Alexander's sleep that night was fitful. Despite the effects of the alcohol wearing off, rudely dropping him back onto the hard concrete that was reality, he couldn't seem to stay asleep for more that 45 minutes at a time. A headache had begun to develop around 4 am and was now a head splitting hangover that had Alexander pressing his hands to his temples, feverishly massaging them in attempts to make it lessen. His thoughts still refused to let him relax.

He slipped out of bed at 6:30 am when he realized he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep. Carefully opening his door and quietly tiptoeing across the hardwood floor, he made his way into John's kitchen. He basically tore open the bottle of painkillers that was still sitting on the counter from his last visit and swallowed two pills without water. Trudging back into the bedroom, still quietly as to not wake John, he drew back the curtains to see the sun begin to rise over New York City. The sidewalks were begin to fill up with workers returning home from long nights at work and those going in for early morning shifts. Alexander knew John would probably be awake soon; this was a thought that panicked him. He needed to be gone by the time John woke up.

It was probably cowardly, running away like this before John awoke, but Alexander didn't really care. Alexander was never good at facing his feelings. It wasn't like John would want to see him anyway. He was obviously extremely pissed off at Alexander and probably pretty embarrassed on top of that. One of the only things Alexander could remember from the night before, or rather only 5 hours ago, was the icy edge in John's voice after Alexander had kissed him. Alex tended to be impulsive when sober and was extremely rash when drunk, he knew this, but John didn't. Whatever odd friendship the boys had shared, which had basically consisted of Alexander bottom feeding off John's slightly naive generosity, was surely out the window.

So now, Alexander was slipping on his shoes in the dark of John's little living room area. Opening his satchel that still sat on the coffee table, he ripped a piece of paper out of a random notebook and pulled out his favorite black pen. He scribbled a note on it, squinting to make out his own writing in the darkness. He set it on the breakfast bar/everything counter and pulled the strap of his bag over his head. Yawning, he tried to wipe the remnants of his fatigue out of his eyes with no avail. His eyes scanning over the kitchen, they came to rest on a red Keurig in the corner on the counter across the room, a spinning rack of K-cups beside it. Alexander had remembered seeing a thermos in the cabinet that housed the cups...Maybe one cup of coffee wouldn't hurt. Maybe John wouldn't mind. Maybe Alexander could make it and still slip out before being caught. Maybe the only reason Alexander was making the coffee wasn't to wake him up, but because he would have to have to return the thermos at some point. Maybe that would mean he would see John again once they could pretend nothing had happened.

He pulled out the thermos and set it under the Keurig, leaning against the counter and tapping his foot as it warmed up. It seemed like a million minutes had gone by when Alexander was finally able to pull the top down and start filling the thermos with coffee. When it was done, he put the top on, deciding not to put anything in it; he liked black coffee just fine. Walking over to the door, he took one more look around the apartment, just in case it was his look. He couldn't really see much because of the darkness, except the ugly blue couch in front of him (Alex was only a little upset it was the last thing he was going to see) and the blinking lights and digital clocks on various kitchen appliances. He turned the lock on the door, opened it, and slipped out. He pulled it shut after him, a little louder than he intended, and set down the hallway at a brisk pace, John's thermos full of hot coffee in hand.

-

John woke up around 6:30, and rolled over burying his face in his pillow. He still felt as tired as he had when he forced himself to sleep five hours earlier. He was also less than please with himself that the first thing he thought of when his mind came into consciousness was Alexander Hamilton. Groaning, he rolled back over to stare at the ceiling. He should probably get up soon to have breakfast ready for Alex when he woke up; Alex wouldn't want to stick around long, John figured. His thoughts shifted to what to make for breakfast. After deciding on scrambled eggs, his thoughts were flooded with Alexander again. He just really needed to talk to him, sort things out. He also really hoped everything wasn't fucked up.

He was mentally preparing himself to climb out of bed when he heard his front door shut. Oh shit. He jumped up and through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom his bedroom shared with the spare. Now in the bedroom where Alexander should be, he realized Alexander wasn't actually there. Oh shit, again. Running out of that bedroom, he raced to his door and flung it open. The hallway was vacant. John ran down it, no shoes on, until he reached the stairs and then ran down those too. The lobby was vacant. How the actual hell had Alexander made it out before John reached him, he hadn't had that much of a head start and John had ran as fast as he could. It was like he was back to his baseball days, imagined the building's lobby was home plate and the baseball was currently in the air soaring to the catcher. And he had just been forced out. Everything was definitely fucked up.

