They sat in Laurens' living room to flip through the pages together. Hamilton leaned against the arm of the sofa, his legs close to his chest, feet tucked under Laurens' legs, as he watched him read. They were both wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, and he clutched a mug of coffee close to his face, trying to nurse as much warmth out of it as possible. It was cold, the first warning signs of a rough December ahead starting to show. Hamilton had finished his coffee and was about to stand to get another one, when Laurens finally looked up.

"This is fucking beautiful," he spoke quietly, as if he was trying to hold back waves of emotion from warping his tone. There was so much awe and love in that voice, Hamilton had never felt an approval quite like it. His presumption was that with love came this intense need to impress and his work meant more seen through Laurens' eyes, than through anyone else's.

He watched patiently until Laurens flipped the back cover shut and looked up at him. He had pointed Laurens towards the pages which he wanted him to read the most. Later, he would read it through, cover to cover, before giving Jefferson the go-ahead to publish.

"Hamilton. This is so good. Really fucking good. It reads so well...I think it's going to sell. You're gonna be rich."

"And it's all because of you," Hamilton replied, massive smile plastered across his face. Laurens grinned back and placed the book down beside him, then grabbed Hamilton's shirt gently. He pulled him closer, until their lips met. Hamilton let himself melt into the kiss, his hands wrapped themselves around Laurens' neck, a thumb tracing his jawline slowly. He was hyper aware of everything happening; of how great Laurens' lips felt, how soft they were against his, of how great his tongue felt when it flicked against the roof of his mouth. Laurens' hair tickled his face, a detail which he had come to love so much.

"Your words fuck me up," Laurens whispered, blushing quite a bit. "You fuck my heart all the way up, you ass."

Hamilton just laughed softly, unable to respond adequately. He felt the same. Laurens was the only thing that could starve him of words and thoughts, while at other moments, supplying him with the most he'd ever obtained.

"We should celebrate this." He patted the blank cover of the book. It hadn't even a name yet. Jefferson probably had low expectations for sales, despite what he'd said.

"Celebrate a draft copy?" Hamilton was dubious.

"Of course! It's so great! Let's have a pre-publishing partaaay!"

"Laurens, we literally have a week and a half to finish narrating your book, maybe we should celebrate after both??"

"Nah that'd be defeating the point."

"I don't see how-"

"Oh my god come on. I'm gona call Laf and Mulligan, we'll just go for a few drinks and I'll show them what you've done."

"Fuck my life," he groaned, but he couldn't shake that radiating smile.

"Mon Ami, Mulligan, Herc, look at this look at this!"

Mulligan grabbed the book from Lafayette's hands, his eyes scanning the page to find what his friend had been pointing at. "My mans is in LOVE," his voice boomed through the small bar, and Laurens was quick to hush him.

"Shut up, oh my god, guys. My parents' friends drink here..."

They'd gone to a new bar, suggested by Laurens, due to the last incident that'd occurred at the Fraunces Tavern, and the likelihood of them running into Burr there, again.

"How can we shut UP, Laurens. Dear, there's so much to talk about! You've found someone and look what he's done. He's written you!!! And so beautifully, so elegantly!" Hamilton blushed and Laurens threw Laf some serious evils.

"You better shut you mouth-"

Lafayette ignored Laurens completely, and leaned towards Hamilton, changing the subject as quickly as he had burst out in excitement. "Hamilton, Alexander? Tell me, listen. You know the rally? Protest? That you went to? Do you have some of your words you may want to write for me about it? I have a magazine, self-published, I edit and print, it covers all the protests and I get people who've been to them to write about them, would you? Just 2,000 words or so... it'll be the main piece? You write so delicately.."

"Uh...sure?"

Laurens sighed. "You don't know what you're getting yourself in for he asks me every few days to write something."

"Ah, yes but. Laurens, you've been replaced! You've read this, yes?"

"Yes," he groaned. "And yea I know, my boyfriend is a better writer than me, Laf please. You know it's not my trade."

Lafayette winked at Laurens, then pulled the book back from Mulligan's grip. "Now let's SEE. Oh this, THIS. I shall read some aloud, no?"

"Please don't," Laurens sounded so defeated that this request was entirely half-hearted.

"Cold in my professions..."

Their banter escalated into Lafayette and Mulligan singing drunken praise for Hamilton, whom they now saw as some sort of gay literary god.

"Why do they love me so much? I just wrote about the man I love? It's so mundane ...I can't comprehend their infatuation with such average words.."

Laurens' fingers laced through Hamilton's beneath the table and he leaned closer, their shoulders touching.

"Why do they adore me I am just a guy living my life and loving who I love," Hamilton re-articulated himself, because he couldn't begin to express the full extent of his awe. Would this be the public response when it was published? What was happening? Was it the alcohol clouding his judgement and making him overly-grateful to have a new group of friends who were so supportive?

"Hamilton," Laurens' voice drew his eyes back to his boyfriend, and he squeezed his hand beneath the table. "To some your love is a radical act."

Not for the first time, though the feeling still felt raw and new, Hamilton was left speechless in Laurens' presence. And because of the truth of those words.

Hamilton ended up drunkenly emailing Jefferson the go-ahead. The title for the book would be, as Mulligan had suggested, 'My Dear Laurens...,' through Hamilton's sober mind would come to resent that title. Hamilton also sent another drunk email to his professor, George Washington, asking him to write an introduction to the book. Attached was the entire 700 page transcript. Yet another thing his sober self would come to regret.

But that night Hamilton fell asleep, again beside John Laurens - he might as well have moved in at that point - with the warmth of the alcohol and the warmth of his boyfriend next to him, sparkling a fire inside of him. A fire that burned with such content, he dreamt of all the words he'd yet to write. He had enough time. He knew this, because Laurens slowed his days down. Laurens was his savour. Saving him from himself, in ways. These thoughts made him smile and he drifted off to sleep, the world was good to him. He was doing good in this world.