Note: In case anyone's curious, Burr's house really does exist, and it's for sale! Now you too can own a six-floor house in Midtown Manhattan for a mere thirteen million dollars *used car salesman smile*

EDIT: Sorry, that's thirteen million dollars a year. Silly me.

"The spare bedrooms are here," Burr says as they step off the elevator—the honest-to-God elevator—into the third of six floors of the Burr family townhouse. Alex is pretty sure that he'd had the capacity for shock before he'd arrived, probably, but at some point between the tour of the enormous library, the eight fireplaces, the authentic limestone floors, and the sculpture garden, his brain seems to have short-circuited and now all he can do is walk around and stare at things in a kind of half-conscious daze.

"My room is on the fourth floor," Aaron is saying now. "It's the first one on the left. Don't knock on my closed door unless it's an emergency, especially at night."

All Alex can do is nod.

"There's a full bathroom on each floor, and a half-bathroom off the side of the roof patio," Burr continues. "You can take whichever spare bedroom you want." He pauses. "Whichever bedroom except for the one at the end of the hall of the fourth floor. That was my parents'. No one's allowed in there."

"Except for you," says Alexander.

"Including me."

"But," Alex starts, only for Burr to finish impatiently, "But they're dead, yes, I know. Still, their room has always been private and they never gave me permission otherwise, so private it will stay."

And with that Aaron nods at him and goes up the stairs presumably to his bedroom, leaving Alex to stare at the door at the end of the hall on his floor, most likely a perfect replica of the door one story above it; the one that hasn't been opened for two years.

Not that he would open it despite Burr's warning. 'Cause he totally wouldn't.

Although you have to admit he did a really bad job of making it sound like something Alex would want to stay away from.

It's sheer morbid curiosity that makes him choose the spare bedroom at the end of the third floor hall, the one that would mirror Burr's parents' room. It reminds him of one of the bedrooms in the picture book of Versailles they'd had in the kids' home library, and the fact that he can even make such a comparison leaves him kind of light-headed.

Mamá, he thinks, walking over to the bed and putting down the single backpack containing everything he owns, is it just me or is this too good to be true?

It's late, far too late for Alex to be up, but he's woken in the middle of the night to booming fists on the door and a loud, angry male voice.

"You cheated me! I want my money back!"

"You paid for three hours, you got three hours," comes his mother's voice, shaking slightly but firm. "Get out of my house. You have no right to be here."

"I have a right to collect my due!"

"You're due nothing. Get out of my house."

"I'll leave when I'm finished," the man snarls, and then there's a crash, his mother crying out, the sound of the vase they had made together at the pottery shop when Mamá had raised enough money—

"No," his mother gasps. "Get off me, get off— help—"

And Alexander is frozen, his heart pounding, crouching in the dark out of sight, his breath coming in fast and he can't move, he can't do anything and—

And Alex wakes up gasping, his blankets tangled around him, and he sits up and breathes and breathes and breathes.

The guest room is quiet—too quiet for someone accustomed to sharing space with three or four people at a time—silent if not for the soft sounds of Manhattan outside.

He rubs his face and takes a long, shaky breath and understands exactly why Burr prefers to leave his skeletons behind closed doors, where they belong.

Living in close quarters with Burr leads to a surprising amount of revelations about the other boy. Surprising because before he would've bet good money that there was nothing to learn about him, or if there were, it'd be the kind of knowledge people got mysteriously assassinated for.

Still, he starts learning things. Little things, subtle things, but important enough that Alex starts compiling a list. For instance.

Reference Note 1: Burr is a superior little brat.

Which, sure, he already knew, but it's really driven home when he returns to the house only to find that all his clothes have disappeared.

"Aaron, have you—" he starts, when from the entrance of the library he sees some really weird-looking kindling in the fireplace... "Are you serious?!"

"Your wardrobe is a travesty," says Burr without looking up from his book. "We're going shopping."

