Do you know those moments when you feel like time's stopped? The overwhelming emotions you feel when you think the world has collapsed around you? Interludes when you just can't find the words to conclude your masterpiece; when you can't find the melody to intertwine a miracle? Yeah, that one.

He was an enigmatic character. His demeanor was tranquil; his eyes always fixated on the present. He never looked to the past, for it held a bittersweet feeling that lasted amidst the dregs of previous sorrows. Neither to the future, for it held consequences he wished would be succumbed. He was rather patient. Albeit his frequently indulgent mind, his suit had told a story of otherwise.

It was a seldom affair: he rose at the peak of dawn, a pink incandescence peeking through the open seal of his window, kissing his neck. His linger had fled to the hands of the individual pendulum clock, ticking at the same velocity as the reverberation of his heart. There it goes: his heart picking up the pace of a newfound adrenaline.

He cautiously got out of his bed and rushed to the other room that contained his ensemble that had yet to be fully prepared. He had no time. He absentmindedly rubbed on his jacket of vintage kimono fabric, silk with metal brocaded spots. He made ready his waistcoat, shirt, and breeches to fit with it, being this elaborate embroidered suit.

He had immediately come full stop as he was about to turn the knob on the wooden door in his foyer and remembered his dearest Theodosia still lying on their bed, buried under the multitude of covers which were sewed with memories, each piece of thread containing a small glimpse of the past. He wasn't much of a prolonging person that dwells in the past, though, much to the spite of his wife.

He had wandered back to their room, placing a small peck amongst her forehead, lingering just for a bit, then leaving her in peace as he went to open the door to his new day.

He couldn't quite recollect the moments before his parents' deaths. One year after the other, was all that he knew; they would go and leave him to rot in this world without their help. He was barely up on his feet and walking when his mother had expired and met the obligations she was due.

But, all he knew was that they had wished for him to become something great. They wanted him to strive for perfection and nothing but that. Young and naïve, he believed that his parents' words were so important. Sure, they were, but everyday he pondered on the idea they conceived: was this what he really hoped for? Was he entirely invested in the belief and career he would endeavor and prolong? He couldn't grasp the answer that seemed to fail his tongue.

After decades of working so hard to accomplish the eternal goal of victory, he wouldn't believe giving up would be the best idea to fulfill. With all this contemplation, he was oblivious to the bright lights, passerbys, busy streets, and suddenly a woman with such a striking personality.

"Aaron Burr?"

It was the year of 1814, still wonderfully cool breezes had filled Manhattan in late February.

"Angelica Schuyler? I haven't beheld your beauty since the early 1800s, if I'm not mistaken." She rolled her eyes and folded her arms amidst her chest. Her cheeks were tainted with a mild cherry and her body was colored with a bouquet of roses.

"Angelica Schuyler Church, sir. Married a fellow from London. Richer than my father and more of a braggart than dear Alex was." He nodded, following the trace of her words as it laced its way through his ears and stabbed at his heart a little.

"Ah, I see. Is it a fair partnership?"

She was taken aback by the comment he had thrown, stepping back an inch from him. She questioned him, the tone of her voice trembling, blatantly trying and failing to regain composure, "Partnership?"

He looked at her like she was stupid (she's not stupid) and drew his brows together, drawing a little crease in the middle, "Well, of course. With your remarks, it came off to me as more of a 'partnership,' per se. Do you not enjoy your union?"

"Aaron, you intervene in my love life as if I was your eternal companion that has naïvely succumbed to your charms."

"Merely wondering, is all."

"Well, sir, to be frank, I do not. It was only of my father's bidding. I inevitably agreed to the alliance because of the one I love and the one I was in love with. They were happy together and I promised myself that I would just let it go. Sometimes, I learned, that the world wasn't made to fit the likings of certain people. I give to the notion that I have fallen in that category of individuals."

Her eyes had suddenly lost light. He searched into them, wondering if that incandescence would ever find its way back. Maybe, too, some radiances were meant to be blown out.

"I am genuinely despondent for you. Perhaps, you may find another lover that will bring you satisfaction. Oh, I am utterly rueful for letting such an important matter slip my mind. I am well awaited at the townhouse. Maybe you may meet me later? I would rather love to have a multitude of conversations with my favorite Schuyler sister." She raises her brows inquiringly, them being elegantly arched and shaped.

"Of course, mister Burr, sir."

