Chapter 7: How Can I Say "No" to This?
The first thing Hercules acknowledged when he woke up was the thumping headache he had. It wasn't too bad, which meant he either didn't get that drunk; which was very unlikely considering he couldn't remember jack; or someone took care of him before he passed out, as uncomfortable as it might have been for whoever tended to him. He knew how much everyone on his team hated taking care of his drunk self.
The second thing he noticed was a weight on his chest. It wasn't unpleasant or anything, it was just there, being heavy on his bare chest; he wasn't surprised he was shirtless, he usually took his shirt off when he was drunk. He moved his hands to the weight and realized that it was another person, fast asleep on his chest. He couldn't remember anything about who took him home or the time in his house, but he assumed that he pissed off at least two of his team members last night; the one that drove him home and promptly left and the one he dragged into bed with him. Whichever teammate it was he fell asleep with, they were not going to be happy with him upon getting up, that was certain.
They both were covered by a blanket; him only being up to his neck and the other being completely covered. He pulled back the blanket enough to see the person and was meet with a mass of curly black hair trying to break free from a loosened ponytail. No one on his team had hair that wild, but they also wouldn't have let a random person from the bar go home with him. He shifted them onto their side to get a look at their face and nearly had a heart attack.
He, Hercules Mulligan, was sharing a bed with the Marquis de Lafayette.
To say he simply bushed and stuttered would be the understatement of the freaking century. Embarrassing story short; he ended up in the downstairs living room, screaming into a fluffy red throw pillow.
After taking a minute to calm the hell down; because he was an adult for Pete's sake; Hercules started looking for his phone. He assumed that it had, at the very least, some clues about what happened the night before. It was in his coat pocket; his coat, however, somehow ended up in the fridge. He didn't even bother questioning his drunk self anymore. He'd gotten a few texts from various people from the party; asking if he got home safely, if he was feeling alright after last night, if he needed anything for his hangover; the usual he got after a night of heavy drinking. Most of the other texts, however, were asking what he and Lafayette had gotten up to that night. Even John, Peggy and Theodosia texted him about it. He hated how news spread so fast amongst his friends.
Hercules wasn't feeling well enough to text anyone back just yet; a decent enough cover story. He set the phone down, poured himself a glass of ginger ale, and leaned against his fridge. He downed the drink in one gulp and glanced at the stairs. Against everything telling him not to, he went back into his room. He stood in the doorway and took the time to actually look at the young politician in his bed. Lafayette's ponytail was loosened and his long black curls were fanned out like a halo. He was missing a few pieces of clothing, leaving him in his dress pants and a partially unbuttoned blue shirt that revealed part of his finely toned chest. With the way the blanket gathered around his midsection and how he just looked while he slept, Hercules was tempted to crawl back into his bed and just-
He immediately turned around and covered his face. He was not going to finish that thought. He was not going to do whatever he was just thinking about. He was going to go back downstairs and text everyone he was fine. He'd make breakfast and coffee and act like absolutely nothing weird had happened. He was going to-
The sound of shifting sheets cut off Hercules' train of thought. A soft, sleepy voice groaned as it's owner moved and, with a soft muttering of "... Herc?..." the comedian's brain shut down.
The defeated man drew a deep breath, turned around, and crawled back into bed. He looked the Frenchman and sighed; he had it much worse than he thought, didn't he? Lafayette shifted closer to him and he couldn't help but chuckle, it was honestly pretty cute. He hooked an arm around the smaller man's lower back and pulled him closer; no real point in denying how he felt at this point. He nestled into the politician's curly mass of hair and closed his eyes. He rarely ever got to sleep in and he couldn't really come up with an actually sensible reason to leave at the moment.
Meanwhile...
Alexander Hamilton paced the floor of his apartment worriedly. No one had heard from Lafayette since he left for lunch yesterday and he was very concerned. He was keeping an eye on his phone and his email for any messages from his French friend. He knew Laf could handle himself, but he was ready if he needed help. Or a lawyer. Or both.
When his computer went off, he practically dove for it. Instead of an email from Lafayette, however, it was one from Theodosia. They'd exchanged emails before the election and spoke often; sometimes about business, sometimes not; he'd consider themselves friends, for the most part. When looking at this one, he knew it was business. It was relatively short and straight to the point, but Alexander was relatively shocked about what it said.
The email, in short, was an invitation for him to appear on The Late Show.
In all honesty, the politician shouldn't have written back as quickly as he did, but it was already sent before he realized it. If one were to ask him why he said yes, he would have given a multitude of reasons with lengthy explanations, spanning about an hour and a half in total. However, in truth, there was only one real reason he wanted to be on the show and that reason had beautiful blue eyes and was covered in freckles.