You gasp and Lin freezes, his fingers just breeching your pants line. He jumps back from you, blushing and stuttering, "I'm so sorry (Y/n)! I shouldn't have..."

"No, it's okay." You blush a deep red, embarrassed (and somewhat regretful) of your reaction to Lin's advance. Lin stands in front of you, rubbing the back of his neck. You look at the clock and notice how late it is, "Hey, it's okay, it's just late and I'm tired... do you think?"

Lin looks up at you, blankly for a moment. You nod towards the darkened bedroom. "Oh!" Lin says, his eyes widening. Suddenly, his muscular Puerto Rican arms are around your back and under your knees. He pulls you up to his chest. "Lin!" You say, honestly surprised at his strength. He grins, widely, proud of himself as he carries you Bridal-style to the bedroom.

Gently, he lays you on the bed, and then climbs in next to you. For a moment, you both lie in wait, unsure of what further action is most appropriate. After the moment in the kitchen you feel something deep inside yearning for satisfaction, but as you lie, surrounded by darkness, your eye lids grow unbearably heavy.

Your hand slides over and finds his, rough and warm. Lin's other arm wraps around you, slowly pulling you close to him. You look over and search the darkness for a moment, and barely see the moonlight reflecting off his eyes.

You inch closer to him, and he responds by tightening his arm around you. You're close enough now to press your forehead against his, so you do. You try to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours, try to image the part of his face touching yours: the deep crease of a wrinkle between his eyebrows, his long eyelashes barely blinking against your cheeks, the tip of his hooked Roman nose pressed into your upper lip.

True happiness floods through you, all the stresses and strains flow out of you, and are neutralized in his loving arms.

Catharsis.

There's only a few moments of this in your life, and you realize as you lie in the radiance of a man who is running out of time, as you bask in the rays of this setting sun, you realize that you'd not rather spend this moment with any other man than Lin-Manuel Miranda.

You smile, and watch as he mirrors your movement, baring his crooked teeth in a cheeky grin. You giggle and blink away the tear that had been brimming in your eye. You adjust yourself in the embrace, so that you can bury your face in his neck, his long feathery hair tickling your nose.

You sigh, once and finally, and then breath deeply into Lin's scent, "I love you."

Lin gives you one, quick squeeze, and then, pressing his lips against your forehead, "Happy Birthday, (Y/n)."

Then, Lin sighs himself and presses his nose into your hair. You wonder what he's thinking about. You wonder if he likes the smell of the shampoo you use, the same way you obsess over his cologne or body spray or whatever. You wonder whether or not...

Morning comes too soon in the form of light flooding into the small bedroom through the drawn curtains, the thick scent of frying bacon on the stove, and a distant sound of music. You yawn, still dazed, and roll over to feel that the space Lin had been occupying the night before.

You slide out of bed, into your house slippers (they're actually Lin's house slippers, but you're too tired to notice this). You stumble to the door and push it open to see Lin, dancing around the kitchen in a frilly pink apron and singing along to the music in Spanish into his grill tongs. His hair up in a bun.

When he sees you, a massive grin spreads across his face but he continues to sing. "Lin, what-"

"No!" Lin says, in a thick accent, grabbing your arms, "No hables. Tu must DANCE." He spins you around widely, and you laugh. "Lin!" You exclaim as you catch yourself on the counter. Lin turns quickly to flip the bacon. When he runs back, he looks at you suspiciously and says in a high pitched voice, "¿Que 'Lin'? Me llamo Claudia, soy tu abuela, (y/n)."

And laugh and shove him gently away, and then walk up to the stove, "Where did you get bacon?" Lin, dropping the accent, says, "I got it from the meat market on the corner of 96th and main." "Oh," You say, "When?" Lin comes beside you and flips the bacon, "This morning. Couldn't sleep."

"Awe." You say, putting your hand on his arm. He smiles down at you, strands of his hair that have come loose from his bun float like a coy halo. "Wait, the market on 96th, isn't that the traditional Mexican market? Is that why you were-" Lin interrupts with, "Actually, it's more of a "traditional market of ambiguous national relation" but yes. And no, I just happen to be very in touch with my culture, (y/n), something you wouldn't understand."

"Perdóname, ¿seńor? Mi abuelo era un inmigrante de México. Mis padres eran fluidos en español. Mi español es perfecta, tu tienes mala gramática, señor." Lins eyes go wide, "Your family is latino?" Lin grabs your hand, "And I thought you couldn't get any more perfect."