"—you question me about that?"

They had been talking for hours, a never ending line of topics arranged randomly. They went from discussing the issues of their political systems and the challenges that they would be facing ahead to what kind of tea would be best suited with scones—chamomile or green tea? Idiosyncratic questions intertwined with the greatest debates.

"What are you implying?"

"Do you lead to the notion that my weakness would be putting everyone's happiness over my own? Absurdity has really gotten to you, Aaron. Alex must've had a great influence on you." He had rolled his eyes with great exaggeration and he felt as if she was blind to what her own actions have led her to.

Yet, he softened at her tone of voice as she inquired. She had looked dubious and very hesitant as she tried (and failed, once more) to tease him in order to lessen the thick tension that surrounded the room, "Oh, my dearest, Angelica. Yes, it is your weakness, and, quite frankly, I wish that you'd rather not be too selfless. I care about your well-being, if you haven't noticed." She laughed, a little bitter, but she still laughed.

"Aaron, thank you for your genuine concern, but I don't need to be told what to do. I need to be treated like the independent woman I am. God, why do you bother me with this question?" She had played with her fingers and tapped them against the adjacent wooden table.

"Perchance you haven't thought about the reason that maybe I care about you? That maybe with the way you smile at your dear sister Eliza or the times your eyes sparkled when you debated and stood up for what you believed in and made sure that your's and everyone else's rights were looked at and worked for actually made me wonder what it was like to be you.

"That maybe with the way you cared so much for others and put their happiness above your's or the way you relegated yourself to lesser of importance when it was apparently time for others to 'shine' made me realize that you deserved more than just the role of a selfless silhouette." She'd smile like she did when she was at her peak of happiness, as that's what he thought she looked like. He smiled back and felt a rise of reds looking for skin to paint. He never noticed, though, what had made him feel so warm in this cold weather.

But, Angelica had still felt cold.

They had spent the last few days enjoying each other's company, creating a small camaraderie between them, rather a close bond. In just the span of days they knew each other like they would the feeling of the city weather. It was always cool in New York City. (Haha...or is it?) Even then, they still wanted to get to know each other.

It was the 13th of March, a fair time in the city.

Angelica invited Burr over once more before she would meet Eliza for tea. Her husband was still out of town, his life getting busier with every dollar they gained. She hadn't missed him, though, for the only thing she meant to him was a carriage-load of gold.

They had talked over scones and tea, as they usually did. The sweet aroma of jam had spun through her nose as if a dance. The scent had driven her crazy, though, since it smelled just like, if not, exactly like Aaron. It was beautiful.

Then, came a whiff of fire.

Initially, she had thought her senses were abnormal or that the scones were really burnt. But, little did she know that a wild fire had risen from the flowers outside, forgetting that she had left a lit candle there.

"Oh, no," she breathed, a little croak fluttering from her throat as her words spewed out like venom. She ran to the garden and called for Burr's help. He ran, too, coming as she beckoned. Once he came, he noticed her getting closer as she gazed at the fire.

She could hear the small sparks that flew from the orange bliss, the scent of her life dripping down the drain. She suddenly remembered what Burr had told her. Why was she to continue living if she couldn't be happy? All that mattered was the optimism of others. She was entitled to this one goal all her life. Maybe now the warmth of the fire could fill her heart.

Burr's screams were faint, and the way he tugged on her and tried to pull her back to reality made her feel nothing. It just gave her more of a push. She was somehow attracted to how warm the flames looked. So, she snatched her arms away and fell to her fate.

In that moment, she had saw how dumb she was. That, all along she was just chasing after a fake dream. She looked back to when she met Burr once more, how she had felt depressed and that realization dawned that she couldn't ever be happy. Every occasion with him only made her observe the notion more. Maybe she only enjoyed his company because he was right. The one time Angelica was wrong. Maybe the only time she'd been right.

Then, the light had found its way in her eyes, dancing around with every speck of euphoria.

And the moment's gone (and so was she).

Dearest, Angelica,

I want to thank you for the epiphany that had grown upon me. I felt something with you that I've never felt before. Maybe it was a sudden obsession, or a tint of rebellion. I wouldn't have the smallest clue. I hope you consider inviting me over more and that I would be delighted in your presence.

Thank you, once more.

With the greatest regards and love, Aaron Burr.

(—March 13, 1814)

A/N: Make of it what you will. Thank you for bothering with my absurdity.