexander Hamilton. Even though the kid was a year below him, Thomas had heard way more than necessary about the scholar. Hamilton was a straight A student, known not only for his top notch grades but his heavy involvement in several clubs on campus as well as the school's speech and debate team. The two of them never really had much reason to interact with each other, what with Jefferson now being in his fourth year and Hamilton only in his third, but the latter was constantly being mentioned in morning announcements (when he wasn't the one announcing them) and the like. The kid clearly didn't know how to tone it down.

Jefferson tapped on one of the many videos on Hamilton's profile and quickly came to realize that most of them weren't even recorded by Hamilton. For the most part, the account was run by some girls - the Schuyler sisters, Jefferson figured out from the captions - who took videos of him asleep on his laptop at odd places, or pictures of him with his hair in pigtails or face covered in makeup (a la the youngest Schuyler sister), or ones of him starting another riot in class. Jefferson hummed in spite of himself, not really seeing the appeal of such a troublemaker (for lack of a better word) like Hamilton but did give him credit for not being boring. He obviously provided a lot of content for the Schuyler sisters since the account already had more than a hundred posts.

However, that was nothing compared to the massive amount of tweets Hamilton had somehow accumulated on his Twitter page. Nearly all of them were his own words, too, and not retweets (save for some selfies via "turtlesnotwar"). After a little bit of searching here and there, it was surprisingly clear that Hamilton replied to every single person, whether they agreed with him or not. The fact that he apparently never ran out of things to say was actually rather impressive, but even more so was his damn lack of common sense. Twitter was supposed to be a place to send out short messages and yet Hamilton was posting essays (albeit them often being broken up into several tweets) - threads upon threads upon threads. Jefferson huffed, unconsciously stirring the bowl of soup in front of him a little faster. Sally must have noticed because she quickly said something about if the alphabet soup wasn't to his liking, she could get him something else, but Jefferson only made a noise of disagreement and waved a dismissive hand in response.

It was almost endearing how Hamilton gave literally everyone who argued with him the time of day, Jefferson thought pitifully as he scrolled down the endless sea of tweets. The kid might be smart, but ambition was ultimately also his downfall: his stubborn pride basically rendered him incapable of letting anything go. And that seemed to be the blinding difference between him and Thomas Jefferson.

Jefferson finally looked up from his phone, setting it down next to his bowl and propping an elbow up on the dining table. It was long, terribly long, unnecessarily so because aside from him it was completely empty. They had a large table in case any guests were to come over, but most of the guests were usually invited by his parents. His parents were currently in France for a business trip. Again.

He let his cheek rest on the palm of his hand as he watched Sally tidying up the kitchen and let out a soft, near inaudible sigh. With not much else to do his thoughts gradually drifted back to Hamilton, and he wondered what it would be like to be friends with someone like him. Would they get along? He knew Hamilton was a troublemaker but he wondered if he could be the person to settle him down, to keep him in place and ground him when he got too caught up in himself. Was that a possibility? Or were their personalities bound to clash and Jefferson was only kidding himself with ideas like friendship?

Thomas stopped to think about it. Best case scenario, Alexander would recognize their similar levels of intellect and might even look up to him for it. Worst case scenario, they'd be sworn enemies - cats and dogs, hot and cold. Perhaps it would never work out. Jefferson certainly had enough reason to think so. And yet…

Jefferson turned his head again, viewing the grand yet empty house, so inviting yet so… lonesome. Quiet. He wondered what it would be like to have the spot on the couch next to him occupied, or to hear another voice in the air besides his own or Sally's that he had gotten so used to. He wondered what it would be like, to abandon the calm and let in a storm, a storm that could potentially change the course of his life.

Well, it's not like he had much to lose.

So Jefferson picked up his phone again with a grunt, scrolling up to find Hamilton's Twitter biography. It consisted of a handsome list of accomplishments (no doubt only a select few though) as well as some of the clubs he was a part of. How modest, Jefferson internally commented.

Below the bio, in a pinned tweet, was just what Jefferson was looking for: a Snapchat username. Fate or just lucky? Whatever, he'd take a gamble.

The tweet read:

LHS SPEECH KIDS ADD ME ON SC FOR LIVE TOURNEY INFO! WILL BE POSTING ROUNDS, LOCATIONS ETC

lhsalexspeech

Very creative, Jefferson applauded in his head.

Nevertheless, Jefferson switched over to his Snapchat app and searched up the username before he could second guess himself, and lo and behold, the user picture was that of one Alexander Hamilton in a sharp black suit with a power-green-colored tie, the photo candid and… well, Jefferson had to admit, striking. Someone had obviously taken the photo for him - Hamilton probably would have left the avatar blank if it were up to him, just like his Instagram account. On that note, Hamilton probably didn't have a separate Snapchat account for personal use either, because he already had this one and it'd be too much of a hassle to make another.

And so Jefferson tapped the plus button to add the user as a friend.

He wasn't in speech and debate anymore since college was in a year's time and he wanted to focus on applications, but maybe he could consider if it meant getting to witness the spitfire that was Alexander Hamilton. The guy was entertaining at least. It'd be a good distraction from the stress of senior year, Jefferson reasoned.

Well, before anything else, he ought to introduce himself. But how? First impressions had to be good - this was his chance to start off on a positive note. He didn't know if he was ready to message Alexander in a chatroom - too forward anyway. Should he just send a photo? What would he take a photo of, though? His house? Too pretentious. Himself? No, Hamilton would likely jump to conclusions and get the wrong idea…

His eyes wandered again over to the bowl of soup in front of him.

Taking photos of food was normal in this day and age, right?

Maybe this would be okay. Maybe he could arrange a message that would seem strange in a chatroom message but witty or cute in his alphabet soup. Well, this was Jefferson. Pretty much anything he did could be considered endearing.

"Sally, could you pass me an extra bowl?" Jefferson called out, already shifting the letters around with his spoon. Sally was at his side in under a minute with a clean bowl, one which Jefferson transferred some excess letters to after crafting his message, making it as readable as possible for the camera.

He snapped a photo, not bothering to caption it, and sent it to Hamilton's user without a second thought. No turning back now.

The photo that had yet to reach Hamilton said, in alphabet soup letters:

why

hello

there