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Chapter Text

“He’s done great tonight. I don’t doubt his standing will go up in the polls tomorrow,” Harrison says, watching both the television and his laptop simultaneously while also sending off an email to one of the campaign staffers on his phone.

“The debate’s not even over yet,” Alexander mutters, curled up on the corner of the couch. He’s got his notebook out, scribbling notes on every single question asked. “They’ve still got to ask specific policy questions, that’s where the hard hitting stuff could come out.”

“I’m sorry, are you the one running for president?” Harrison raises his eyebrows. 

Alexander rolls his eyes. “No, but my father is, so I’d say I have a pretty good understanding.”

“Sure, kid, but you’re not even an official part of the campaign team, even if you like to act like it.”

Another eye roll.

“Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me, you know I’m right, you’re literally only a month out of high school.” Harrison turns his attention back to the television. “Plus, policy questions aren’t a worry. Anyone with a news site and some semblance of common sense knows that Laurens’ policies are all over the place. He barely even knows what they are.”

“Hah, you got that right,” Alexander snorts. He turns his attention back to the TV, where the ad break is ending and the CNN announcers are coming back on screen. 

“Welcome back to the final section of the first 2024 Presidential debate,” the woman declares. “Where Democratic candidate George Washington is facing off against Republican candidate Senator Henry Laurens for a spot in our nation’s highest office.”

“Can’t believe they still commentate this stuff like it’s a goddamn game show,” Alexander mutters.

“We’ll be ending off tonight with some more specific questions about each of your campaign platforms,” the announcer continues. “Up first with Senator Laurens. Almost ten years ago you were one of the most vocal opponents of the supreme court decision to legalize same-sex marriage. A lot of your opponents today still use this as a major criticism. So, have your opinions on the topic changed? And if you were to become president, would you ask the court to re-analyse the decision?”

“Ooooh, this one’s spicy,” Alexander murmurs.

“Shut it,” Harrison hisses back. “This one’s important. He’s refused to comment on this for the entire campaign so far.”

The camera flashes to Henry Laurens’ stupid smug face. “As I’ve said many times before, as the Republican candidate, I will continue to stand up for strong traditional family values, as the majority of Americans want.” He doesn’t say any more, as if any of that actually answered the question.

“But does that include the supreme court decision?” the announcer asks. 

“I am a man who sticks by his values; the values that I learned growing up in the heart of South Carolina. I still hold many of the opinions I did ten years ago.” Again, he finishes short.

“Senator Laurens, do you or do you not support the supreme court decision to legalize same-sex marriage?”

“I was very disappointed with the decision when it was announced. I hope to see a return to the real values that Americans actually hold dear.”

“Take a shot every time he says ‘values’,” Alexander murmurs, giggling a bit as he scribbles ‘ gave no discernable answer at all to avoid admitting to being a homophobic asshole’ in his notebook.

“Don’t be silly, Alexander, I’m the campaign manager, I can’t get drunk during the debate.”

He snorts.

“Mr Washington, what is your response?” the announcer asks, turning now to Alexander’s adoptive father.

Washington’s eyes are set as he looks sternly over at his opponent. “I think that the answer Mr Laurens just gave is extremely telling of his position on the issue. Clearly, he hasn’t changed his opinion at all, however understands that saying that would impede his reputation.”

Laurens scoffs. “Now that is a completely unfounded accusation—”

“Then why don’t you tell us your real opinion then, Senator?”

“Why don’t you tell us yours, instead of resorting to petty attacks—”

The announcer clears her throat. “Please remember, gentlemen, there should be no speaking during each other's turns.”

Laurens scowls, but does shut his mouth, which is a bit of a surprise to Alexander, because he didn’t think that wet rag of a man was capable of shutting up at all. The camera cuts back to his father, who straightens his tie. “Thank you. As I was saying, I think it is important that both of us, as presidential candidates, are completely transparent about our policies. I think it is a terrifying prospect to all those queer Americans and their families who are watching tonight that my opponent here refuses to say whether he would take their right to marriage away.”

“Thank you, Mr Washington.” The announcer now turns back to Laurens. “Senator, would you like to address the accusation that you are skirting around the issue?”

Laurens’ scowl deepens when he realizes that the topic is being prolonged. Alexander really can’t blame him. It isn’t going very well for him so far. “I think topics such as these are very nuanced and therefore require more detailed answers—

“Except you aren’t giving us any detail—”

“—If Mr Washington could give me a moment to talk, I would have been able to do that. However, he seems intent on interrupting this debate every ten seconds to spout his liberal nonsense.”

“Nonsense? That’s coming from the man who wants to ban same-sex marriage—”

“Coming from the man who would let the woke mind virus infect his family—”

“Excuse me, you have no right to bring up my family—”

Alexander and Harisson exchange a look. Harrison looks like he’s just about ready to jump off the campaign office’s roof. Honestly, if he were in his position, he might. This clip is going to be all over twitter within minutes, no doubt. And they’re still going. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but we really do need to get onto the next topic—” the commentator tries.

“If you’d just give me one minute, I don’t think we can move on from Mr Washington attacking me on the debate stage so quickly—”

“Attacking me ? Pardon me, senator, but weren’t you the one just making accusations about my family’s personal life?”

“Well, I think the public has a right to know what your family is like, given you clearly don’t care about traditional American family values—”

“Oh, so ‘traditional American family values’ mean beating your ki—”

The screen goes blank.

Harrison’s mouth is hanging open. Alexander half wants to laugh and half wants to cry. That was probably the most disastrous debate he’s ever seen, and he adjudicates elementary level debate tournaments. 

“Oh, fucking hell,” Harisson mutters as an ad for some prescription weight loss drug starts playing. “I didn’t even know that they had a game plan for something like that. They’re just cutting to ad break?”

Alexander shrugs. “Would you have rathered it to stay on the debate?”

“Goodness, no, just—” He rubs an exhausted hand over his face. “In all my years of politics, I have never seen bullshit like that. I swear to god, I am going to kill George–”

“What? It was clearly Laurens’ fault!”

“Okay, Laurens was being an asshole, Alexander, but your father still interrupted him, and that was unprofessional as hell. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about six million calls to make in the next five minutes. Come get me if the coverage comes back on.”

With that, he picks up his phone and dials a number as he walks out of the room. Alexander is left alone on the couch, notebook in hand, watching an ad for some anti-sensitivity toothpaste. He writes down another note that simply says: ‘ well shit.’

An hour later, and Washington is back at campaign headquarters, pacing around the room while Harrison berates him, and John Adams, his presumptive running mate, sits in the corner and stares into space with the expression of a kicked puppy. Alexander is totally in there just because he wants to support his father and definitely not because he’s interested in the political drama of it all. 

The broadcast did not go back on. They’d cut the debate short. According to Washington, the argument continued even after the cameras cut out. 

“What on earth were you thinking? I have ABC calling saying they’re reconsidering their offer to sponsor the next debate!”

“Wait— really?” Washington looks up.

“Yes! If we can’t get them, our other option is FOX. That is the worst-case scenario.”

“Crap, they didn’t say it was final, though?”

“No, but it definitely will be if you cause any more stir. Seriously, why did you do that? The debate was going so well, and it was almost over anyway!”

“I just—” Washington looks to the floor as if it’s personally wronged him. “He went after my family. He said I let the ‘woke mind virus’ infect it. I couldn’t just let him attack my son!”

Alexander’s heart sinks. 

Yeah, he probably should’ve realized that Laurens had been talking about him when he said that. It’s not like George or Martha are queer, and he’s their only child. Their openly bisexual child. He’d been so caught up in the back and forth that he hadn’t even noticed. 

The room is pretty silent, everyone staring at Washington. Even Adams’ usual blank stare breaks, as he stares up at him worriedly. 

“George, it’s okay,” Alexander murmurs. “You didn’t need to defend me. You know I don’t give a crap what Laurens thinks.”

He looks over as if he’d almost forgotten his son was in the room. “I know you don’t, son. It just got me really angry, that’s all.”

“Look, I get it,” Harrison sighs. “Laurens was way out of line with that. But you need to use that to your advantage. Prove that you’re the calm and collected one, the only candidate actually ready and mature enough to lead our nation. All you proved tonight is that you both appear just as immature as each other.”

Washington pinches the bridge of his nose. “How’re the polls looking?”

“Not good,” Harrison admits. “You were definitely both equally at fault, but everyone already knew Laurens was crazy.”

“You’ll make up for it at the next debate,” Alexander tries. 

“Yeah, if you get a next debate,” Harrison grumbles. 

The door bursts open and Martha Washington storms in, fire blazing in her eyes. “George Washington! What on God’s green earth was that?” She yells, walking right up to her husband and placing her hands on her hips. “Accusing him of beating his kids on live national television? What happened to being the bigger man?”

Despite the fact that Harrison’s basically been saying the same thing for the past half an hour, nothing makes George look smaller than when his wife is angry. He looks to the floor ashamedly. “He targeted Alex.”

“And you saw fit to target his Alexes back? Despite the fact that you absolutely should not have said that, I think we all know it’s true, huh? How do you think those kids are going to feel after you’ve brought that up for the whole country to see?”

He swallows. “I… didn’t think of that.”

“Well, clearly! Goodness me, and to think that I thought you were more respectable than him.” She crosses her arms and stares him down. He can’t meet her eyes. 

