Guilt clouded Laurens' entire outlook. He cared for his Bela, making sure that she was comfortable, that she ate and cleaned herself. Though he felt he was getting lost in this taxing work, that cloud never shifted and he often found himself trying to think of the right words to say to Hamilton to ease his mind. He was probably so worried... It had been weeks yet Laurens still hadn't reached out. It wasn't because he was afraid of Jefferson, he was no longer afraid of what that man was capable of. What scared him more was what the initial distance had done to Hamilton.
Laurens had felt like he was hardly coping, being torn away from everything he thought was becoming a solidly built life. He had imagined growing with Hamilton, watching their careers as they both worked side by side, doing what they believed in and what they were passionate about without the restraints of Jefferson's conditions held over them. He imagined them move uptown or even to the country to be with closer to his parents in their old age. He imagined them growing old similarly, marrying if Hamilton wanted. Of course he never spoke on these things, it was too soon and he had fallen so hard, so quickly, so damningly in love. He wished Hamilton felt the same, but he knew that even if he felt a fraction of that, he'd feel defeated and helpless that he couldn't talk to or find Laurens. He didn't call because it would make everything worse. Hamilton would ask how long, and Laurens would be forced to say he didn't know, that he was holding him back, he might as well find someone else. Laurens imagined how he would break down as he said this, how all these words would just be daggers in both hearts. So he stayed silent, listening to his mother's words when she called.
She was always upset with what was going on, crying to him about how she hated to see him like this, but it had to be this way, just until things died down. God knows how she justified it. Laurens would never accept nor forgive his parents for so blatantly robbing him of months of his life. But there was guilt when it came to them too, he knew that what they were going through must have seemed paralleled with his suffering, to them. Shame for them was something consuming. The consumption so similar to the loneliness and need that had been planted inside Laurens when he left.
So he didn't call. He waited. Something he'd never been good at before. As a teenager he'd been so overly conscious of waiting for his life to begin. He didn't want to lose any time, or let hesitation stand in his way of succeeding. But now he was forced to, and those fears ate away at him. He was losing months of his life. In a few years he would come to look back on them and smile, holding close to his heart the memories of those times with Bela. It was hard to cherish them in the moment, with his mind constantly on Hamilton; missing him, his touch, how he smelled, even the annoying habits he had, being overly precise or a little too sensitive. On more than one occasion he sat at the desk in the corner of his room and tried to write down everything he was feeling. But he'd never been one for words quite like Hamilton. Still, over the months he accumulated quite a pile of papers, all repetitive, but all echoing exactly what he was feeling in the moments he was writing. They would make their way to Hamilton's hands eventually, and Laurens would look upon his face as it consistently changed from pained to completely loving, such was the variation of emotion portrayed.
He was sitting at that desk when he phone rang, which generally sat silent and neglected in the kitchen. Bela didn't use it, and Laurens' parents always told him when they'd next call. It startled Laurens so much that he dropped the pen he was holding and froze for a minute. Somehow he knew this was it. When he shook himself of that momentary trance, he hastily stumbled into the kitchen, almost tripping over himself. If the situation were different he would've laughed to himself, his limbs were always, in reality, too lanky to be as graceful as his appearance suggested. There seemed to be an infinite amount of time between when he stood and when he reached the phone, and by then a tight knot had formed in his throat, growing evermore when he realised the number popping up wasn't one he recognised. He didn't even hear Bela call "who is it?," hoarsely from her bed.
Things only became completely clear and seeming closer to reality when he picked up the phone, just before it was about to ring out. Why was he getting so worked up?? He was probably going to be let down, there were so many things that it could be. Maybe a scammer or someone looking for their money or their part in a survey. Anything. Yet he let his heart hope that it was Hamilton, and something in him all along knew it was. Everything felt so surreal because it was. It had been months since Laurens had heard that voice or listened to his words, but he remembered how his tone dipped and rose, he could remember it all, even before words started flooding the line. "Hamilton?" His voice was a whisper, a small question, even if he was already sure. The past few months quickly fell away, they felt completely lost, as if they had never happened, as if he had never been apart from Hamilton.
"Laurens.." That voice.. Laurens had to pull a chair over to the wall and sit. After months of feeling helpless, hopeless, just that one word, his name, made him feel safer and more sure than he had in what felt like an eternity.
There was so much to say, Laurens didn't know where to begin with the questions. All he was able to say, tearful and so happy, for the longest minute, was "I love you."