Of course Alexander keeps up a steady stream of protest the whole way to Fifth Avenue, but nooo, Burr has decided at the worst of all possible opportunities to display his less-than-heterosexual side and they return home five hours later with six hundred dollars of clothing to start out (to start out!) and one Alexander feeling like he's floating somewhere about four feet above his own body.

(He also tries to get Alex to cut his hair, with less success, but that story's a whole other can of worms.)

Reference Note 2: He knows pop culture and won't admit it. (For further explanation see Reference Note 1.)

A factoid that, actually, came up without the same context as Reference Note 1, specifically when they were hitting the third hour at Macy's and Alexander had whined, "This wasn't in the deal."

And Burr had replied, without missing a beat, "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

"You," said Alex, flabbergasted. "That's—Star Wars!"

"Never seen it," Burr deadpanned, shoving another shirt into his chest. "Try that on."

Reference Note 3: Burr wakes up around the time I go to sleep (5:30AM), which results in a lot of oh-my-God-you're-completely-insane* looks exchanged between us at each morning's changing of the guard.

*But really he's the crazy one. Everyone** knows that.

**John

Of course, they still do their best to avoid each other at school as much as possible, because hey, they're housemates, not friends.

"You teach at a children's homeless shelter?" Eliza asks, wide-eyed. "Wow, Alex, that's... amazing, how did you get started with that?"

Erk. "You know...charity work..."

"Cute, smart, and he volunteers at the homeless shelter in his free time." Angelica smirks. "I should pinch you to make sure you're real."

"Hey, I'm not stopping you," says Alex, before he realizes just how flirtatious that sounded. "I'm not stopping you either, Eliza."

"What?" says Eliza.

"How about me?" John volunteers from his perch on the arm of Alexander's chair. "If we're giving out free access to Alex's body I want in." He seems to freeze, back-pedaling. "Not like that!"

"What other way eez zhere?" Lafayette wonders aloud. Hercules perks up. "Are we putting together an orgy here?"

"No!" Alex yells. (Not that it's necessarily all that bad of an idea, but—) "I was telling Eliza—I was telling her—"

Eliza's big brown eyes turn to him, and his words trip all over themselves.

"He was telling her that she could come with him to one of his classes and get an interview for the newspaper," Angelica says, coming to his rescue. He looks at her gratefully.

"Really?" says Eliza, looking overjoyed.

He can practically feel the blush starting. "'Course you can. You can have whatever you want, you know that."

Hercules gives a wolf-whistle. John smacks him.

"I already know it's going to be a great article, because my perfect sister is writing it." She runs her hand through Alex's hair. "And your face is going to be on it. Between the two of you what could possibly go wrong?"

"Oh," says Lafayette grimly. "Never say that around Alexander. We never say that."

But really, the housemates part? Totally fun, especially when Burr's not around. In fact, it's during one of Aaron's many absences (tonight it's college classes) that Alex first explores the kitchen.

He's super responsible about it, even asks permission and everything, a courtesy that only gets him a skeptical, "You cook?"

"I love cooking!" says Alexander defensively.

"Fine, just try not to make a mess."

"Me? Make a mess? You wound me, sir."

Reference Note 4: Burr has a really well-stocked pantry and a ton of cool-looking appliances. There's stuff I've never even heard of in here. I bet he cooks pretty regularly. That's awesome. Mamá always told me to find a man* who can cook.

* Woman. Whatever.

Burr walks in precisely when he said he would get back, which is a shame because if he'd just been an hour late Alex is pretty sure he would've been able to do a better job of hiding the fact that he's blown up the kitchen.

"Aaron!" he squeaks, whirling around. "Hi! How was school! Was it great? I hope it was great!"

"Alexander..." says Burr, very quietly and very calmly. "What have you done?"

"I said I loved cooking, not that I'd ever done it before!" Alex protests. "You really should know better than to assume stuff like that."

Aaron just stares at the pandemonium around him and doesn't reply.