You know it’s awkward when Alex resorts to looking at twitter to distract himself from the uncomfortable situation of watching his parents fight. As expected, #presidentialdebate is trending. The site is in absolute chaos.

@Insert_Username_here 1hr

LMAOOOO are they not even going back on??? Has that ever happened??  

@shortassgiraffe 45m

Is anyone even surprised like they’re two old men running for president did we really think they were good people? We already knew it was lesser of two evils

@JakeDaniel160 32m

At this point a third party might actually have a chance wtf

@Iwantmorecheese 3m

I feel so bad for the presenters they were trying so hard to get shit under control and they just kept going I don’t blame them for cutting it out

@PiaPoliticsNerd 1hr

NOOOO I wanted to keep watching that was PEAK entertainment

(just try not to think about the fact that one of them is going to be our President in six months)

If it wasn’t Alexander’s father being implicated here, he’d be laughing his ass off and adding to the conversation. But, well. He may not technically be a part of the campaign team, but he sure does contribute. He’s been going around the country with him on his campaign ever since he graduated a month ago, and he’s not starting college until second semester so that he can see out the end of the election. And this? Well, this is an absolute trainwreck. 

This was meant to be a distraction. Throwing himself into the stress of a presidential campaign was meant to stop him from thinking about his breakup. But honestly, this kind of humiliation is worse than being broken up with on the last day of school in front of all of his friends. It’s not like he blames Eliza, he had been a pretty shitty boyfriend the last few months of senior year. And he’s incredibly grateful that she agreed to stay friends, because he knows he would miss her so much if they could never speak again. Plus, it would get pretty awkward since the Schuylers are invited to all of Washington’s campaign events. 

He sighs. He shouldn’t be thinking about this again. It just makes him sad, and he doesn’t need more negative emotions right now. 

Martha, having exhausted her anger, looks tiredly around the room. Her eyes widen when she sees Alexander. 

“Alexander! What are you doing here?”

“Um.” He hesitates. “Emotional support?”

She shakes her head fondly. “It’s very late, you should be at home.”

“I’m eighteen, Martha.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need rest.” She turns back to the rest of the room. “I’m taking him back to the hotel. You boys have fun dealing with the consequences of your actions.”

Usually, Alexander would be mad at her for dragging him out of important places because he’s ‘too young’, but right now, the tension in the room is so thick that he’s relieved to be leaving. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised. George has always been a bit overprotective,” Martha murmurs as they walk to the car, the quiet streets of Atlanta a stark contrast to the chaos in the local campaign headquarters. “I… don’t blame him. But he should have known not to do that.”

“Yeah,” Alexander agrees, and he couldn’t have summed it up better himself. It’s not like he’s any less fiery or passionate. He could imagine himself doing the exact same thing if he had to face off an asshole like Henry Laurens.

The next day Harrison bans him from campaign headquarters, citing the fact that they need far less distractions. They’ll be in Georgia for the next few days, going to several events. This definitely won’t be the last time they’re here, though, given it’s one of the most important battlegrounds. 

Since there isn’t an event today and he can’t go to HQ, he’s left to mope around on his bed at the hotel, scrolling instagram and maybe (just maybe) visiting Eliza’s account once or twice. Or six times. Who’s counting, anyway?

The Schuylers are currently on a family summer vacation to their home in Albany, and all of the pictures are really not helping Alexander’s whole distracting-himself-from-the-breakup thing.

There’s a knock at his hotel room door. 

Assuming it’s just a housekeeper, he goes to open it, but instead finds his best friends, Lafayette and Hercules, standing with suitcases in hand.

“Surprise!” They exclaim in tandem.

He gapes at them. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“Your father invited us to his fundraising ball tomorrow, so we thought we’d surprise you,” Laf explains, walking past Alex into the room, Herc following behind them. 

“Wow, nice view,” Herc comments. “It’s okay if we crash here, right? I mean, you have two double beds all to yourself, so…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great!” Laf tales that as their cue to dump their suitcase on the floor and belly flop onto the unoccupied bed. They look over to Alex’s side of the room, where the sheets are a mess, there’s a half-eaten bag of chips on the nightstand, and he has about three notebooks scattered around the place. “Zut, hard day, ami?”

Alex groans and collapses back onto his bed. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Worrying about the debate last night?” Hercules asks. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad—”

“Don’t lie to him, Herc.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help out!”

Alex sighs as he sits up again and grabs one of his notebooks, where he had started off writing notes about possible recovery strategies after last night, and ended off by drawing about a thousand sad faces across the bottom half. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is it not the debate?” Herc asks. Crap, his friends can read him like a book. 

“Oh, mon dieu.” Laf groans and wipes a hand across their face. “It’s Eliza, isn’t it?”

“Oh god,” Hercules adds. “You’re still not over her?”

“I am over her,” Alex argues. “I wouldn’t date her again if she asked, I just… miss her.”

“You’re still friends, mon ami.”

“I know. But it’s not the same.”

The three of them are silent for a few moments, and he can recognize it as the telltale sign that the others want to comfort and encourage him but just don’t know what they can say to make things better. He doesn’t mind. He’s just glad that they’re here. 

“You know what I think you need?” Lafayette asks after a while.

Alex raises an eyebrow. They’re using the tone they always use when they’re about to suggest something that they absolutely should not be doing. “What?” he asks blankly.

“A distraction.”

“Laf—”

“No, Herc, I know you think it’s crazy, but it’s such a fun idea! Come on, at least let me suggest it to Alexander!”

“You mean it’s such a stupid idea, especially after last night. And you know he’ll go along with it as soon as you suggest it because you two are insane.”

Alex is intrigued, now. If anything has a chance at lifting his mood, some mischief is probably the top contender. “What’s the idea?” he asks.

Laf grins maniacally. “How do you feel about gatecrashing Henry Laurens’ fundraising gala tonight?”

“ What?” Okay, when he had thought of mischief, he hadn’t thought it would be something like this. “But we’ll be recognized! And kicked out! And how would we even get in in the first place?”

“Get this—” Laf smiles even more— “It’s a masquerade ball. ”

It actually takes Alex’s brain a few minutes to process those words. “As in— everyone is going to be wearing those weird ass fancy eye mask things?”

“Yup. And I got some for us, they’re in my suitcase.”

“Where the hell did you get those from?” Hercules asks.

“Amazon. They were like ten dollars each.”

“Won’t we still be recognized? I mean, they don’t cover much of your face.”

Laf waves him off. “Eh, they cover enough, and if we show up a bit late, everyone will be slightly tipsy and probably not notice at all anyway. And about getting in, I actually have an invitation.”

“ What?” 

“Don’t you remember I’m distantly related to French nobility? I don’t think they expect me to show up, but I’ll be on the guest list. Herc can be my plus one, and then we can help you sneak in through a window.”

“Hey, why does he get to be your plus one, and I have to go through the window?”

“Because he’s my boyfriend, idiot, he gets privileges.”

Herc clears his throat. “Why are we talking about this as if we’re actually going to do it?”

Alex grins. “Because we are.”

Chapter Text

“Excited?” Martha asks sarcastically, sitting on the couch next to John in the gaudy as hell yellow ball gown she’s being forced to wear. They’re in one of the upstairs rooms at the hotel the party is being hosted at, just waiting for things to start up. 

“Oh, yeah, totally.” 

“I almost hoped that they’d cancel it after what happened last night,” she sighs.

“Seriously? Mar, last night was normal for dad. It’s just that Washington was crazy too for once.”

“Yeah, I ‘spose so.” She looks down at the mask in her hand as if it’s personally wronged her. “This mask thing is stupid. This isn’t a 16th-century ball.”

“Rich white Southerners do weird shit.”

“You can say that, yet we both tick off two of those boxes.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The click-click of expensive dress shoes echoes down the hallway and they exchange a quick look before their father struts into the room, wearing his usual grey suit with red tie combination. He, very notably, is not wearing a mask. Guess the rules of the party don’t apply to the host. 

“Good, you two are ready, just make sure to put the masks on before you come downstairs. And Martha, you might like to put some makeup on.”

“I already have makeup on.”

He stares at her for a moment. “Oh.” Clears his throat. “Okay, then.” He looks awkwardly between the two of them for a moment. “Well, John, will you come with me? I need to speak to you for a moment.”

“Sure.” He definitely does not want to be alone in a room with his father, but it’s not like he has a choice. He tries to send Martha an expression that says he’s fine, although he doesn’t think it works.

He’s led to a smaller side room with just a couple couches and a small fireplace. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” He starts. John resists the urge to say ‘oh wow, did it hurt? ’ “You’re growing up, Jack. It’s about time you start thinking about getting married.”

Suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. John’s barely even in college, and he’s taking a break because his father wants to drag him and all his siblings around the country to display what a good father he is. He’s literally only eighteen. Marriage is the last thing on his mind. Especially when he knows if his father is orchestrating it, it’s going to be to a woman. 

“I think I’d like to spend a little more time focusing on my studies before I think about that, father.”

“Oh, I understand, of course, but much younger men than you are already married. I think it’s just something to think about. You know, Mr Manning approached me earlier today offering for you to marry his daughter.”

John’s only met Martha Manning a few times, and she seemed nice enough. But she’s also a year younger than him, barely out of high school, and the thought of marrying a girl that young seems even more horrifying than getting married himself. “Maybe one day,” he says. “I think we’d both do well from having a little longer as adults before we make that decision.”

“I suppose.” His father raises his eyebrows. “Things move so much slower in these modern times. But at least have a think about it, huh? Miss Manning will be at the ball tonight.”

