Poor Alex, we're going three steps forward two steps back, you know I'll give you some cavities eventually, gotta ride the waves first. Thank you for reading and as always for reviewing. And thank you all for your congratulations on my impending nuptials. Enjoy!

My move had been uneventful. Painfully easy by comparison of moving Lafayette out. In our week of cohabiting, nothing much had changed. John was right about the desk he'd found, it was perfect, dark wood, and bookcases on either side behind it. Lafayette's old bedroom became my refuge, a space for me as it slowly turned into a study. I melded into life with John. We were adapting to each other's idiosyncrasies. Laf still spent a good deal of time over, but his and Herc's company was pleasant and I found myself looking forward to it.

I was up late, trying to finish a piece that was purely meaningless drivel. There was a tap at the door, I checked the time, it was after two in the morning, and looked up from the book I was reading and invited John in. He held two bowls.

"Cereal break?" He offered a bowl of cocoa puffs to me and perched on the edge of my desk.

I took the bowl and closed my book.

"Thanks."

"What are you working on?" He eyeballed the book I'd been reading.

"Oh, I was just taking a little mental detour, just reading for a few minutes, working up the gumption to finish my draft. This story I'm working on's particularly facile."

He set his bowl down and picked up the book inspecting it like it might hurt him, "Alex, this is one of my dad's old law textbooks. You're reading this for...fun?"

"Well, yeah. I hadn't picked one up for a while."

"A law book?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know I double majored in journalism and pre-law?"

"You did? I just knew about the journalism part."

"No, I was gonna do the lawyer thing, but by the time I got my degree I was sinking in student loans and was able to find a decent journalism job, the rest is history."

John stared at me unblinking, "damn, you just get more amazing at every given opportunity. So you sometimes just read textbooks?"

I shrugged, "looked interesting. You're the one who put it on my bookshelf."

"Well, yeah, but I didn't think you'd ever just read it," he laughed and started eating his cereal, "it looks all 'grown up study,' but I figured it'd be more like a prop." he told me around a mouthful of cocoa puffs.

"You going to bed soon? I can probably be done working for tonight, Adams doesn't need this until the afternoon."

"We can go to bed if you're ready."

We finished our snack and got ready to go to sleep, still learning the best way to make our night time routine more compatible. In bed John turned the lights out and wrapped me in his arms, he started to play with my hair, I pushed his hand away.

"Don't, I'm gross, I meant to take a shower today, but I got stuck on that fucking article, my hair's disgusting."

He dropped his hand to my hip, tracing the bone. We both fell asleep quickly.

In the morning John was still sleeping when I left him, out the door later than I wanted to be, still unshowered. I drafted more of the story on the ride to work, putting the finishing touches on it once I got to the office. I fired it off to Adams and received an email back almost immediately requesting to see me in his office. Great, another meeting that should just be an email, that's why they made email.

I refractorily made my way to his office.

"Mr. Hamilton." His tone was curt.

"Adams."

"Have a seat."

Oh great, whatever this is is gonna take for-fucking-ever.

"Alexander, you know that paper news is trending down, our paper, once a leading source of news for the whole country and like so many others in league with our publication it's fading into obscurity. That's been the trend since even before you were hired, you've been instrumental in keeping material current and interesting," he smiled, trying to make a joke, "not bad for a Creole bastard." His joke fell flat.

"What is this about?"

"Mr. Hamilton, in order to keep the Post alive, we need to strengthen our accessibility to online consumers, you know we've worked on shortening article length and adding more visual elements, but unfortunately we're having to restructure," I tasted bile as he spoke, "part of restructuring is that we can't keep everyone. Alexander I'm sorry, and I thank you for all you've done for the Post, but we have to let you go. It's just not in the budget. You're a damned good writer, but we need a team who makes more digestible content. That's just not you. Go to HR, they'll discuss your severance."

I saw red and gripped the chair before flinging myself out of it. He started to hoist himself out of his own chair to shake my hand, I leaned over the table and sneered. "Sit down, John, you fat motherfucker. Funny isn't it, I'm the one who gets canned, but let me ask this: who sits at your desk when you're in Massachusetts? You nuisance with no sense. Keep your fucking severance! What, a week's pay for me to sign a non-disparagement agreement? Forget that, I'm gonna disparage the fuck out of you, your shitty severance package won't make me change my mind. At least I did my job up in this rumpus!" I turned on my heel and walked to the door before wheeling back around to flip him off with both hands as I backed out of his office.

I stomped back to my cubicle and threw what little of my personal effects I had accumulated into my messenger bag and stomped out of the office, rode the elevator alone and stormed out of the building. Need a fucking drink. I smoked a cigarette on the way to the subway. Fuck.

Fuck.

What do I do now?

I leaned forward in the hard plastic seat on the train, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, stringy hair falling in my face.

What do I do?

Fuck.