John could have run down the sidewalk, picking left or right and just gone with it. But he didn't. He wasn't sure what he'd say to Alexander if he caught him and he knew, with his luck, he'd pick the wrong direction. The odds were never in John's favor even if the odds were 50-50. Defeated, he trudged back to his apartment before any of his neighbors saw him bedheaded, bewildered, and barefooted in the lobby.

He made eggs when he got back to his apartments, for one not two. He brewed himself a cup of coffee with his Keurig, which, oddly enough, was already on. His fork clattered on the ceramic plate as he set down too forcefully on his counter, plopping down onto a stool in front of his food. Shoveling the eggs into his mouth, he tried not to be too bummed out he was eating alone. He took a long sip of coffee, he took his extremely sweet and creamy, out of his mug that read 'I make bad science puns, but only periodically.' (It was a birthday present from Lafayette, along with the one that said 'I heart Biology,' only instead of the word 'heart,' it had a picture of the human cardiovascular organ.)

When he went to set his mug down, his arm spasmed, tipping the cup over before it was safely on the counter; its contents flooded the counter top. John, after setting the cup right-side-up raced to the roll of paper towels stored away in a cabinet across the kitchen and ripped off a good handful. He patted them onto the spilled coffee, soaking up most of it. A few magazines and a piece of junk mail were the only mortally wounded items on the counter, so they got pitched into the trash. John wiped coffee off his leather wallet - thankfully no liquid had found its way inside - and pushed a few unharmed books to the other end of the counter so he finish wiping it down. He really had ought to clean off this cluttered space every once in a while. He picked up a partially wet, folded up piece of paper from the outskirts of the spillage. He didn't remember what it was and wanted to check its contents before throwing it away, so he unfolded the letter, careful not to rip it at the parts made fragile by coffee saturation.

He wasn't sure if he was elated or disheartened when he recognized the writing on the paper as Hamilton's hasty cursive. John began to read.

Laurens,

Thank you for everything, like usual. Sorry for leaving before you woke up, I have work to do.

- Hamilton

John knew he should be mad, that note kinda sucked. Who kisses someone then bails in the morning without offering an explanation? Work was always the go-to excuse someone used when they didn't really have a excuse. Alexander was playing games with him, wasn't he? Or, maybe, Alexander thought John hated him now and was too scared to face him, and that's why he bailed. Had John been too harsh? Alexander was probably mad at the fact that John had gotten him drunk last night, too, because it was pretty obvious John had done just that. And Alex was probably embarrassed that he had kissed John.

In any case, this sitting around and speculating was too much for John; He needed to call Alexander as soon as possible and just confront the whole thing. He quickly did the math in head to pinpoint roughly when Alexander would be getting back to Washington Heights, deciding he'd call him then.

-

Alexander has found that its really hard to overthink while on the subway. His current state was just another scrap of evidence for his long standing, well supported theory. He had his eyes tightly shut, blocking out the light that helped fuel his headache; there wasn't much he could do about the noise, but at least he could cut down on the causes. He was unsure if John's stolen coffee had made his headache better or worst, but it didn't really make a difference because John was the reason he couldn't think straight; coffee couldn't have fixed that.

Honestly, it was insane. All of this. He had known John for all of a month, and there had only been a handful of interactions between them. Yet, here he was, absolutely heartsick over John Laurens. He probably shouldn't have kissed him, he strongly believed he wouldn't if he were sober, but he didn't exactly regret it. He had meant it, no matter what.

He just hadn't expected John's reaction. After all, it was John who kissed Alexander first; even if it was just on the temple, it counted for something. And John who had cuddled him while he fake-slept in the taxi cab and then held him close to his chest as he carried him up to the apartment. John was even the one that had invited Alexander out and obviously had gotten him drunk to get him talking in the first place. Alexander didn't really see what John's problem was. Maybe Alex was just a bad kisser? Nah, Alexander shook his head at that thought; men and women alike had been lining up for year to kiss him, he was obviously pretty great. He had half a mind to get off at the next stop, turn around, and go kiss Laurens again. A spiteful kiss just to stick it to him, like 'here, take that!' But he didn't. He figured John had found his note by now, kept simple just to frustrate the boy.