“Okay,” he concedes, mostly just so he can get the conversation over and done with. 

“Good lad.” His father pats him roughly on the shoulder and leaves the room. 

He sighs. This is going to be a long ass night. 

When guests start to arrive and mingle, John and Martha put both their literal and metaphorical masks on, talking politely and laughing at unfunny jokes and pretending not to cringe every time their father makes a comment that would definitely get him cancelled if it was posted anywhere. Not that he hasn’t already been cancelled like, 45 times. At one point, his father approaches him and drags him off to talk to some family ‘friend’ who he doesn’t remember the name of. 

“Oh, Henry, it’s so good to see you again,” the man says jovially, patting his fate on the back. “And you too, young Jack.” He holds out his hand and John shakes it, resisting the urge to wipe it off on his pants afterwards because being called ‘young Jack’ is probably the ickiest thing in the history of the earth. 

“You remember Mr Manning, John?” His father asks, and John holds in a groan. Instead, he nods politely as if he had remembered that this man exists. 

“I’m sure you and my Martha would make a lovely match,” William Manning says. “You’re a bright young man. Going to study law at college?”

“Yes, sir.”

After an extremely awkward conversation in which he somehow manages to narrowly escape being forced into a conversation with Martha Manning, he manages to escape to the hallway for a bit of a breather. He’s just stumbling out of the main hall, wondering how long he can spend in the bathroom before it becomes suspicious, when he hears a strange noise just around the corner of the hallway. 

“Shit,” A voice mumbles, and then there’s a loud scraping noise. 

“Be quiet!” Says another.

“I can’t control the sound of the window, it’s rusty as hell!” 

“Guys, stop arguing and just open it!” A third voice hisses.

John quietly creeps over, looking around the corner cautiously. He’s met with the sight of two teenage boys, dressed in fancy suits and masquerade masks, holding a window open and trying to pull a third boy through. He places a hand over his mouth to contain a giggle. Why anyone would want to sneak into one of his father’s parties is beyond him, but nonetheless, it’s hilarious to watch. 

“Damn it, why is this window so high up?” The boy standing on the outside mutters, trying to hook his leg over the windowsill. John can’t quite tell what he looks like behind the emerald green mask he’s wearing, but nonetheless, he’s still… Well, facially blessed. And his gorgeous black shoulder-length hair is not helping, either. 

“Okay, how about we grab your arms, then you jump and we combine the force of the jump with the force of us pulling you to get you up here?” the taller boy asks.

“Easy for you to say, I’ll be the one doing all the muscle work.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“ I suggest that we get the hell out of here before someone catches us and throws us out. Or worse, films us and causes yet another scandal.”

Another scandal? Surely he’s referring to the debate last night, but then that would mean that these three teenagers are somehow connected to Washington. The rational part of John’s brain is telling him to get the hell away. The part of his brain that’s been dealing with a bunch of fuckass Republican senators for the past hour and would really like a break finds this intriguing, though. They’re clearly not too important, they’re far too young for that, so surely helping them out wouldn’t be too rebellious, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone would find out. 

The three boys are now trying the earlier suggested plan of pulling the third guy up, but it’s not looking very successful. 

“Excuse me?” John asks, interrupting them in their third attempt. The two guys inside the house jump back so quickly that they drop their friend. 

“Um. Hello,” the taller guy says. “We were just— taking a break from the party. You know, getting some fresh air.” he gestures to the open window. It really is a valiant effort at covering up their antics, even if it’s completely unconvincing.

John raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Your friend there seems to be really enjoying the fresh air for him to climb out the window like that.”

The other guy, the one who had been trying to reason with the others earlier, steps forward. “Look, man, we’re sorry, We’ll leave now, it’s all good—”

John waves him off. “Oh, don’t piss yourselves. I was just going to offer if you wanted me to show you to a side door instead of having to yank that poor guy in through the window.”

The extremely attractive guy who had been dropped on the floor stands up, wiping his pants off. “There was a side door the whole ti—” he stops short, staring at John. Maybe he recognizes him? God, he hopes not. His friends give him a look that seems to say a thousand words, none of which John can decipher.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he interrupts again. “Uh, so do you want that side door or not?”

The super-gorgeous-long-hair guy snaps out of whatever he was thinking, and nods profusely. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he says. “You, go down about fifteen feet further that way—” he points down the side of the hotel— “And turn right. The door should be right there. I’ll lead your friends on the inside.”

The guy nods and heads down the side of the hotel.

“Come on, then,” John says to the others. They exchange a glance like they can’t believe their luck and follow him down the hall. 

He eventually finds the side door, painted the exact color of the wall so that it blends in. He quickly flips the lock and opens it. The unfortunately-very-hot-guy is already standing there, and he steps inside, shivering a little from the cold. It’s definitely warming up a lot now, being June, but it’s pretty late in the evening and there’s no sun to warm up the air anymore. 

“Can’t believe this was right here and you two tried to get me in through a window,” he mutters. 

“How was I supposed to know this was here?” the taller guy asks.

“I dunno, you’re the one with the invite.”

“Um,” John interrupts. “Since I got y’all in, mind telling me who you are?”

You could probably have heard crickets as the three teenagers looked between themselves.

“I’m Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de La Fayette,” the tall guy says, holding his hand out.

John awkwardly shakes it. “Long name.”

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” he chuckles. “You can just call me Lafayette, though. I was invited to this stupid party because I’m distantly related to French nobility.”

“Right. And your friends…”

“This is Hercules, he’s my plus one,” Lafayette says, gesturing to the built guy. “Unfortunately, though, I don’t have a plus two, so we had to sneak him in through the window.” He points at the really attractive guy. 

John laughs a little. It’s a bit of a ridiculous plan. “And you are?”

“Your mom.”

He snorts. “What are you, thirteen?”

“Basically,” Hercules mutters.

“What’s your actual name?” he asks.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

John has never, in his eighteen years of life, had someone refuse to tell him their name. The only reason that his brain can provide is that this guy is somehow closely related to the Washington campaign. But surely if he was, John would recognize him? He supposes his face seems a little familiar, but with the mask as well as the fact that he is… quite distracting, he can’t place it. “Are you like Washington’s nephew or something?” he asks. 

The guy looks horrified.

“Look, I just heard y’all talking about how you ‘don’t want to get in any more scandals’ before, so I assumed you were talking about the debate, and well, you’re sneaking into a Republican fundraiser, you’ve got to be up to some mischief.”

Lafayette sighs. “Just tell him, Alex.”

“What if he reports us?”

“I won’t report you, I promise,” John tries his best to sound as genuine as possible. “Look, you’ve said enough incriminating stuff already, if I was going to have you thrown out I already would’ve.” 

“Fine,” Attractive-Guy says. “I’m Alexander Washington-Hamilton.”

It takes a few moments for John’s brain to place the name. When he does, though, he bursts into laughter. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. “Ha!” He tries his best to get his laughter under control so as not to offend him. “I mean, I won’t report you, man, but I think your friend kind of has a point. If someone else had caught you your dad would be even more cooked.”

“Like Laurens isn’t,” Alexander mutters.

“Oh, yeah, his performance was abysmal too, but we all already knew that was going to happen. Your dad’s explosion was a surprise.”

“You don’t think I’m very aware? I’m here to distract myself by gatecrashing a dickhead’s party. Who even are you anyway? You don’t seem too keen on Laurens.”

“Ha. You may have cracked easily, but I’m not gonna budge.”

“Oh, come on, we told you who we are,” Lafayette says.

“That was your mistake.” 

“Please—”

“Come on,” John interrupts. “You wanted to gatecrash, come have fun instead of interrogating me.” He starts walking back to the party, beckoning them to come along with him. They reluctantly follow. 

——

The first thing that Alex had thought when he stood up and saw the person who’d caught them trying to sneak in was fuck, he’s gorgeous. He’d been so starstruck for a moment, imagining tracing his fingers along every single one of his freckles, that he hadn’t been able to say a thing.

Now, following the guy into the bustling room, he’s still thinking about it. Bad idea, he keeps telling himself. Even if the guy doesn't seem too keen on Laurens, he’s still here. He has to have some kind of connection, especially since he so easily knew where the door was. Yeah, crushing on a guy who might even punch him for not being straight is not a good idea. But still, there’s nothing he can do to stop his brain. The guy is quite possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

The question about his name seemed to shake him, though, and when they make it to the main room, bustling with people all wearing the stupid fancy masks, he slips away from them. Alex supposes it would be hypocritical for him to complain, after all, he definitely hadn’t wanted to reveal his own name. But even as they go over to the bar and order sodas (Hercules absolutely put his foot down and told them they would not be illegally drinking) he can’t stop thinking of the beautiful boy who had let them in. 

“We’re here to distract you, and you’re still moping about Eliza,” Laf groans as they sit at the bar, drinking their sodas. “Goodness, I didn’t think you were this bad.”

“I am not. Moping. About her,” he bites out. And for once, it’s the truth. 

“Who are you moping about, then?” Herc asks. 

“Why do you assume it’s a who?”

“Because it’s always a who,” Laf says. 

He rolls his eyes, intending to ignore them, but in doing so, he spots the super-hot-mysterious-guy again and gets a little… distracted. It’s for long enough that both of his friends can follow his line of sight and see. 

“Oh god,” Herc mutters. “You’re into the kid who helped us sneak in.”