Reference Note 5: There's this nerve that jumps in his Burr's jaw whenever he gets really upset and is trying not to explode. It's pretty cool to watch, actually.

5a: Note to self: do not mention the above observation to Burr.

5b: At least not until we get the marinara sauce off the ceiling.

Another cool thing about the Burr family townhouse is the cleaning lady, Isabella, who has a seemingly endless amount of hilarious and possibly made-up stories about life in 1980's Mexico.

And even better than that is Aaron's face when he finds them talking animatedly in Spanish at the kitchen table, looks at the clock to check that, yes, she's been here for a good ninety minutes or so, and then goes back to looking between them like he would get angry but he really brought this on himself.

"You know I pay her by the hour, right?" Burr asks, bemused.

Alex just gives him his sweetest smile. "Yeah, I know."

"You're a menace," Aaron sighs.

He cups his hand next to his ear. "Say it louder for the people in the back!"

Burr just rolls his eyes and heads upstairs, and Alexander turns back to Isabella. "So you were telling me about your step-cousin's armpit piercing?"

They actually do end up debating alternative economical systems and it ends up being one of Alex's favorite debates, possibly because he's seen how much preparation Burr actually does before these things and partially because he gets to watch John fight passionately for a socialist system that would look out for every individual regardless of circumstances and backgrounds and give equal opportunity to people who have been fighting for the most basic of rights for generations. His eyes are bright and his movements are wide and elaborate and he's focused completely on his argument, completely invested, and he's never been so beautiful.

And then Eliza gets up and gives her careful, sincere argument that while she loves democracy, monarchies aren't as evil as we think. Kings and queens were able to make decisions quickly, unite their nations much more than leaders can now, and they were huge benefactors of the arts. Her voice is soft but not nervous—it's poised and deliberate, and she makes contact with every person in the room. And maybe it's just Alexander, but her gaze seems to linger for an extra moment on him.

And Alex watches them, and he knows bisexuality is a thing, and he knows polyamory is a thing, and he's not ashamed of what he likes, but wouldn't it be nice if just one part of his life was simple and straightforward?

Oh, and he also gets to watch King George make a guest appearance to kick them out of the conference room and inform them that democracy is the worst economic system of them all. There are, just, far too many peasants involved.

Rich people are frikkin' weird.

Burr answers the phone at breakfast, which is unusual enough, but the smile he makes when the other person starts talking turns it from unusual to downright bizarre.

"Sure," he murmurs, that same little smile on his face. "I'll see you tonight, then. Yeah. Right. No, not at all."

Isabella pauses in her mopping to mime a swoon at Alexander.

"See you then," says Burr, lost to the world, apparently, outside his cell phone. "Love you."

Love you? Aaron Burr says love you?

Apparently it's weird to the person at the other end of the line too, because a moment later Aaron flushes and mutters, "Shut up," in the way engaged couples do, where they're actually flirting but they want to pretend like they're ashamed of their obnoxious gushiness. "Yeah, I'll see you."

He hangs up. Alex looks innocently at him over his cereal.

Burr points back at him. "And you shut up most of all."

And yeah, Alex was asked—ordered, really—to be out of the house until ten, but 9:51 is practically the same thing, except it's not when you accidentally end up running into your landlord's girlfriend on the front step.

Make that your landlord's secret girlfriend, because he is ninety-eight-point-three percent sure that Theodosia Bartow is dating Jack Prevost.

"Oh," she says, like a little exhale. Her surprise quickly morphs into amusement, though. "I guess I'm not the only one sneaking in and out of here."

"Oh, no, I'm not..." he stammers, but she's already getting into her taxi, and Burr is crossing his arms looking Very Not Pleased at him from the doorway.

"Is she...?" Alex asks once he gets inside and shrugs out of his coat. Burr shakes his head. "She won't say a word. She's extremely discreet."

"She's got to be," says Alexander, and Aaron's jaw tightens perceptibly.

