Anonymous asked: Psst John and Alexander meeting in your Hamilton Reincarnation fic series?
WOO, I am literal Laurens/Hamilton garbage, tell your friends.
All In One Spot AU
John has been at Columbia for a year and, honestly, he’s starting to think that he was wrong, that no one else is here. He walks past the law center every chance he gets, and he doubles the time of the walk from his dorm to the natural sciences building every single day to pass Hamilton Hall. The statue is…reassuring, somehow, Alexander’s fine-drawn face cast in bronze and a quill in his clever fingers. When John’s tired, or he’s had a bad night, full of nightmares with bayonets jumbled in with cars, the cinch of a noose tangled with the static of a television, he’ll stop and look at the statue until he can breathe again.
It’s not all bad. John is in New York City, and he finally gets where Alexander was coming from all those years ago, this might legitimately be the greatest city in the world. It sure beats South Carolina, hell and gone. He’s introduced himself to everyone as John, here, and even admitted to a handful of people that he was a soldier in the Revolution. He doesn’t have any close friends, but he doesn’t have any enemies, either, and the handful of familiar faces who see him when he quietly attends a Pride parade don’t say a word. He’s taken a handful of prerequisites for a biochem degree, in the pre-med track—he always wanted to be a physician last time, and his father is too distant to fight him this time.
He spends a little money on a sketchbook or two, on a set of pencils, and draws old faces, tries to imagine them in the modern world. Lafayette, eyes bright and smiling, dressed in a suit. General Washington, hands folded behind his back—no matter how many times John tries to give him a modern military uniform, his long heavy coat takes shape. Aides and friends and soldiers whose faces he half-recalls, in t-shirts and jeans and flannels. And Alexander, a thousand times Alexander, Alexander in modern clothes, in his Continental Army uniform, in shirtsleeves, in the coat he wears in the statue. A few times, in the safety of his locked single room, John carefully sketches Alexander stretched out in their cabin at Valley Forge, lit in candle-flame and all smooth planes of muscle and skin, smiling at John, soft and sated. An entire sketchbook fills itself with Alexander, over John’s first year at Columbia.