Lafayette gasps excitedly. “Now this is the perfect distraction! You should ask for his number, Alexander!”

“Uh, no, he should not,” Hercules interrupts, an incredulous look on his face. “We don’t know who that kid is. What if he’s related to Laurens? Not a good look. Especially after the debate.”

“Oh come on, Herc, let him have some fun.”

“Yeah, let me have some fun.” Alex pouts, sticking his bottom lip out.

“If you wanted to ‘have some fun’ we could have gone to a regular teenage house party. This is a Republican fundraising ball.”

“Eh, basically the same thing.”

Hercules looks baffled. “No it’s not?”

Alex shrugs. “Close enough.” And then he walks off in the direction of super-hot-mysterious-guy, because there’s nothing better to do here, and he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn’t talk to him again.

——

John has, quite unfortunately, ended up in a conversation with his father’s campaign manager. How did he get here? Only God knows. John Hancock, he thinks his name is. He really couldn’t care less.

“You see, I think this kind of event is just the kind of thing we need,” he’s saying. “It gets all the oldies a nice traditional ball, but the younger generation get to have a bit of fun with the whole mask thing. It really is quite genius.” 

Of course he would say that, given John is pretty sure he’s the guy who came up with the idea in the first place. “Right, interesting,” he replies dryly, trying his hardest to imply that he would rather be anywhere but here so that Hancock leaves him alone.

Unfortunately, the message does not seem to be getting across, because Hancock continues. “You know, I’ve already had the governor chat with me tonight. He’s very happy with how our Georgia campaigning has been going. He says he’s confident we’ll win the state, although I suppose we shouldn’t jump to conclusions too early, huh?” He nudges John’s shoulder, smiling.

“Uh-huh, yep.”

He’s almost glad when they’re interrupted, until he sees who it is. Thomas Jefferson, youngest Republican congressman. He was just elected at the last midterms, barely making the cut as he turned 25 the April beforehand. Since then, he’s been sucking up to John’s father. He says it’s because he ‘admires him’, but John, and pretty much everyone else, knows that it’s just because Jefferson is preparing for his own presidential run in 2036 and wants powerful allies. Unfortunately for John’s sanity, that means he’s been following a lot of the campaign around, coming to events and trying to suck up to his father. 

“Mr Hancock!” He exclaims, almost jogging over. “There’s gatecrashers here!”

John’s heart sinks a little for Alexander Washington-Hamilton and his friends. Looks like they’ll be kicked out after all. 

“What?” Hancock looks around. “Who?”

Jefferson points over at the bar. “There. They’re Democrats.” he scowls. 

Hancock raises an eyebrow. “For starters, Mr Jefferson, I doubt you could know that simply by looking at them. Secondly, even so, we’ve extended invitations to hundreds of guests for hundreds of reasons. Some for politics, sure, but some are just from influential families, or are related to a senator, or something. I think it’s a bit drastic to worry about them.”

“They’re not just any Democrats,” Jefferson hisses, “That’s Washington’s son.”

Hancock does a double take and looks back over to the bar. “What, that Alexander kid?”

“Yes! You need to call security, have them removed immediately.”

Hancock sighs, still looking over at the three boys at the bar. “Look, Congressman, I appreciate your worry, but I think we should just leave those kids be.”

“ Excuse me?”

Hancock waves him off. John is so impressed by his nonchalance that he starts to question how many glasses of wine the man has had this evening. “He’s, what, seventeen? Eighteen? He’s just messing around. His father may be running against Laurens, but from what I’ve heard, he’s a good kid, and smart too. There’s no point kicking up a fuss.”

Jefferson puffs out his chest and scowls down at Hancock. John has to hold in a snort at how stupid it looks. “I cannot stand around and endure him while he is being so disrespectful to us.”

“He will be endured.”

“Hancock—”

“Congressman, is it you in charge of this event, or me?”

Jefferson narrows his eyes, huffs, and storms off. 

Well, at least it was somewhat entertaining. He looks back at Hancock, still quite baffled that he just let it go so easily. 

“I see what you’re thinking, young man,” he says. “If you had done the same thing at one of Washington’s events, I’m sure he would have afforded you the same grace.”

When finally, a few minutes later, Hancock is whisked away by some other senator that wants to talk to him, John finally gets a chance to breathe to himself. All he has to do is endure the rest of the evening, not think about Alexander Washington-Hamilton and how goddamn attractive and gorgeous and witty and— oh god, shut the fuck up. If he doesn’t stop this train of thought soon, it’s going to spiral out of control. He just has to go to the bathroom, splash some water on his face, not think about Alexander, and survive the night. Yeah. Shouldn’t be too hard. 

“Heeeeeeeey.”

He turns around to see said problem staring right up at him, gorgeous brown eyes staring straight into his, taking up John’s entire consciousness for a moment. 

“Hi.”

Chapter Text

“Heeeeeeeey.”

Alex has one singular mission when he approaches him: find out Super-Attractive-Guy’s name. Unfortunately, that mission is severely impeded as soon as he turns around, because suddenly they’re locking eyes, and all Alex can do is stare. God, he might have to actually climb out of his own skin if he can’t kiss this man within the next ten minutes. Genuinely. It’s as if his brain has become a ticking time-bomb.

“Hi.”

Alex swallows. “I—” his mouth is still dry. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s Alexander Hamilton, the guy who can talk into eternity about any subject and who writes thousands of words a day on various topics, words seem to be failing him. Words are just too restrictive, too insignificant to describe someone like this.

And he doesn’t even know his name.

It’s stupid, because they’re in front of a heap of people, but it’s the only thing he can think of. He grabs the guy by the wrist and just turns around and starts walking back towards the hallway, hoping he’ll follow. And, somehow, miraculously, he does. Alex can see Laf winking at him and Herc glaring from the other side of the room. Eventually, they make it back to the same window where they first saw each other. 

The hallway is calmer, abandoned by the party guests and far enough away that it’s pretty quiet. And now, thank goodness, Alex’s words find him again. 

“You’re not homophobic, are you?” 

Hey, he never said they were good words.

Super-Attractive-Guy looks absolutely bewildered. “Um. No, I’m not.”

“Oh, thank god. I mean, event like this, my chances weren’t looking very good.”

“Um. Yeah, I guess so.” They stare at each other for a few more seconds. It should feel awkward. It just feels natural. “Sorry, why are you asking that?”

Alex finally rips his gaze away from Super-Attractive-Guy’s eyes, because he’s confident, but not that confident. “Uh, well, you may be like, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on and I was wondering if I could maybe get your number.” It all comes out in one breath, rushed, and he immediately regrets it. It’s the most embarrassing shit he’s said in his entire life. Super-Attractive-Guy deserves a whole speech, but unfortunately eloquent language is still unattainable to Alex right now.

He gapes at him, blinking slowly. “I can promise you you wouldn’t be asking that if you knew who I was.”

At this point, all of Alex’s eggs are in this basket. He’s already picking out flowers for their wedding in his mind. “You’re not like a Republican congressperson are you? I wouldn’t have guessed that you were over 25.”

“No, no, definitely not. I don’t agree with any of the assholes here.”

“Then it can’t be that bad. Who even are you, Henry Laurens’ son?” he asks sarcastically, laughing. 

The noises of the party can still be heard in the distance, but the room could not possibly be more silent. Super-Attractive-Guy looks down at the floor. 

It hits him like a brick. 

“Oh my god. You’re his son.” For some reason that awful fact does nothing to stop him from wanting to aggressively smash his lips against the guy’s face.

“Yup. So… I’m just going to go back to the party now…”

Alex is still so shell shocked from before that it takes him a moment to process that Super-Attractive-Henry-Laurens’-Son is walking away from him.

“Wait!” He grabs his arm, and the other guy turns around, his eyes scared and defensive. Alex takes a deep breath. “My offer still stands.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you serious? You understand that would be the worst possible decision that either of us could make.”

He shrugs. “I’m going to be honest, I really don’t care. Plus it’s not like either of our dads are any more mature or responsible.” Because unfortunately for his father’s presidential campaign, it’s true. For some reason, the fact that this guy is Henry Laurens’ son actually makes no difference to him. He’s still absolutely gorgeous, and, well, he hasn’t known him for very long at all, but from what he’s seen, he seems like a great person too. Anyone who willingly helps gatecrashers into their father’s own party is the exact kind of chaotic that Alex loves. 

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Well, what is it?”

“John.”

Alex holds his hand out. “Nice to meet you, John. I’m Alex.”

John tentatively shakes it. “You know, without our last names, it almost sounds normal.”

“That which we call a rose would by any other name smell just as sweet.”

“Are you quoting Shakespeare?” 

“Maybe.”

John smiles. “I love that play.”

Alex notices that he’s still holding John’s arm, and instead of letting go, he slips his hand smoothly into his. John looks down at it, mouth still a little agape. What the actual fuck am I doing, the rational part of his brain asks. But who is he kidding? He's already here, already not listening to his rational side. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” he murmurs. “But we shouldn’t let our idiot dads stop us from having fun.”

It’s almost as if he can see a battle playing out across John’s beautiful face. “I do want to,” he finally admits. “But—” he takes a breath and lets it all out at once in a devastating sigh. “Man, my dad would fucking skin me alive.”

Alex is reminded of George’s comments at the debate. Sure, they had probably been just reactionary jabs, but… well, Southern Republican conservative, it’s not hard to realize that John’s offhanded statement might actually have some truth to it. That should make Alex want to run in the other direction. It should make him realize that this is an awful idea. 

