Laurens put an arm around Hamilton's waist. He made a fist, clutching onto the fabric of his jumper, and Hamilton could feel his anxiety radiating. There were a few awkward seconds before Jefferson even acknowledged him, and in those seconds Hamilton realised that Jefferson was also seemingly nervous. Well, that was to be expected. He was outnumbered.

"Hamilton. I'm sorry I didn't think of arranging such an event..."

"I didn't expect it, Sir." Inwardly, he cursed himself for even absentmindedly showing Jefferson respect.

"Well!" Lafayette clapped his hands together, breaking another silence that had befallen their small group. "I'm going to get a drink! Anyone? Hamilton? John Laurens? Want a drink? Jefferson? No? Okay!" He left without pausing or caring to properly punctuate his speech with pauses.

Jefferson merely raised an eyebrow at Lafayette's quick departure, then returned his attention back towards Hamilton and Laurens.

"Burr's a good writer, great, in fact." So he wasn't going to dance around the topic, the looming truths.

"What's going on, Jefferson?" Hamilton's tone was flat, but he had to clench his fists to keep his fingers from shaking. There was still too much nervousness inside him.

"What do you mean, Hamilton? I just needed to edit the text for different audiences?" Jefferson was still trying to fool him with that vague bullshit, as if Hamilton couldn't see that there was nothing innocent about what he was doing.

"What audiences?" He growled back.

"Those who your work needs altercations-"

"Cut the crap, Jefferson," Laurens spoke up, his words short but cutting, making it evident where they were all standing.

In response, Jefferson just shrugged. "It's done now, anyway. And you'll either find out, or you won't, soon enough." The way he played with his words, with Hamilton and Laurens' mind, was starting to make Hamilton's blood boil, even more so. He talked as if there was nothing wrong, subliminally talking to intensify their anxiety and force their thoughts to wander. "Let's not dwell on this, and enough the night. You're going to make us rich, Alexander!" Jefferson's smile was unnerving, but Hamilton brushed him off.

"I'm sure there's many people seeking your thoughts on this occasion, or presence in general, Sir," he nodded to Burr, who seemed so very out of place surrounded by so many of Laurens' and Hamilton's friends and co-workers. He stood just to the left of the door, closer to the hall than any of the rest of the party. If he hadn't come to despise his former friend those past few days, Hamilton would've had some sympathy at the pathetic scene. Jefferson took the hint, and returned to the man he'd arrived with.

As if on cue, Lafayette returned from the depths of the kitchen, with the vodka and coke he'd fixed himself. "Ah I missed the conversation...such a shame."

Laurens grinned. "You didn't miss much, Laf. I'm starting to think that Jefferson's all talk."

Hamilton didn't agree, he didn't say anything. Jefferson had been testing the waters, seeing what exactly they knew, how far he could push them. He tried to enjoy he rest of the party, and felt it easier when, shortly after their conversation ended, Jefferson and Burr made their quiet exist. The praise Laurens' friends gave his work, and him, fed his ego and raised his spirits back to what they had been before, what they should've always been. He wouldn't falter again, he couldn't. Keeping his wits was a priority.

There was nothing extraordinary about the night besides the obvious, that was true. But it did change him completely, even if he didn't know it at the time. He wouldn't be the same knowing that times as good as this had past. The comfort he felt in Laurens' arms, how content he was after a night in celebration of his talents. That night would haunt him in the coming weeks, as he navigated the world searching to regain all that he has lost.

Leaving Laurens the next morning was almost an impossible task. The thought of having to bike across the hustle of Manhattan during rush hour and in the freezing cold, was enough to tempt Hamilton not to leave Laurens' side. He shouldn't have. His boyfriend looked so sweet, hair even more of a mess than it normally was in the early morning, something attributable to the moderate amount of alcohol he'd consumed at the party the night before. Laurens was still wrapped up in his silence, peaceful sleep when Hamilton kissed a his freckled forehead once before turning his back on him, and heading towards the door.

