"Fucking A..."

"What's wrong, hon?" You say, looking up from your textbook to see Lin pacing the floor, rubbing his chin. It's the weekend so, naturally, he's wearing the same wrinkled teeshirt he slept in last night and fuzzy house slippers.

"I wrote three songs in two weeks. I just don't understand..." You sigh, a time when Lin cannot wrap his mind around something is a trying time, indeed. "What don't you understand?" You say, though you know the answer.

Lin hasn't finished a single song in weeks. He's tracked several dozen chord progressions, but each lay dead on his computer, none with any particular use named to them. He's arranged twenty-six letters into dozens of remarkably formulated rhyming couplets, but that's all they remain.

"By god," Says Lin, his eyes rapidly surveying the room, "how does one man write 51 essays in 6 months? I can hardly type 2 pages in 3..." Lin closes the laptop screen with a sigh, and crawls into bed, resting his head on your lap. You set your text book aside and run your fingers through his hair. "I need a hug." He says, his voice muffled slightly because is face is smushed into your thigh.

You can't help but to laugh a little, at his Sad Sad demeanor, before bending down and kissing his forehead. He smiles up at you, then sighs, rolling over onto his back. You watch the gears ever turning, ever clicking and whirring behind his eyes, as he stares up at the textured ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" You say. His eyes dart to you for a moment, then return to the ceiling. "Why did Elizabeth Schuyler fall in love with Alexander Hamilton?" You shrug and Lin continues, "I mean, the Schuyler's were aristocrats. Top of society. Hamilton was a bastard orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman. Not to mention, short tempered and dirt poor."

"Well," You say, sliding to lay down next to him, "I heard he had nice legs." You both laugh at this, then Lin says, "Yeah well, legs aside, historians believe that Eliza was quite intelligent. And it just doesn't make sense for a wealthy young woman to risk soiling her family name and stake in the family fortune for the hand in marriage of an illegitimate immigrant."

As you search for patterns in the textured ceiling, you loose focas on Hamilton and your mind starts drifting elsewhere, "Maybe those things don't matter so much when you're in love." You smile, run your fingers through Lin's hair, and say, "Maybe she fell in love with his wit. Or his eyes. Maybe she saw something in him... something no one else could seem to recognize."

"You think so?" Says Lin, grabbing your hand. "Who knows?" You say, running your thumb down his eyebrow, "We can only assume at this point. We try to tell our story the best we can, but in the end, it all depends on who tells our story."

"Hm." Says Lin, squinting his eyes in consideration. "What?" You say. He turns over to face you, "What kind of story is this?" You cock an eyebrow at him. He continues, "Is this the story of an orphan immigrant leaving his mark on the New World or... something more?"

You smile, look up at the ceiling for a moment, then say, "Could it be a love story?" Lin looks over at you and smiles saying, "Yeah, I could play it that way."

He leans over, tenderly, and kisses your mouth. You kiss back, and upon deepening the kiss, you feel his sweet taste on your tongue. You close your eyes and savor this, because the realization of the end-of-term swiftly approaching, a time when yourself and Lin shall surely part. You savor every sec-

You feel Lin pulling away from you. You open your eyes and he looks confused, "But wait, if it's a love story, then was he in love with Miss Mariah Reynolds or..." You smile, wanting for his lips once more, "I think, like you, he was never satisfied."

Lin smiles, "Satisfied?" You place a hand on his cheek, "You're like me, you're never satisfied." "Is that right?" Says Lin, cocking an eyebrow. "Satisfied..." He says, "Has a nice ring to it..." You laugh, a little, before reaching up and kissing him, softly.

You feel a hand come behind your head, fingers running through your hair, and another supporting your back. He pulls you up and into him, nearly sitting. Your eyes flutter open for a brief moment, and you spy the laptop siting on the corner of the bed. You realize that the laptop's bluish halo is the only light in the darkening room as the sun sets outside.

Slowly you pull away from Lin, and he lets you down slowly onto the bed. You reach for the laptop and pull it over, saying, "Write me something beautiful." Lin grins his goofy, crooked-teeth grin, before he kisses your forehead, and is once again absorbed into his work. You turn over, close your eyes, and allow his clicking keys to lull you into sleep.