It has the opposite effect. Instead, he wants nothing more but to hold John close and shield him from all of that hatred. To give him someone to come to about his worries. To punch Henry Laurens in the face for him if need be. He reaches up and cups John’s face gently with his hand. “Fuck your father. Fuck my father. God, at least just for tonight, please. Let yourself have this. You deserve it, John.”

He doesn’t know that. He can’t know that, because he’s barely known this boy for five minutes. But god, he feels it. In the depths of his soul, he feels that John Laurens deserves anything to let him have an escape. And he wants to be that more than anything. He yearns for it. 

John nods. It’s a little frantic, and he seems lost for words, but he nods, and Alex feels as if he’s floating on clouds. He’s still cupping John’s face, and the two seem to be able to do nothing but just stare into each other's eyes.

Finally, after what could have been seconds or hours of silence, John speaks. “God, will you just fucking kiss me already?”

Alex doesn’t hesitate. He reaches up and pulls John down by the nape of his neck, their lips meeting messily in the middle. Immediately, it’s a game of push and pull. John buries his hands in Alex’s hair, making the hairtie slip a little. The stupid masks they’re wearing scrape against each other, stopping them from getting closer, and it’s not close enough, it’ll never be close enough—Alex feels his back hit a wall, but he doesn’t stop, not even as John deepens the kiss even further and tugs on his hair, making him moan. They’re still in the hallway, but Alex wouldn’t even care if they were on a stage for all the world to see—even that couldn’t get him to stop. 

They pull away, both gasping for air. They share hot breaths, neither of them willing to pull away. John rests his forehead on Alex’s and kisses him again, slowly and more tenderly this time. “I can’t believe I ever hesitated,” he murmurs.

“I can’t believe you hesitated either.”

“I’ve got a hotel room here,” John breathes, each syllable hitting Alex’s face with a little puff of air. 

“You’re an adult, right?”

“Yeah, I’m 18. You?”

“Same.”

John kisses him again, pressing him more harshly into the wall. Alex’s whole body feels as if it’s on fire. John slips his knee in between his legs, and he makes a carnal noise straight into John’s mouth. They’re so intertwined they’re practically one, two bodies pressing infinitely closer, closer—

The next time they pull apart, Alex immediately reaches up to pull John’s mask off his face. It was a pretty midnight blue, but no material thing could compare to the beauty of John’s bare face. John returns the favour, pulling Alex’s own cheap amazon mask off his face. 

They stare at each other for a few moments, taking it all in. John’s mask had been hiding hundreds more freckles, and suddenly Alex can imagine spending every morning waking up next to this boy and placing a kiss on every single freckle. 

This is, indisputably, the dumbest thing Alexander has ever done, and that is saying something for him. 

The absolute stupidity of the situation is exacerbated when two sets of footsteps start to echo down the hallway, breaking the two boys out of their spell. John jumps away from him suddenly, leaving him still panting a little, leaning against the wall. There’s no time to readjust or fix their rumpled appearances. The footsteps round the corner.

The sigh of relief that Alex lets out when he realises it’s just Hercules and Lafayette is impressive given the fact that he’s barely got any air left in him. His two friends pause and take the scene in. 

Laf giggles. “Well, it seems like you two have been having fun,” they say. “He wasn’t homophobic, then?”

”Uh…”

Hercules sighs. “With all due respect, man, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but seriously, Alex?”

“Aw, don’t rain on his parade, babe, we came here for a distraction anyway.”

“Um.” Alex looks over at John, who is looking between his friends, his face extremely red, probably half from the embarrassment and half from… well. 

Hercules sighs again and holds his hands up in surrender. “Look, we were just coming to try and find you because we should really be heading out before someone spots us, but if y'all want to… risk that, then we can just call a cab.”

Alex is moderately disappointed that they're both leaving, but he really doesn't care that much, as long given as he can quickly get back to— 

His phone rings, and everyone freezes. Slowly, he takes it out of his pocket. He feels as if he's been doused in ice when he sees the caller ID.

“Heeeeey Martha…” he answers. Herc’s eyes widen. Laf places a hand over their mouth to contain a laugh.

“Alex! Where are you, darling? I was just looking for you, I need some help planning the guest list for tomorrow's fundraiser.”

“Oh, uh, I just went out with Herc and Laf to that gas station,” he lies awkwardly. “We're getting some ice cream.”

Even John raises an eyebrow. Alex, feeling extremely overwhelmed and not quite knowing what to do, shrugs helplessly. Hey, at least he came up with something. 

“Oh, okay, well could you come back soon? It's getting dark out,” she says, and he can tell from the tone of her voice that she doesn't quite believe him. 

“Of course. See you soon!” He doesn't even wait for her reply before he hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Lafayette is shaking in silent laughter. Even Hercules cracks a small smile. 

“Who was that?” John asks, face still red, looking incredibly bewildered.

Alex looks down at his feet shamefully. “My mom,” he admits.

John snorts. “I can guess she doesn't know you're here?”

“Hah. No.”

“You should probably get back then.” John looks to the floor as he says it. It makes Alex's heart hurt. Goddammit, why did his mom have to call now? This moment feels like it's going to be the most important of his life.

He sighs. “I'll see you again, yeah?” He asks John.

“Yeah.”

Walking away feels like agony. But he can't leave Martha hanging; she'll get even more suspicious if he’s not back soon. Alexander glances back one last time and then they're rounding the corner of the hallway and John is out of his sight. 

His friends don't say much as they slip out the door into the cool summer night. Laf just smirks at him until the uber is pulling up and they're climbing inside.

“Did you end up actually getting his name?” They finally ask, doing up their seat belt and leaning on Hercules’ shoulder. “Or were your mouths… otherwise occupied?”

Alex freezes when he realizes that his friends don't know yet. God, even Lafayette might tell him that this is a bad idea. “Uh…” he looks down at his lap. “Yeah.”

“Oh god, it's someone bad, isn't it?” Hercules groans. 

“He's not bad! It's just his dad…” he looks down at his shoes as the car starts to pull away and drive down the hill. Okay, even he can admit that any kind of relationship with this guy would be the absolute least responsible decision he could make right now. But he’s 18, he never claimed to be responsible. 

Herc sighs. “Just spit it out man, so we can work out how much damage control we’re going to have to do.”

Alex starts fidgeting with the ring on his middle finger, not wanting to meet his friends’ eyes when he admits, “His name’s John Laurens.”

He doesn’t look up, but even so, he can imagine the horrified expressions that the two are surely wearing. 

“Dude…” Laf murmurs. “Laurens. As in Henry Laurens?”

“Yup. His son.” He finally raises his head. Even the Uber driver probably has his jaw dropped. 

Laf shakes their head. “Merde. T’es fou, mec.” 

“Je sais!” Alex raises his hands in surrender. “I just— god. ” The memory of John’s lips flashes across his mind. Oh, how it had been so worth it. 

Both of them groan in tandem this time. 

“When I said you needed to get over Eliza, this is not what I meant,” Hercules mutters. 

By the time he’s back at the hotel, the three had come to a consensus that it was all a bad mistake and that they would ignore it for the foreseeable future. Well, Laf and Herc had come to that conclusion. If Alex has absolutely no intention of following that plan, that’s his own business. He goes to George and Martha’s suite for a few hours, helping his mom with planning for the fundraiser tomorrow. He hadn’t really planned for the fact that he’s going to be at another political event tomorrow when he’d snuck out. It’s going to be pretty excruciating. Whatever. He’ll survive. 

Martha doesn’t mention anything about his suspicious excuse, thank god. She’s already mad enough at George for the debate last night, and he certainly doesn’t want to earn his own lecture. Washington’s son sneaking out to a Republican fundraiser is the exact kind of scandal that would lose him the debate with ABC. He does start to feel a bit bad when he realizes that. Well, at least he didn’t get caught. 

Finally, he goes back to his own hotel room and flops onto the bed, burying his head in the pillow before turning to the side. Herc and Laf are already asleep on the other one, cuddled together. He looks away. It hurts to see his friends so in love when all his love life seems to be going to shit. He’d thought tonight that maybe he had a chance with someone new. Turns out, it’s just his luck that that someone new turned out to be the worst possible person for him to fall in love with. 

Slowly, he sits up, contemplating whether to go brush his teeth and get changed or if he should just be disgusting and fall asleep like this, wallowing in his sorrow. He huffs and puts his hands in his pockets, but— 

There’s something left in his right hand pocket. He slowly pulls it out. He lets out a small chuckle when he realizes that it’s the midnight blue mask he’d previously ripped off of John’s face. He stares at the shining blue sequins on it and caresses the inside of it with his index finger, imagining how John’s freckles had been touching it just a few hours ago. It hits him with a jolt that, in his rush and panic about Martha calling, he’d forgotten to get John’s number. 

All he has is this fucking mask. 

——

John goes back up to the hotel room early that night. Hey, who could blame him? He’s just made out with the most attractive man he’s ever seen in his life, who also happens to be the son of the man that his father is running for President against. So, you know, no big deal. 

As soon as he gets back to the room he splashes his face with water and stares at himself in the mirror for a bit, wondering whether that actually just fucking happened or if he just hallucinated the past forty-five minutes. His lips are still very red, though, his hair a mess, his tie wonky. Yeah, there’s no denying that that happened. 

