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It had been a good day. John was sprawled on his bed in his dorm room, grateful for the privacy given him by Lafayette’s absence. Laf had left earlier in the evening, rushing out looking absolutely handsome, with little more than an, “I’ll be back later!” It was true, something like jealousy had crept into his stomach at seeing him dressed up for someone else. He quickly dashed those thoughts out of his head, though, for Lafayette was nothing more than a good friend.
At least, he had been a good friend. And it had been a good day. Until Lafayette came crashing into their room, dragging along a nameless (and faceless, from where John was sitting) boy by the hand.
He had little time to think before Lafayette practically yelled, “Casse-toi, Laurens.”
John was fully intending to, not wanting to see Laf sucking the face of some random guy.
John was fully intending to, promise.
Until, in his haste, he nearly smacked head first into none other than Alexander fucking Hamilton, who looked mortified and seemed to be regretting coming home with John Laurens’ roommate. How in God’s name did he always get himself into these situations?
“Okay, just one quick question and then I’ll scram, honest -- Aren’t you straight?” John was exasperated, and not at all ready to face this feeling telling him the world was ending.
It was like John had turned on a switch in Alex’s mind. “Actually, I’m bisexual, so I experience attraction to both genders, though not always equal. It seems that I am actually more inclined to --”
“Ta gueule. Laurens, out.”
John would love to be able to say that he got out of there and ran as far as possible. He might even embellish it, saying he picked up a girl at the coffee shop, and that Alexander couldn’t be further from his mind.
John would be lying.
In reality, he did leave. He closed the door behind him, and willed his brain to shut off and his legs to just keep walking.
His brain stayed on and his legs took him as far as just outside the door.
He wanted to be able to say that he hadn’t stayed there, pressed up against the door, straining to hear every word (read: moan) as if he needed it to live. He wanted to be able to say that he wasn’t halfway to throwing up when he heard Lafayette promising to fuck Alex against the wall. He wanted to be able to say that his heart was safely beating in his chest, but that couldn’t be true. That couldn’t be true, because when he heard Alex and Laf move to cuddle under the sheets, his entire body went cold and he swore there was no sound except the rustling of the sheets, Lafayette’s low chuckle, and Alexander’s giggling. His fucking giggling.
It seemed that his body was done making him suffer. He found himself slowly getting up, found his body moving of it’s own accord, down the stairs, out the door, across campus. He blacked out of existence for a little while, enjoying the quiet bliss of just not being.
When he finally came to, he found himself in front of Fraunces Tavern. Good enough time to have a drink. He grimaced and went in.
God knows how many pints later, John was stumbling out of the bar and feeling his way back to the dorm. The entire way home, he could be audibly heard praying that Lafayette and Alexander had left.
Late that night, Hercules Mulligan could have sworn he saw a stumbling John Laurens walking into the darkened dorm. He could have sworn John was crying.
Waking up the morning after was absolute hell. His head was pounding and his stomach was fighting to keep itself inside his body. His throat was scratchy and sore, feeling as if he had swallowed a jar of nails. God, he was so fucked.
Deciding to attempt standing up, he was stopped in his tracks by a groan from the other side of the room, the sheets rustling. Why did that make him feel so sick?
Soon after came the low rumble of Lafayette laughing.
Two seconds from turning around, a voice he instantly recognized as Alexander piped up. “Hey, what the fuck are you laughing at? Aw, come on, stop that.”
Lafayette’s laughing was getting louder by the minute. John’s headache was intensifying by the second. He tried to blame it on his hangover.
“You know what? I’m leaving. I will not stand for this -- this disrespect.” John could make out Alex’s brow furrowing in his head, see his small frame quaking with fake anger.
“Non, mon chéri. Sweetheart, come here. Revenez! I didn’t mean it,” Lafayette tried pleading, his words muffled by chuckles. “Cher, come back to --” His words stopped, finally noticing Alex’s frozen figure staring at a bundle wrapped up in blankets on the other bed.
“John?”
He refused to turn around, afraid that the world would stop turning and the air would bleed out of his lungs, leaving him to cry gasping sobs in front of two of the most important people in his life.
It had been a good day. Fuck, it had been a good day.