I made it to Sofrito and ordered a whiskey neat. Miguel looked at my face and left the bottle. I downed two fingers and poured myself more, dragging a journal and pen out of my satchel and started working, pen cap between my teeth. By the time I'd emptied myself of words, the once half full bottle was empty. I closed my journal and put it back away, seeing the notification light flashing on my phone. Messages from John. John. Fuck.

Lunch?

Where'd you go?

Did you leave?

Are you sick?

I shoved my phone back in the bag and drew out my wallet.

"This one's on me, looked like you need it." Miguel dried a glass.

I left a ten on the bar anyway and walked out. The air held a chill and flurries spun in the wind. I took the subway to our apartment, feeling drunker than I realized. At least I feel empty, too. The hot rage had dissipated, logic crept in around my fuzzy edges. Maybe I should have taken the severance package, at least help a little before I just mooch off of John. Dammit, freeloader, he's gonna leave, gonna finally think it's all about the money. I tasted blood and realized how hard I'd been biting my lip.

Back at the apartment I locked myself in my study, a study that I no longer needed. I opened the window in the small room and chain smoked the rest of the pack. Christ.

Finally, the door opened, I winced at the sound of it shutting, bracing myself for the conversation to be had.

"Alex?" John called, "babe? Are you home?"

"I-" my voice caught, "I'm in here." Shitshitshit.

He opened the door and worry knit his brows together as he shed his winter layers.

"Hi, babe, where'd you go earlier? Are you okay?" he sniffed the air, "are you smoking in here? I thought we agreed, never mind, are you alright?"

I steeled myself, the drunkenness from earlier had settled into a headache, "...John, I…" I hung my head, my hair curtaining my face, I angrily gripped it, tossing it out of the way. I ran a hand over my face, tugging at my goatee. John crouched beside my chair, hands on my knees.

"What is it, babe?"

The heavy breath I let out fluttered the ringlets that had slipped out of his ponytail around his face, "I got fired."

He put his head in my lap and hugged my thighs, "oh, Alex. Darlin', I'm sorry." His accent slipping just a little.

"Do you want me to go?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous. Why'd they fire you? Because of us?"

"No, apparently I don't make digestible enough content."

"Bullshit," he reached up and stroked my cheek, "you're the best writer I know."

"Guess not."

"Don't beat yourself up, babe."

I shrugged, "I'm gonna start looking, find something, I'll figure out how to pull my weight."

"Alex, I'm not worried about it."

"I am. What, now you have to pay rent for two places?"

"Alexander, it doesn't matter. None of that matters, I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you." He was grinning, knew me too well.

"Well, I am." I bluffed, my body tensing.

"You want to be alone, don't you?"

I shrugged.

"I'll let you be. Be in the other room when you want me." He stood up and kissed the top of my head.

With John on the other side of the door, I knew he'd call Laf, and within ten minutes the only friends I had would know what a colossal fuck up I was. Colossal.

I picked back up writing my hatred out for Adams. Piece of garbage. He wishes he had an ounce of the talent that I do. Once I filled that journal I stopped, opening my computer to draft an email to one of my old college freelance contacts. Gotta pull my weight. I opened a new pack of cigarettes and started smoking while I waited for a reply, blatantly ignoring the 'don't smoke in the house' rule we'd agreed upon.

At about two a.m. John came and collected me, insisting that I could wallow more tomorrow. I disagreed, but let him drag me to our bed where I stared at the ceiling while he slept. I watched the sun rise through the window until his alarm went off, usually I was gone by now. He woke up and saw that I was awake.

"It's nice having you still in bed." He snuggled up to me.

"Yeah." I sighed, too tired to say much else.

"I'm gonna go to the gym before I go to work, want to come with me? It's a good stress reliever."

"I'm good. I'm gonna lay here all day, like a lazy welfare queen."

"Stop it, you'll find a new job, it hasn't even been 24 hours."

I rolled my eyes and he got up and dressed for the gym, tossing work clothes into his duffel bag. I watched from under the covers. He kissed me goodbye. It took three more hours before my bladder won the war of attrition and I stomped off to the bathroom. On my way back to the bedroom I detoured by the freezer, Lafayette had left some fruity vodka. Good enough. I took the bottle back to bed. Frost clung to the window, thawing in the middle in rainy streaks as I drank.

John was at work. John who had money, and didn't need to work, I was day drinking. John was supporting our household, I was in my pajamas. John was making a name for himself, I was watching pigeons fly outside. I got up and went outside - taking the duvet, wrapped around me - and started smoking. I stared out at the city, people in high rises, working. Doing jobs. Having jobs. Nope. Not Alexander Piece-of-Shit Hamilton. Alexander Piece-of-Shit Hamilton day drinks and chain smokes in a blanket.

After a few smokes I lost the feeling in my fingers and trudged to my study, checked my email, Nathanael Greene, old college professor had emailed my back. I scanned it, laughing at myself for turning down the secretarial position he'd offered me a few years ago, insisting I was going to do something more important, make a name for myself. Stupid. He let me know about an upstart blog he was aware of that was looking for an editor, make some cash there. I emailed the contact he gave me. Here's hoping.