"I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not—look, I'm not judging you, you know I'm personally of the opinion that monogamy's unnatural to begin with, I just—I think if you love her, you should go get her! You can't enjoy sneaking around like this."

But Burr's face is completely closed, and Alex knows the conversation is over. "It's more complicated than that."

"So," Jefferson says nonchalantly after debate team the next day. "You've moved in with Burr, huh?"

And the room is dark and empty and by now everyone else is on their way home and it's just him and Jefferson and Madison, and Alex freezes.

"Theodosia," he realizes through the shock. "She told everyone..."

"Not everyone," says Thomas. "Just us. Hey, don't worry, we'll keep your little secret. We wouldn't want everyone to know just how poor you really are." He pauses. "I mean, unless you give us a reason not to keep it."

Alexander just grits his teeth and glares back. Talk less. Talk less. C'mon, don't give him what he wants. Aaggh, I'd love to rip all that stupid hair out and feed it to him—

"Hey, I knew Burr was hungrier than he comes off, but man, I didn't expect him to be a sugar daddy."

Alex stares. "What?"

"It's the only explanation," says James calmly. "Why else would he want you in his house? You guys barely tolerate each other."

The words are ringing in his ears, building, building in his temples, in his chest...

"But this way, you have a symbiotic relationship," Jefferson adds. "He gives you money, and you give him... whatever he wants."

His fists are clenched so hard his nails are cutting into his palm. He can't see straight, can't breathe—

"Shut up," he manages, low and tight and dangerous. "I'm warning you. Shut up right now."

"What?" Jefferson asks, leaning forward. "You ashamed of it? I think it's quite nice - after all, when you're that poor, you get money however you can, right?"

And then Alex's fist is slamming into his stupid, smug face and it all goes downhill from there.

"You're back, good," says Burr when he opens the door. "I was just about to order... What happened to you?"

"Y'should see the other guys," Alex mutters, staggering in. He closes his eyes against the wave of dizziness. "I think I'm bleeding on the authentic limestone."

Someone is supporting his weight, which is probably good, because his legs have gone all wobbly.

"Your pupils are dilated," says Burr, quiet and accusing. "You have a concussion. We're going to the hospital—"

"No hospital," Alex mumbles. "No health insurance, I'll have to sell my soul."

"You don't have health insurance?" Burr repeats, looking astonished.

"I can't afford basic food and shelter and you thought I had health insurance?" Alex yells back. He tries to cross his arms and flinches at the pain that flares in his side, his breath coming in sharp. "See, this is why we need a socialized system."

"Yes, and then we'll all have mediocre health care," Burr mutters under his breath.

Alexander's eyes fly open in shock.

Burr looks at him suspiciously. "What?"

"You just told me your opinion. Your actual opinion, no dancing around the issue or flubbing what you really think to impress people."

You'd think he just told Aaron that his fly was down all day from the horror on his face.

"I know two of your opinions now!" says Alex gleefully. He ticks off one finger – "You hate Donald Trump and" – he ticks off another finger – "you're not into Obamacare."

"That's a ridiculously oversimplified—" Aaron starts, only to be stopped by Alexander's finger on his lips.

"Shhhh," he whispers. "Let me have this moment."

Burr knocks his hand away, irritated. Or maybe flustered about his slip of conscience, which is always, you know, embarrassing. "Fine, we'll stay here. This time. Your injuries aren't that bad, they can be treated with the first aid kit in the bathroom instead of a hospital. But what about when you get seriously hurt? What about when you're in a car crash? What will you do then?"

"I like how you said when, not if, I'm seriously injured. Should I lock the door at night, Burr?"

"You are getting health insurance," says Burr, talking right over him. "And that's final."