His apprehension about cycling the length of the city to get to his lecture - this one thankfully at the hands of George Washington - hadn't been without reason. The streets were at an all-out standstill. They'd been a heavy downpour of snow the night before, and some streets were rendered impassible as cars had plowed into each other, the number of accidents city-wide, skyrocketing. Instead of cycling he roads, he took to the footpaths, ignoring the glares and shouts of pedestrians as he sped past, expecting them to part for him. He didn't want to be late to Washington's class. He didn't want to give Burr a reason to talk to him afterwards.

But when he showed up, taking his regular seat to the left of centre (Washington favoured this side, and he wanted to absorb every word and answer as much as he could), Burr was nowhere to be seen. Hamilton hadn't made it in as early as usual, and expected Burr to await with some form of taunt, but there was no one there. He pulled out his phone to text Laurens, and informed him of his relief that his classmate was absent. He waited for Laurens to reply, but no answer came, and Hamilton was glad, presuming that he was still sleeping. He smiled at the thought, imagining Laurens' soft quiet breaths, his body curled up beneath the sheets. Though he loved how Washington taught, he couldn't keep himself from wishing that the class would go faster, the urge to get back to Laurens' and return to bed with him, curling up and holding him to regain some warmth to his cold limbs, it made him restless. His grades hadn't slipped during the time in which his fight had, but he had been missing classes. All of this made his mind wander to a time he pictured, in the near future, when his studies would end, and his career and life would truly begin. Everything he imagined, he imagined with Laurens. He couldn't picture a complete future without him.

The route back was travelled with just as much haste, this time merely due to anticipation of being reunited with Laurens. Every moment apart was coming to be unbearable for Hamilton. His phone buzzed with an incoming text, but he couldn't check it, not while he was weaving in and out of cars at the hands of idiotic and generally reckless New York City drivers. It was only when he pulled up outside the apartment block, rolling his bike up to the door, that he read Lafayette's text.

Lafayette: Have you seen Laurens?

Lafayette: Hamilton

Lafayette: Answer please, he's not at home or returning calls he always returns calls, even when sleeping

Lafayette: I may be over exaggerating but ah, Alexander, this is not like him at all you understand?

What the fuck?

Hamilton pondered by the messages as he searched for his keys. "Shit." He'd forgotten them in his rush to leave. The buzzer rang three, four times before Hamilton text Lafayette back.

Hamilton: I'm locked out and he's not answering the door

Hamilton: Don't worry though, Laf, he's just sleeping he's hungover, we both know that's another type of sleep

Lafayette: ah, yes, yes mon ami that's probably it sorry for the worry

Hamilton securely tied his bike up to the lamppost across the path from the door, then headed towards the alley beside the apartment block. Laurens has shown him how to break in once before when they'd been drunk and the alcohol had numbed their brains to the reasonable. There was an unstable half-broken ladder tucked away behind one of the big metal skips, and if you pulled it out and propped it against the wall, it reached the end of the fire escape ladder. There was just enough room to crawl through and up onto that tight stairway, and Laurens' window down into the alley was directly to the right from that point, you could reach over and push it open. If you balanced and placed your feet right, sliding inside wasn't hard at all. The ladder reeked and was soaked with what Hamilton guessed was cat piss, but it smelled so feral it could've been that of a rat. Whatever it was, it made him hasten his pace, and he made it into the apartment in what he was sure was record time. Laurens, you idiot, you shouldn't have drank so much, Hamilton thought. The apartment was still silent and he made sure not to make a sound when he closed the window behind him.

He wondered why Lafayette had come to the apartment, what had been the urgency. He'd have to wake Laurens, he figured, regrettably. Maybe they'd lie together for a moment before responsibility called for them. Hamilton crossed the kitchen and made for Laurens' room, when he stopped in his tracks as he approached the hall. He was sure he'd closed the door to the bedroom behind him before he left, the care he took to shut it without sound adding to the memorability and his recollection. He felt his heart sink instantly, but it wasn't until he saw the empty bed that he let himself presume the worst. Or presume anything. He might've just went to the store. Right?

Something inside Hamilton knew better than to hope for that, though. Laurens was gone.