Bridge was practically empty when Alexander arrived, some of the chairs where still sitting upside-down on tables as an employee swept the floor beneath half-heartedly. It was 6:30AM, the exact time the cafe was supposed to open, though the stream of customers was pretty much non-existent until 7. Hamilton sat himself down at the table closest to the door. He was occasionally so occupied with his work that he forgot about the time and space around him, and being this close to the exits allowed him to shift himself and his bike back onto the street in optimised time.

Almost immediately a pen was in his hand, then scratching against the paper of his notebook. He was planning his day out, carefully dividing up the hours so that he could use his time to the upmost benefit. He wasn't even a page into his writing when a tall figure stalled beside him, then in one swift, even graceful movement, John Laurens was sitting in front of him, smiling wide.

"Alexander! You're up early!" He chirped, way too happy for such an hour.

"Call me Hamilton, please. And I haven't slept."

"Oh right, sorry..." John's smile quickly faded. Hamilton hadn't bothered to properly glance up, instead he continued to write, his pen never faltering in its constant journey back and fourth across the page. He could observe his expression in his perceptional vision.

There was a short silence before he caved into the feeling of guilt that had built up inside of him. Maybe he was being unnecessarily mean.

"I trust your dinner went well?" He asked. Not that he particularly cared, but if he were to be spending the next two weeks with this man he might as well make conversation.

"Oh...uh..." Expecting a cheerful answer, Hamilton disregarded his work momentarily to look up.

Maybe it had been the looming possibility of getting fired when they were in Jefferson's office, and maybe it was the dark lighting of the studio... though Alexander knew it was more likely that he just hadn't paid close enough attention because he thought he didn't care. Regardless, he was caught completely off-guard by what he saw. The eyes staring back at him were some of the most beautiful he'd ever seen. They were the brightest blue, a colour that he couldn't ever have dreamt of on his own, but seemed so fitting for the eyes of the man sitting across from him. They also seemed as though they held so much more to be known, as if they were the beginning of the most beautiful sentence. His lips, at that moment twisted into a small frown, were full and all he wanted was for John Laurens to smile. He couldn't quite place why he needed that so intensely. Freckles scattered like stars adorned his nose and cheeks, such a cute feature Hamilton couldn't help but adore. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped breathing until his eyes met John's again. Hamilton was so taken back by how wholly attractive John Laurens was and how attracted he was to him. His chest had never felt so light, his ever-thinking brain started to cloud over.

"Ale-I mean-Hamilton?" The realisation that John had been speaking while he was admiring him snapped his mind back to the present, almost fully-aware, again.

"Wh-what? Oh. Ah. Yes. Sorry, what?"

"Did you really not hear any of what I just said?" His lips mimicked a smile. Hamilton's heart sped up once again.

"No..." He knew he was blushing. What could he do?

"You asked about my date remember? It was terrible," he deadpanned.

"Hahaaha women, right?" He tried not to think about how awkward he sounded and instead caught John's eye, raising his eyebrows, the question painfully obvious. John paused for a second, his lips turning up into a smile showing some brilliantly white teeth. Beneath the table, Hamilton was pressing the nail of his thumb into his forefinger, in an attempt to hide his reaction to that smile. That smile. He just about contained himself from returning it.

This man wastes time. He wasted his time. Why the hell was he given THAT smile. And why was Hamilton disregarding everything he had previously felt towards him and towards to next two weeks he would spend working with him, so quickly?

Again, shattering his train of thought came Laurens' reply, "No," he chuckled (Hamilton mentally added it to the list of things that John did which fogged his mind and stirred up that feeling in his chest, instantly), "I'm gay. So not a woman. This won't be awkward right?" He was shocked into silence for a second, and then just gave a quick nod. "Because if you're homophobic or anything, I'll have to get Jefferson to reassign me a narrator...I really can't stand people who don't appreciate that we're not all the same.."

"John. It won't be a problem." Not at alllllllll.

"Laurens, not John." He reached out to shake his hand. "I prefer my last name too. Oh and...can we forget about yesterday? We started on bad terms, right? Sorry I had to bail..." Hamilton reached over, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Laurens, let's let the past be just that."

He replied with another of his smiles, paralysing Alexander's thoughts for a moment. "You know...Jefferson has been screwing me over recently, too. I told him that I moved from Puerto Rico, years ago. Years go. I have citizenship. I even studied in England for fuck sake. And he thinks I can't write. He knows I can! I've written for him before. But now nope. I can't even move on with work I've been trying to get to the printers for months." The hand he had been resting on the table clenched into a fist. "God. I wish I didn't need this job. I swear..."

The one barista, who had been sweeping the floor when he'd arrived, finally arrived at their table with Laurens' coffee, and accepted Hamilton's $10.

"I'm a regular," he explained to Laurens' quizzical expression. He grimaced at how pretentious that sounded, then wondered why he cared about being pretentious when hadn't ever before. "Jefferson has treated me with respect," Hamilton admitted, "but I know it's just due to his fear that he will lose me. I don't care for the man..."

Laurens stirred his coffee, not looking away from Hamilton, who had noticed those intense blue eyes seemed to be glued to him.

He liked how Laurens dressed. He always seemed to be semi-formal, at least that was the case for the past two days away. That day he wore an expensive-looking waistcoat over a graphic t-shirt, paired with an equally expensive looking bomber jacket and chinos. For some reason the fact that Laurens has money intrigued Hamilton to the man even more. And his dress sense, too, made him seem even more attractive (how was that even possible?, Hamilton mulled). His hair was so curly, it looked as if it would escape from the hair tie which held it up. He looked like a Little Lion. Adorable and already elegant, but not totally wise, not yet.

"Would you like to make up for the time we missed yesterday? I know it's early and you probably have a lot to write about, but we could head to the studio early and catch up for some lost time?" Laurens really was pulling all the right strings, and more likely than not he didn't even know it. He tried to pull what he said next off as a joke, but it was totally true and as much was obvious in the flirtatious ring to his voice.

"Laurens, a man after my own heart."

Hamilton made the best effort he could possibly muster to avoid flirting with Laurens for the rest of the day. Even if he found him utterly intoxicating, he knew work came first and he was his coworker after all. He only allowed himself to breathe properly when he got back to his apartment. His hands trembled with all the words he needed to write, of this man with the heart of a lion, constellations on his cheeks, and a smile that could probably win the heart of even the coldest of people. He had so much to write about. There was so much to be done.

It was almost 1AM when he crawled into bed. He had decided to have an early (for his sleeping pattern, anyway) night. Just so that he would be more alert tomorrow. He didn't want to miss any detail of John Laurens' face.

But he couldn't sleep. His heart ached for that man. And the loneliness he always felt seemed to be amplified as his heart yearned. He wondered if Laurens was asleep right now. He was probably up developing images in the darkroom he'd told him about, or drawing. He seemed as much a slave to his art as Alexander was to his words.

He fell asleep a couple of hours later, thinking about Laurens, and dreamed about him too. Oh what luck it was of his, to fall so quickly and so terribly.