In the end Alexander is just fine staying at home. He sleeps off the concussion without any further difficulties (Burr doesn't wake him up after four hours, claiming that the whole thing is a medical myth. Alex isn't sure that's true, but hey, he didn't die and he's learned that Burr really needs his beauty sleep). Burr doesn't ask any questions about the injuries. He's just that kind of guy—quiet, calculated, focused.

Arguably a little too focused, because he is not letting this health care thing go.

Reference Note 14: He's crazy-stubborn about health care, God knows why.

"I've investigated other options, but nothing is feasible under our given circumstances," Burr tells him three days after he came home torn up and bleeding. "We're going to have to get married."

Alex bursts out laughing.

Burr just looks at him steadily.

Alexander's laughter trails off, his smile fading, quickly replaced by something between horror and the absurd desire to start laughing again, and not stop this time. Ever.

"You can't be serious," he says numbly.

"Right," says Aaron, nodding, "because it's not like you're ever going to get attacked or anything."

"That was one time!"

"Really? That was the first time you've gotten punched?"

Er... Alex squirms a little. "I didn't say that..."

Burr crosses his arms. "You can't live here without health insurance, and that's final."

"But we've already concluded that if I don't live here I'm going to die of hypothermia."

"Right..."

"So," says Alex slowly, parsing out his options, "you're saying I either have to marry you or die."

Burr considers that. And then, "Pretty much."

There's a short moment of silence.

"You know, this is not how I imagined my marriage proposal going," Alexander remarks.

Burr rolls his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. Anyway, marriage is an antiquated institution that was initiated to allow men to legally own their wives."

"Stop it, you old romantic, you're making me blush."

And so over the next few weeks Burr goes about the preparation for their wedding in his usual sensible and completely unironic way, most notably by figuring out the legal requirements and getting the documentation stuff straight.

He gives Alex a two-page contract over dinner one night and says, "We need our legal guardians' signatures in order to get the marriage license, since we're both under eighteen."

"That shouldn't be too hard," says Alexander, skimming it quickly. "I'm technically still in the care of the kids' home, I'll just get Mr. Todd to sign it when I go to teach tomorrow. What about you?"

"My uncle," says Burr shortly. "He lives in Connecticut."

Alex looks at him. "And he'll be totally cool with you getting married at sixteen to someone he's never met?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Aaron asks, which isn't an answer, but hey, Burr avoiding direct questions, there's a new one.

"It's just awfully young to get married."

"Not really, my mother was married at eighteen."

"Really?"

"Sure. When was yours?"

"She wasn't," says Alex.

"Oh," says Burr. He looks at Alexander, then down at his plate, then at the cupboard over Alex's head, then back at his plate.

They eat the rest of their meal in silence, and Alex thinks vaguely that maybe if they spend enough time getting it wrong in every possible way eventually at least one of them will end up being good at feelings.

Of course, no marriage of convenience would be complete without a classic church wedding, with a real priest. Specifically Burr's classic church, with Burr's real priest. You know, the ones that hate gay marriage.

Burr says it's not an issue. Alex begs to differ.

Still he comes with Aaron to make the arrangements, if for nothing more than sheer, inadvisable curiosity.

"Father," Aaron says, when they've been seated across from the Father at his desk. "We know that a physically intimate relationship between two men is an abomination, of course."

"Of course," says the priest, this clearly being one of his favorite topics.

Burr leans forward, looking him right in eye. "However... how many people have actually done anything to prevent this abomination from happening?"

The priest frowns. "There's very little we can do, with our society's emphasis on political correctness..."

"Gotta hate that political correctness," Alex mutters. Aaron smiles politely and takes Alex's fingers under the table so he can crush them. "Ow! Dude!"

"Well, Father, I believe that there is still something we can do. It may be small, just one person at a time, but Scripture teaches us that every little action can have enormous ripple effect on the world."

"Yes?" the priest says, sitting forward in obvious anticipation.