He figured he would be getting a phone call from John later on in the day, in which John would say one of two things. Either he would confirm to Alexander that he was, indeed, pissed off and didn't want to see him again, or that he had thought about it and couldn't wait for the chance to be with Alex again. The latter idea got Alexander through the rest of his train ride.

In forty-five minutes, he was taking the last few steps that took him right up to the glass door of Usnavi's bodega. Pushing the metal bar that helped open the door, he stepped inside and leaned up against the counter.

"Hey, can you tell me if John calls? I'd wait down here but I want to sleep," Alexander told the peppy store owner, who gave him a knowing smile.

"Hungover?" Usnavi raised an eyebrow. Alexander only nodded, a dopey smile on his face. Usnavi laughed lightly as Alexander began to leave to go up to his little room to pass out on the bed.

The phone rang a few second later before Alex had gotten very far. John, it seems, had gotten his timing perfect.

"Hola, John! Como estas?" Usnavi said into the phone after the person on the other line, obviously John Laurens, had spoken. Alexander spun around on his heels, a little too quickly and he had to pause for a second to let his dizziness pass. Usnavi, who had been chattering into the phone in Spanish, held the phone out for Alex when he made his way behind the counter. "He's fluent in Spanish! Alex, I approve," he winked before walking away to stock a shelf, giving Alexander a bit of privacy.

"Hi, Laurens," Alexander said tentatively.

"Hey, Hamilton," John was a little confused of the digression to last name usage, but he went along with it.

"I'm sorry for bailing that was a dick move, and I'm also sor-" Alexander started to go on one of his typical long apology tirades but was interrupted.

"Before you say anything just listen to me," John was only a little surprised when the boy on the other line promptly shut up. "I shouldn't have been so rejecting when you kissed me. I was just scared because I thought it might mess up whatever we had going for us. You were drunk, and all, and people do things they don't mean when they're drunk, so I get that now. And I was a little guilty for getting you drunk in the first place. Can we just put it past us?" John decided not to beat around the bush at all. As he said the last words, a part of him was screaming because he knew deep down he didn't want to just forget about it all.

"Hold on," was Alexander's reply. He put his hand over the reciever, but John still heard a muffled conversation. "Hey, Usnavi, do you think you could like step outside for a sec?" Alexander called to the store owner.

"Why? You two about to start having phone sex or something?" Usnavi laughed, his voice getting closer.

"No, man, just please get out," Alex implored. Usnavi must have complied cause that was the last John heard of him, along with the shutting of a door.

"Do you remember what I said after I kissed you?" Alexander asked, now alone.

"You said you meant it."

"That wasn't the alcohol talking."

"Alex-" John whispered, barely audiable.

"I'm being serious. And don't even lie to me, you meant it too for those few seconds. You wouldn't have called me to apologize if you didn't at least feel something," Alexander said, only a little matter-of-factly.

"Dammit, Alexander," John's laugh filled Alexander's ear and Alex could picture the golden smile that was most likely plastered on his face.

Even through the phone, the younger boy's smile was infectious, and Alexander found himself grinning. "What?"

"When can I see you again?" John's voice was enthusiastic, fleeting laughter still in his tone, but there was something else there too, something more needy.

"Coffee tomorrow afternoon?" Alexander offered, trying to remain calm when in fact he was over the moon at the fact that this whole conversation had gone more perfectly than he could've planned.

"Sounds good! How about that place we ran into each other that one time. Wait, not the place where we literally ran into each other, the other one," John felt the need to clarify his choice of language.

"I know where you mean," Alexander chuckled between words.

"Good," John joined in with Alex's laugh, most self deprecatingly though.

"So we're good then? Friends?" Alexander just wanted to make sure.

"Friends?" John repeated, not trying a single bit to hid the disappointment in his voice.

"Well, yeah, I figured. I mean, what else would we be?" Alexander was curious to see that Lauren's answer would be.

"I don't know. Aren't we a little past the just-friends now and working into the more-than-friends stage?"

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess we are," Alexander smiled with this realization.

"Good." He could tell John was smiling too.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, John," Alexander wrapped up the conversation.

"Bye, Alex," John said before hanging up.

Later, as Alexander was getting some much need rest, he decided he could not wait to see his more-than-a-friend John Laurens again. Sunday night couldn't come soon enough.

-----

ugh sorry this is short and it took me forever to update and honestly really stupid with the whole thing it was suppose to be better but i couldn't write it the way i planned but anyways school ends this week so i'll be able to write longer chapters and update more often!!