He takes off his tie and jacket, throws them in the general direction of his suitcase, and flops back down on the bed again, pulling out his phone. As fast as humanly possible, he looks up Alexander Washington-Hamilton. Just to check. Maybe the super attractive guy had been lying about who he was for fun? 

Nope, definitely the same guy, John thinks when the pictures pop up. And. Well. Maybe looking up pictures of the guy you just aggressively made out with; pictures where he happens to be wearing extremely nice tailored suits and smiling like the sun itself shines out of his face, isn’t the best idea. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, now scrolling through his instagram. There’s a picture of him with his friends at the beach, shirtless and licking an ice cream cone. 

Great. Now John doesn’t just have a I just made out with the wrong guy problem, he also has an… other problem. A problem that he should probably deal with before his sister also inevitably leaves early and comes back to the room. He rushes to the bathroom. 

A concerningly short amount of time later, he walks out, doing his belt buckle back up when the door opens and Martha comes in. She looks him up and down suspiciously. 

“You left early.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but you left really early. You usually stay at least long enough to avoid dad getting pissed at you for being lazy.” She places her hands on her hips. 

He shrugs. “Couldn’t be bothered.”

“Hm.” Martha lets her eyes sweep over the bedroom. “Oh, Jack, at least clean up properly,” she mutters, spotting his jacket and tie, messily strewn across the floor in front of his bed. She goes over to pick them up and fold them. John almost winces at how like their mother she is. 

“Hang on a second.” She’s patting his pocket. There’s a bulge in there that John doesn’t remember. She reaches in and pulls out an emerald green eye mask, adorned with cheap glitter and a flimsy elastic band. His eyes widen as he realizes that it’s definitely not his. It’s the mask that he ripped off of Alexander Washington-Hamilton’s face. 

“John Laurens,” Martha says very matter-of-factly, turning her head to look at him with one eyebrow raised, “I distinctly remember your mask being blue.”

John awkwardly holds his hands behind his back. “Maybe you’re just remembering wrong.”

“I also distinctly remember your mask costing dad a ridiculous three hundred dollars.” She lightly pulls on the elastic. “This—” the elastic snaps, John winces— “Looks like it can’t have cost more than ten.”

“Well, how did that get in there?” 

She narrows her eyes. “Great question.” 

They stare at each other for a few moments, Martha looking directly into his eyes as if staring at him hard enough will get answers pouring out of his mouth. It won’t. There ain’t no way in hell he’s telling Martha where that mask came from. 

After a few moments of staring, he finally looks away and walks over to his bed. “Well, I sure am tired, better be getting to sleep.” He pulls off his belt and hops into bed. 

He hears Martha snort and chuck the mask at him, clearly giving in. He would defiantly chuck the mask back at her, but the stupid sappy part of him makes him reach out and grab it, holding it close instead. 

He hadn’t gotten Alexander’s number. But that was probably for the best. There’s no telling what his father would do to him if he found out. At least he has this little memento of this absolutely insane and wonderful night.

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, Alex is in Pennsylvania, and still cannot get John Laurens off his mind, no matter what he does. 

He had probably been a bit ambitious on the night, promising himself that he wouldn’t give up, phone number or not. Now… well, after a bit more time to give himself clarity, he’s realized that maybe that isn’t the best idea. No matter how much he yearns to be with John Laurens, it would be a logistical nightmare. Alex wants to be a politician. He wants to make it to congress by 25. He’s already accepted that he’s bisexual, and fortunately for him, he doesn’t think that’ll impede his chances too much. But a relationship with a Republican presidential candidate’s son? Now that is controversial. Hell, Laurens might even be the President. Yeah, not the best idea. He’s already so incredibly lucky to be here, living in America, with the Washingtons after everything he’s been through. He can’t risk throwing that all away.

So all he has to do is just focus on today’s rally and get John Laurens the fuck out of his mind. 

Easier said than done. 

He’s literally just in the car heading for the community center where the rally is being held, and he’s already scrolling through his instagram. He’s only got three public posts, all selfies with his sister at various holiday locations. To anyone else, they’d be mundane. But he just can’t stop staring. Jesus, he has a problem. 

“What are you looking at, sweetie?” Martha asks. She’s sitting in the backseat of the car with him.

“Uh—” he fumbles to turn his phone off, and in his rush, drops it to the floor. “Nothing important,” he mumbles as he picks it up. 

She narrows her eyebrows at him, a sly smirk overcoming her face. “Are you talking to someone, Alex?”

He rolls his eyes, even as his cheeks heat up. “No, Martha, I’m not.” 

“Hmm, okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced. Nonetheless, the car is pulling up to the community center and the conversation is set aside, at least for now. Alex lets out a sigh of relief. 

It’s now officially 120 days until the election, and so that means the secret service are accompanying Washington to all his campaign events. It’s a little jarring to see George’s car flanked by two men in black suits when he steps out into the sun. The crowd gathered there cheers for him and Martha, and he waves, before one of the agents ushers them into the center. George will be meeting with them later, when he makes his official entrance. It’s always Alexander’s favourite part of a rally. He loves hearing George speak. He’s the reason Alexander wants to go into politics in the first place; the person who actually let him believe that he had power to make positive change in this world.  He also gets to introduce him to the stage whenever he’s there, which might also be part of the reason why he loves it so much. He’s become a bit of an expected face at Washington rallies because of it, and he revels in the way people shout and point him out and whoop as he and Martha are led through the hall into the big gymnasium, where the stage is set up. 

Inside, it’s packed, but the agent that’s walking in with them clears a small area ahead so that they can make it to the area behind the stage. People wave and take pictures as they walk past, and Alexander waves and flashes his smile back, glowing in the spotlight. Yeah, this is where he wants to be. Which is why he absolutely has to stop thinking about how absolutely gorgeous the son of his father’s political enemy is. 

When they get to the makeshift backstage area, standing behind the big signs that have been set up at the front of the room, Alexander drops his smiling politician face and takes a moment to just listen to the artist currently performing. They’re singing some popular pop song that’s been all over social media recently. He can’t quite remember the name, which he knows Laf would kill him for, but he has more important things to worry about than what music’s popular. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You look a little overwhelmed.” Martha’s looking at him with that concerned expression that she always wears when he has a panic attack. He hopes she isn’t worried he’ll have one here. Crowds make him a little nervous, sure, but it’s not too bad.

“I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” Hey, it’s not a lie. ‘A lot’ just happens to be John Laurens’ freckles and eyes and lips and—

Get yourself together.

She gives him another hesitant look. He really needs to stop being so suspicious around Martha or she’s going to work out that something’s up. Well, she probably already has, she just hasn’t mentioned it. And he would like it to stay that way, so he steers the conversation away.

“Why don’t we go find Harrison? I’m curious about what the game plan is for… recovery.”

Martha chuckles. “Oh, Alex, you really do take after your father. You know I’m not bothered with the insider political drama. You go find Harrison, I’m going to see if I can find Senator Morris’ wife.”

Alexander smiles and waves goodbye to her as he heads to the other side of the backstage area where he’s already located Harrison, having a very serious looking conversation with John Adams and Senator Robert Morris. He looks up and sees Alexander, and some of the light in his eyes disappears. 

“Hey everyone? Feeling doomed?” Alexander asks as he walks up. It probably isn’t appropriate. But he likes annoying Harrison. 

“Ah, Alexander, isn’t it?” Senator Morris asks. “It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, and Alexander shakes it with a smile.

“You too, senator. It’s great to be spending time in your wonderful state.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Even more great if your father wins it?”

Alexander smirks. “Of course. Whoever wins Pennsylvania has a 95% chance of winning the election, after all.”

“Yes, Mr Harrison here was just talking about how he’s going to be bombarding my poor citizens with advertisement material.” He looks over to Harrison with a smile. 

Harrison rolls his eyes. “That’s the reality of living in a swing state, unfortunately.”

“Ah, yes, don’t worry, Rob, I’m used to it by now.”

Alexander snorts. He wasn’t aware that Harrison and Morris were on a nickname-basis. Maybe he just has an ally in the wonderful sport that is annoying Robert Hanson Harrison. 

“What can we do for you, Alexander?” Harrison asks, permanent exasperated expression still holding strong. 

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi. And I was also curious about our game plan from now on because you haven’t let me back into campaign HQ since the debate.”

Morris chuckles, and Alexander thinks he hears Adams mutter something that sounds like ‘for good reason’, but he lets it slide.

“Well, I’m sorry you missed out, Alexander, but we’ve had a lot of—” he clears his throat— “recovery work to be doing, and we can’t deal with many distractions.”

Alexander crosses his arms. “I’m not a distraction and you know it.” It’s said in a bit of a joking tone, but god, if he could get away with it, it would not be. He doesn’t like that everyone just underestimates him because he’s young. He’s always been underestimated. Always been the kid with no chance. This is meant to change that. 

“Alexander—”

“You know I’ve studied every aspect of this campaign with incredible detail; you know I care about it more than anyone. I just want to help.”

Harrison takes a breath, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Look, this isn’t the best place to have this conversation, Alex. We can talk about this later. For now, our plan is to stick to the story that the debate was a mistake that George made because he wanted to defend his family, and that it does not reflect his values or his leadership style. We’re proving that something like that is not going to happen again. And that includes events like this.” he gestures to the room.

“Well said, Rob,” Morris says. 

Harrison smiles sarcastically back. “Thanks, Rob.” 