"Well, as everyone, it is the act of sexual relations between men that is abominable, not marriage," says Aaron. "Now, research has found that married partners have sex significantly less than non-married partners. Therefore, an excellent way to exponentially lower the chances of this abomination would be for all men to be married, preferably to other men, to neutralize the threat of two potential sinners rather than only one. However, as you insightfully pointed out, as usual, there's very little we can do to change the world. Still, I want to do my part, by starting with the man in the mirror as it were. I'm hoping that our church can have a part in this potentially history- changing revelation, and be the location for Alexander" – here he gestures to Alex, who waves awkwardly back – "and I to be married. It would have meant so much to my grandfather, and I know it means an inestimable amount to me."

The Father stares at him wide-eyed for a long, long while. Alex holds his breath. And then...

"Genius!" he exclaims. A smile breaks across his face. "That is just genius, you know, you've always been smart, just like your grandfather."

"Thank you, Father," says Aaron demurely.

"What an excellent idea!" he says, getting to his feet, shaking his head. "You just wait right here, I'll get the papers ready."

He leaves and Alexander turns to him, stunned.

"I might be seeing things, but," he manages. "Did you really just convince your aggressively homophobic church to officiate a gay wedding?"

"It appears so," Aaron murmurs.

Alex stares some more, a kind of terrified awe settling over him. "What are you even?"

Burr squeezes his fingers so hard it hurtles past gesture of affection straight to blatant threat. "Your new husband."

Mamá, Alex thinks in a fog of horror-movie bleakness. My fiancé might be a criminal mastermind.

"Alex! You're coming with us to Finding Dory, right?" John hiss-whispers to him the next day in the library at study break. "Next Sunday. You up for it?"

"Next Sunday?" he repeats, flipping through his mental calendar. "Oh, Sunday is—"

–my wedding, is the end of that sentence.

...

Yup. That should go over well.

"I can't go," Alex blurts. "I have a..." Quick, Alex, what's the stupidest rich-kid thing you can possibly thing of? "...aromatherapy appointment."

"Of course," says Lafayette. "I have zhose twice a month."

Alex looks at him in awe. "Your families really have more money than they know what to do with, don't they?"

"Yeah," says Angelica a bit apologetically. "My father bought me a small island for my fourteenth birthday."

"That's reasonable," says Alex, nodding. "That's awesome!" says John. "I just got a car."

"I got a homemade cake," Alexander volunteers. "Well, it wasn't really homemade, it was one of those Duncan Hines mixes, but they put the whole can of frosting on it, and... what?"

His friends stare back at him, horrified.

"Oh my God," says John with the distinct tone of revelation. "You've never had a birthday."

"Actually, I've had sixteen of them."

"He's never had a birthday," Hercules mutters. His eyes are wide and dazed, and is it just Alex or is he missing something here?

"Guys?" he tries. "I'm fine. I've had plenty of birthday parties."

"When is your next birthday?" Angelica demands urgently, putting her hands on his shoulders to make an uncomfortable amount of eye contact.

"January?" says Alex.

"January WHAT?" Laurens yells.

"Uh. Eleventh?"

And that's it, they're exchanging covert little glances and passing along whispers and looking at him out of the corner of their eyes. Which is never, ever a good sign, especially considering the last scheme his friends had come up with (long story short, it had ended in two blown tires, sixty- six ounces of pure saline, and a very generous "gift" to the State Police bailiff).

Still, he's officially off the hook for his wedding next Sunday, so. Success?

Alex had thought that he'd be free of his church-related duties until the wedding, but apparently he needs to attend for the priest's announcement of their wedding, because Burr's actual job is choosing to be romantic at the stupidest times.

Anyway, Alex ends up slouching in the second-to-front pew, dressed up and exhausted and sitting in between Burr and an elderly couple he's never met.

"The only cure for depression is faith," says the pastor. "All mental illness is a call to return to God. Any other kind of treatment is a denial of His presence in our lives, and in our minds."

Alex kind of wants to poke his own eyes out with a spoon.

He leans over to Burr and hisses, "Is anyone actually listening to this?"

"Shhh," Aaron replies, eyes closed as if in fervent conversation. What bull.

"Burr, this is crazy talk," he whispers. "They know that it's crazy talk, right? Hey. Burr." No response. He pokes him in the arm a couple of times. "BURR!"

"Shhhhh," says Burr.

Alexander sits back, and then it hits him – "You're not even listening to this speech, are you."

Burr doesn't so much as open his eyes. "Shut up and keep your hands to yourself or I will smother you in your sleep," he says, pleasantly enough.

Alex shuts up and keeps his hands to himself.

"Listen to 'em, Ida," says the old man on his other side. "They sound just like us!"

"Don't make me pinch you, Carl," says Ida.

His friends at school, of course, are still skulking around, planning his birthday, because clearly two months is far too little time. And hey, normally he's the first one down for the crazy ideas but he's getting a bad feeling about this.

It might be partly due to the fact that he definitely overheard Hercules whispering the word fireworks.

John bounds over to him. "Hey Alex what's up your day been good that's great hey what's your address?"

"Oh," says Alex. "Um." And, well, normally there'd be a whole slew of issues before he could give out his address, but part of the point of living with Burr is being able to say he's not homeless anymore, right? He'd just have to make sure he's not home when the squad is there. "113 E 61st. It's in Manhattan. 10065."

John gives a low whistle. "Nice. Which apartment?"

"It's a house," Alexander explains. "It's six stories high, you can't miss it."

"Sah-weet!" says Hercules from across the table, his eyes lighting up. "I thought you told us you were poor!"

Alex grins, flushing at the excitement and admiration in their expressions. "Well, I don't own it. I'm just renting a room." For the low, low price of his maidenhood.

The conversation moves on to less overtly birthday-related-things, and Alex grins to himself, unaccountably pleased at his new ability to give his friends an address. An address that finally helps him fit in, rather than driving yet another wedge between him and everyone else.

Yeah, it's an awesome feeling, showing off his new homebase. And it probably won't come back to bite him, either.

"Look...you don't have to do this." Alex turns to stare at him. "What?"

They're all dressed up and at the stupid godforsaken church and Alex has even tied his hair somewhat neatly and this is really not the time to be getting cold feet, but Burr gestures to the marriage document between them. The one that's almost fully completed, waiting only for their signatures.

"You really can say no," Aaron explains quietly. "I won't kick you out, okay?"

And weirdly enough, it's that—the offer to let him out of this, somehow far more vulnerable than the proposal itself—that makes Alexander take a step back and actually consider what he's doing here.

He's about to bind himself legally to another human being in holy matrimony. Even if they get divorced (and one of the nice things about marrying a guy is that it'll be laughably easy to get an annulment if they want it), they'll always be tied to one another in some form, and that's... that's a big deal. It's a terrifyingly big deal.

It's a big deal for Alex, but it's a colossal deal for Aaron, who actually has a significant amount to lose.

Is this really all about health care? he wonders. Why would Burr...?

He looks at the document alongside the marriage certificate: Next of Kin.

Alex's list is empty. Aaron's has just one name—presumably that uncle in Connecticut, the one who never calls, who couldn't be bothered to show up to his nephew's wedding.

And he thinks, maybe even with my bouncing around from place to place, never staying too long with any one person, never finding any sort of real home...

Reference Note 47: Maybe, just maybe, he needs this even more than I do. Maybe they both just need something to belong to.

He bends and signs his name with a flourish at the bottom of the page and holds out the pen, grinning. "Well, Burr? What're you waiting for?"

"I do," says Aaron solemnly, snapping Alexander out of his own thoughts just in time to make his cue.

"Alexander Hamilton," the priest continues, turning to him, "do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish always?"

Alexander snorts, then catches Aaron glaring at him.

"Um. I mean, yeah. Totally."