Alex can’t help but burst into laughter. He didn’t realize that Harrison had the ability to be funny.

“Which Rob are we talking about?” Asks a voice from behind Alexander, and he spins around to see George, suit perfectly tailored, politician’s smile shining, standing behind him. 

“Both of them,” Alexander states. “Rob #1 and Rob #2 here were just having a lovely conversation about political ads in Pennsylvania.”

“Ah, the most abundant kind of political ads,” George says.

Adams clears his throat. He’s never been one for caring about jokes, and the entire conversation he’s looked mildly uncomfortable, as if he needs to pee but is not quite so desperate as to run to the bathroom. “The singer’s just finished,” he mutters. “I think it’s time for you to go onstage, sir.”

George and Alexander look around to see the singer walking off stage, acoustic guitar in hand, as the audience claps. “Ah, would you look at that, it is.” he pats Alexander enthusiastically on the back. “You ready for your introduction, son?”

“Yep.”

He nods to one of the attendants, who is walking over to him with a microphone. 

“Mr Alexander Washington-Hamilton?” She asks, and he nods. “You’re up. Mic’s already on, you just need to hold it up to your face. Then just pass it to your dad when he comes up.”

He takes the mic, nodding again. He’s already used to this protocol, having been doing it for George most of the campaign so far. He did miss a couple events when he was still in school, but he’s been here for every one since. 

Taking a deep breath, he gives one last good last look at George, and then Martha, catching her eye, and jogs onto the stage with a beaming smile. 

The crowd, which has gotten even bigger since he arrived, roars in cheers and applause. People wearing bright blue ‘WASHINGTON 2024’ hats and shirts and pins all smile up at him, pressing right up to the barricades, and he imagines for a moment that it’s for him, and not because they know that his father is coming next. The energy in the room is electric.

“Good morning Pennsylvania!” He exclaims into the mic, and everyone cheers again, louder, somehow. “I have got to say, this has been one of the most exhilarating rallies I’ve been to all year, and I’ve been to almost all of them.” More cheers. “I know that this is a state that is ready for change. Ready for a government that will care about their needs, that will implement real, proven policies that will actually help you get the bills paid. A government that will care about your issues, not the issues that billionaires and lobby groups care about.” There are a few whoops. “But of course, you’re not here to hear me talk about this. You’re here for my amazing father, the man running to be your President this year, George Washington!” He gestures to the side of the stage, and George steps up, waving to the crowd as he holds the front of his suit jacket. The room erupts. There are actually a few screams and shrieks. Jeez, maybe they don’t need to worry about the after-effects of the debate disaster, if this is people’s reaction. 

Of course, that’s just the ‘rally effect’, as Alexander likes to call it. But it sure does feel nice. George comes up to him, smiling proudly as he pats him on the shoulder, and he feels the happiest he has in a while. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline or the excitement, but he feels as light as air. Like he could do anything. It’s a strangely similar feeling to when he was kissing John Laurens, but he quickly reminds himself to push that thought back down at least until he isn’t standing on a stage in front of the most important swing state in the country. 

“Good job, son,” George murmurs to him, out of range of the mic, which Alexander hands over. He nods, smiling back at his father and leaves the stage, waving at the crowd as he leaves and maybe blowing a kiss at a girl in the crowd who looks about his age. She and her friends burst into giggles. He’s got to keep up his tomcat reputation, after all. 

He heads over to an empty chair close to the stage, but still backstage, so he can listen to his father’s speech. It’s probably very similar to a bunch of things that he’s heard before, but he doesn’t mind. He loves listening to George speak. It’s what inspires his own speaking. Plus, it’s never too boring, because George, or rather, his campaign team, are genius campaigners. He does actually have to give some credit to Harrisson for that one. 

He’ll have at least a couple of plants in the crowd so that he can tell personal stories about Pennsylvanians who his work in the senate have helped, and point them out, have them wave. It really helps to make his work feel more concrete and important, having the person right there. He also talks about the buzzwords and flashy campaign material of his competitors head on, because he knows that strong rebuttal is the only way to prove that he is the better option. 

And finally, he’s honest. Painfully honest, sometimes. But that’s what makes him real. And it’s what shows the crowd, and the hundreds of millions of people watching him constantly, that he’s a real person too. A real person who shares their same struggles. 

So, part of that honesty means talking about the debate. Directly. And painfully honestly. It’s the first public speech he’s had since it happened, since all their rallies in Georgia were beforehand. 

Once he's gotten through the regular parts of his speech, and the crowd has quietened down a bit, he gets somber. He glances to the side of the stage for a moment, and catches Alexander’s eye. He gives him a reassuring nod, and George turns back to the crowd. 

“There is something I would like to address, though, before I wrap up here. I think we’re all thinking about it,” he says, tone of voice much different to the one he uses to rile up a crowd. “There’s a pretty big elephant in this room, and I wouldn’t be the honest man I claim to be if I didn’t address it.” He walks to the edge of the stage, leans down, and sits with his legs hanging off. Alexander can definitely tell that’s not a move he got approved with his campaign team beforehand, but he likes it. It’s personal. George takes a big breath. “On June 27th, at the recent presidential debate, I did something that I thought I would never do. I got angry and riled up in a setting that was meant to be entirely professional. That was meant to be respectful, no matter what my opponents’ beliefs may be. There is no excuse for this behaviour. What I did was wrong, it was inflammatory, and I deeply regret it. That is not the kind of man I am, nor the kind of President I wish to be. I do not have an excuse; however, I do have an explanation.” The whole time he doesn’t let his head drop. He stares at the people, watching in silence, hanging onto his every word. “I am a man who cares very deeply about my family. There is nothing in the world that means more to me. So, when I felt that my son was being threatened, I got defensive. I got unnecessarily angry. While I maintain that comments against my son, or anyone other than myself, for that matter, are entirely inappropriate, so was my reaction. I cannot apologize more for that. I can promise that I will never act in such a way again, whether I earn the great privilege of being your President or not.” He leans on his arm to push himself back up to his feet. “But, of course, promises like that mean nothing unless they are acted upon,” he says when he’s standing again. “And so, I promise to spend every single day of this campaign proving that to you. Because you deserve a President that you can trust will be able to handle disputes calmly and diplomatically.” 

The applause as he exits the stage and hands the mic back to the attendant starts quieter, but slowly gets louder as people start to cheer as well. Alexander beams as he watches George approach him and pat his shoulder again. It was definitely a painfully honest speech. But it had to be done, and Alexander couldn’t be prouder. 

“Good job,” he murmurs.

George smiles. “Thank you, Alex.”

The rest of the rally is a bit of a blur. Selfies; music; speeches; they do tend to get a bit same-y when you do this thing once or twice a week. But still, it’s exhilarating. Much better than any private event or fundraiser that he’s forced to attend. Those are excruciating. Except for that one fundraising ball….

No. Eyes on the prize, Alexander. 

He doesn’t even have John Laurens’ number, so it’s not like he could text him if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He definitely doesn’t. 

There are two moments that stick out to him that day, though. The first is not long after his father’s speech, when he’s mingling with some guests as George takes selfies with attendees. A short white woman with her hair neatly tied back approaches him with a smile. 

“Hello, Alexander. I saw you up there introducing your father. You were wonderful, as usual.”

“Oh, thank you,” he says. He gets the strange feeling that he knows her from somewhere. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Senator Abigail Adams.” She holds out her hand for him to shake, which he accepts. He had almost forgotten that Adams has a wife, and he had no idea that she was a senator. It comes as a bit of a shock. Sure, he hasn’t got all 100 memorized, but he probably should’ve known about her. 

“Ah, of course. It’s nice to meet you properly, Senator.”

“You too, Mr Hamilton. I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

It takes him a moment to respond. It’s been so long since he’s heard his last name like that, separate from George’s. He supposes she only said it like that so she didn’t have to say the long-winded hyphenated version, but… it’s still unfamiliar. And familiar at the same time. “Uh, yeah, of course,” he replies, after a couple awkward seconds.

“I was just wanting to check whether you’re doing okay, darling?” She asks. “Sorry if it’s a little strange coming from me, but, well, with all this political fuss over who said what, I doubt that anyone has stopped to ask if you’re doing alright after what Laurens said about you.”

Well. If the first thing that she had said to him had been jarring, the second is a nuclear bomb. Is he okay? What kind of a question is that? Why would Abigail Adams, of all people, give a shit about whether he’s okay? 

He blinks at her, genuinely not sure how to respond. Is he okay? He thinks about what Laurens said about him, the ‘woke mind virus’ bullshit, and if it’s affected him. And, honestly? Not really. He hadn’t really thought of it as a personal attack, even if Laurens had meant it as one. It’s just politics. “I—I’m doing okay, Senator. It’s a little strange, but, well, it’s just politics. It’s not like I expected anything different from Henry Laurens.”

She gives him a pitying look, and he feels a bit strange at that, because, well, he doesn’t feel like he needs pity. He’s a lucky guy. Well, he is now, at least. He’s lucky to be here, to have this family, to have the opportunity to be in politics, and if that means being jabbed at over his sexuality, then that seems like a fair trade-off. Right? Is it fair? 

God, he really doesn’t have time for existential crises right now.

Abigail Adams pats him on the forearm, and he has to restrain himself from flinching. Crap. Since when did he get panicky at rallies? 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re feeling fine. But if you’re ever not, remember to tell someone, alright? Your mom, dad, hell, me if you need. Your wellbeing is more important than any political campaign, sweetheart.” With that, she gives him one last pat on the forearm and goes to join her husband, leaving Alex bewildered, anxious, and confused. And also wondering why the hell they chose the male Adams as the VP candidate.