"May the blessings of life, the joy of love, the peace of truth, and the wisdom and strength of Spirit, be your constant companion, now and always, as husband and...husband. Those whom God has joined together may He generously bless Forever."

"Amen," the crowd murmurs.

"You may now seal this union with a kiss."

This is met with a pointed, horrified silence.

The priest clears his throat. "Or you could, um...shake hands?"

Alexander breathes a sigh of relief and puts out his hand. "Mister Burr."

"Mister Hamilton," says Burr, doing the same.

They shake on it, and the church explodes into cheers.

Well, Mamá, Alex thinks, strangely calm despite the ensuing chaos. I'm married now, I guess.

You'd think they just won a Tony award by the way people congratulate them and shake their hands as they exit the church. He's pretty sure one guy is even crying.

Burr, predictably, takes this all in stride, smiling and thanking everyone, while Alexander actually takes a leaf from Burr's book and pastes a frozen smile-grimace on his face and tries not to say anything stupid.

"Oh, Aaron, I'm so proud of you for standing up to the gay agenda," one older woman coos. "Thank you, Mrs. Schamuk," says Burr formally.

"And with such a handsome boy, too!" she says, pinching Alex's cheek.

"Ow. That's my skin," Alex mutters. Aaron discreetly steps on his toe. "Ow!"

"We're honored you could make it," Burr tells her.

"Yeah, it just wouldn't've been the same without you," says Alexander under his breath.

"If everyone were like you boys, we'd have beaten gay marriage—why, before evolution came back!"

Aaron smiles and a new group of people push their way in front of Mrs. Schamuk to compete for their attention, and Alex turns to his husband.

"She doesn't see any irony at all in that, does she."

"Nope," says Aaron pleasantly, and leans over to shake yet another guy's hand.

"I can't believe I'm married," Alex bursts out as soon as they get home. He leans back in his chair and puts his feet up on the kitchen table, ignoring Aaron's pointed look at his dirty shoes. "And part of a church! An anti-LGBT church!"

"Forming an affiliation with a group of people who you'd normally disagree with is an excellent opportunity to influence them," says Burr calmly, hanging up his coat.

Alexander groans. "Do you ever talk about anything other than influencing people?"

"I'm becoming a lawyer," says Aaron, as if Alex is being very, very stupid right now, "so no."

"You'll make a great lawyer. You'll be one of those guys who can get anyone off anything for enough money."

"Really? Are we having this argument again?" Burr sighs, rubbing his forehead. "We're gonna keep having this argument until you admit that I'm right!"

"So forever, then," he replies dryly. "I suppose that's fitting. It was our first argument and in all likelihood it'll be our last."

Alex grins. "Why, Mr. Burr. I do believe that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"It's the most romantic thing anyone will ever say to you if you don't shut up, Mr. Hamilton."

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Or should I be calling you Mr. Burr?"

Alexander leans forward abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. "No way! I swear to God, Burr, if you make me take your name the deal's off, I'll stick with the hypothermia! Anyway, if anyone should change their name, it's you."

"How so?" Aaron asks, meeting his gaze straight on, his voice low and smooth, the way it gets when he's debating. "The whole point of this marriage is to make you part of the Burr family."

That takes Alexander aback for a moment; the fact that all his life he'd been looking for a place to belong, to matter—a family—and in the strangest of places he'd found one, in a way. "Part of the Burr family, huh?" he murmurs, testing out the words.

"My parents always wanted another child," says Aaron softly. "And to be honest I think they would've loved you."

Alex stares back at him, surprised, unsure of how to even begin responding to that.

Suddenly Burr seems to realize just how much he's shared, and something flashes across his face —not embarrassment, quite, but he abruptly rises and heads upstairs to his room with a parting, "Put the dishes away before you go to bed."

"Sure thing, honey," Alexander calls after him.

"Don't call me honey, sweetheart," Burr replies without turning around.

Mamá, Alex thinks, a small smile spreading across his face despite himself. I think I'm going to be okay.