Should he care more about it? He supposes it’s not normal, to have a presidential candidate insulting you on national television at the age of eighteen, but it’s not like anything in Alexander’s life has been normal. He’s never experienced ‘normal’, whatever that is. It’s certainly not watching all your neighbours and cousins drown in a hurricane and being forced to rely on sheer skill to get a ticket to the mainland and then being adopted by a famous senator. Normal would probably feel strange to him. 

It’s not like he can afford to care about it. He wants to be a politician, and he’s openly bisexual. So, yeah, not the easiest combination. He’s going to have to get used to open attacks like that. 

He decides on that as his answer, and moves on, because he has a lot of other problems to think about other than how his father’s campaign might be affecting his wellbeing. 

The second thing is later in the day, when George is back on the stage, making another rallying speech, and the crowd is enraptured. He stands on the side of the crowd this time, wanting the full experience of the rally. It’s loud and busy and he loves it. 

He’s interrupted in his intent listening when someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns around to see a reporter, standing next to a camera crew. Crap, he should have double checked that there weren’t any press nearby when he chose to stand here.

“Excuse me, are you Washington’s son?” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says. “Can I help you with something?”

The reporter’s smile is so bright that it’s a little unsettling. “I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions.” he gestures to the cameras set up behind him.

“Who’re you with?”

“CNN.”

“Sure. Are y’all live?” he gives a cautious glance to the camera guy, who is all set up. 

“Not currently, but we’re about to be.”

Camera guy holds up 5 fingers. Damn. Very about to be. This is probably a bad idea to do impulsively without Harrison’s consent, but he can’t help himself. He knows that he’s a good speaker, and he knows George’s campaign like the back of his hand. Maybe this will help him prove that he deserves his spot in the campaign office. 

Four, three, two, one—

The reporter nods along, probably listening in an earpiece. “I’m here live at the rally in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with Alexander Washington, son of presumptive Democratic nominee, George Washington.” 

It’s the second time today that he’s been referred to with just one last name. This time it’s less surprising. But it feels a lot more impersonal. 

“How does it feel to be here in Pennsylvania?”

Alexander avoids the urge to tell him how stupid of a question that is. (states don’t feel like anything) “I’ve got to say, this lovely state always has some of the best energy at events,” he says instead. “I always love to be here. I’m hoping that the people agree and that we’ll see that result pay off in November.”

He nods along. “”And I understand you’ve become a bit of a staple at your father’s rallies?”

Alexander chuckles. “Yes, I always love to be here to introduce him and just to soak in the atmosphere.”

“Well, it certainly is electric in here.” The reporter’s expression shifts a little, and Alexander is practiced enough to know that this is when the real questions start. “So, of course, the big topic of conversation around the election right now is the debate. Many consider a comment that Henry Laurens made during it to be targeted at yourself. Do you have a response?”

He takes a breath. Yeah, he should’ve expected this. “Well, I think that if Henry Laurens feels he needs to insult my sexuality, then he seems to have run out of topics.”

“So you believe that is what the comment was about?”

“Well, they were on the topic of gay marriage, and I assume he wasn’t referring to my mom.” The reporter huffs a laugh. “Either way, though, that wasn’t the important story from that night. The important story was that no one, no matter the facade they may put on to the public, is perfect. No one always has perfect judgement. And that when things blow up, that one must put on a brave face and pick up the pieces anyway.”

The man nods sagely. “Of course, many Americans are disappointed with both candidates' performances that night. Do you have anything else to say when it comes to your father’s?”

“I agree that it was not acceptable. I understand when the American people say that they are disappointed. I hope, I really do, that we are able to prove during the rest of this campaign that the debate was not an accurate demonstration of the kind of leader that my father wishes to be. If I know anything about him, after being raised by him for the past four years, it’s that he can learn from his mistakes. He can see what he’s done wrong, and make sure that he doesn’t make the same mistake again. And I think that’s one of the best qualities that one can find in a leader.”

When he walks away, he’s quite proud of how he did. He spoke eloquently, on the spot, and honestly. He got his point across well. It’s only when he spots Harrison, sitting on the other side of the room, staring at his phone and then looking up at him with fire in his eyes, that he almost regrets it. Sure, he’s not meant to give unapproved interviews, but that one was great! He can’t get in trouble for it, right?

“I can’t believe you went and did an interview without getting permission first,” Harrison sighs, sitting at the Pennsylvania HQ with him, George, Martha, and Adams a few hours after the rally wraps up. 

“Oh, I can,” Martha counters. “Doesn’t mean I’m impressed.”

Alexander crosses his arms. “I did well in that interview!”

“It doesn’t matter how you did, it matters that it was live on tv, and if you didn’t do well, there would’ve been nothing we could’ve done.”

“Okay? Y’all do live interviews all the time. Politics is all risks.”

“Sweetheart.” Martha places her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “You’re right. But you’re our son. No matter how many risks we take, we aren’t risking you.”

“Goddammit, why can’t you guys trust me?” he exclaims, shrugging off Martha’s hand. “I’m not a child! And I’m fucking smart! I want more than anything to be a part of this. This is where I want to be. What I want to do. And I’m good at it! Why can’t you give me a chance?”

George clears his throat. “Alexander—”

“What? You gonna ban me from HQ again?”

His father sighs, smiling a little. “No. I was going to say how I actually agree with you, and I think that Harrison needs to relax a little.”

“What?” Harrison looks like someone’s just insulted his mother.

“Robert, he’s right,” George says. “Seriously! He’s goddamn smart, and he’s popular with the people, too. He’s getting more good PR for us than I am.” He pulls out his phone and opens something up, placing it down on the table. It’s open to twitter, showing #AlexanderWashington-Hamilton trending. Everyone stares at it in disbelief. Harrison picks up the phone and scrolls through the feed. 

“‘Why is Washington’s son more articulate than Washington himself?’” he reads, directly from the screen. “‘Damn that kid actually made me believe he might get better’.” He scrolls a little more. “‘I’ll be disappointed if we get to the next debate and the same thing happens again now.’” He places the phone back down and looks back up, finally meeting Alexander’s eyes. “What the hell did you say in that interview?”

Alexander gapes at him. “You were ripping into me about it and you hadn’t even watched it?”

Harrison sighs and slides the phone back over. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I didn’t realize how much of an effect that had.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t either. He’d forgotten to check twitter on his way back. But it makes him swell with pride that his interview had such a great effect. He raises an eyebrow. “I will accept your apology if you promise to stop treating me like a little kid from now on.” He extends his hand.

Despite looking rather humiliated, Harrison shakes it.

Washington chuckles. “Good problem-solving, boys,” he says. “And good job, Alex. I’m proud of you.”

Alexander beams. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Henry Laurens’ campaign is making a very short stop in New York for a Young Republicans event being held there. The next day, they’re off to Pennsylvania. So, given that John is literally only here for two nights, he doesn’t bother unpacking or anything and just chucks the TV on when he and Martha reach their hotel room. 

CNN buzzes in the background as he and his sister complain about anything and everything to do with the campaign. 

“I hate that he drags us around to everything just because it’s summer and we don’t have school,” Martha groans. “Like, I genuinely do not give a crap about any of this. Moving around every few days.”

“Yeah, but he wants to project his whole ‘traditional family values’ thing,” John mutters. “He needs kids for that. At least he doesn’t force the little ones to come too.”

“Oh, god, that would be torture. Can you imagine, those three wrecking havoc as we traipse across the country?”

“Hah. That would be awful.”

“Almost as awful as this stupid event,” John mutters.

“Oh come on, it can’t be too bad. At least it’ll all be teens, not old men.”

“Martha, it’s worse when it’s teens, because I’m forced to face the reality that people our age actually believe that bullshit. Plus, dad’s told me that I have to do a speech.”

“Oh.” she crosses her arms. “Yeah, that’s crap. Do you have to write it?”

“Nah, Hancock gave me this.” He pulls out a folded speech from his pocket. He’s already read it over on the plane ride over. It’s awful. A lot of it is BS about ‘community’ and ‘bringing young people into politics’, but at least a good half is just the regular hateful crap that his father spews on the daily. He’s expected to go up there and shit on immigrants as if his own mother wasn’t one herself. He’s meant to go up there and slyly insult gay people when just over a week ago, he was making out with a boy in a hotel hallway. 

“Give it here.” Martha reaches over and grabs it out of his hands, skimming it. John watches as her face slowly devolves into a scowl. “Ugh, this is awful,” she murmurs. “I can’t believe they’re making you say that.”

“I’ll probably just paraphrase it on the spot to cut the racist bits out.”

“Mhm, good idea.”

He takes the speech back from her, skimming it again and cringing at how bad it is. 

“Oh, look at this,” Martha says, and John follows her line of sight to the television, where a reporter is standing at what looks like a Washington rally. His heart almost stops when he looks at the person standing next to her. It’s Alexander. 

The reporter asks him some question, and he gives some answer. John isn’t listening to the words. He’s just looking at Alexander’s face. He’s so passionate. He clearly cares so much about whatever it is he’s saying. John wishes he could have that. He wishes that anything he did had any meaning. 

“You good there?”

It takes an immense amount of strength for John to rip his eyes away from the beautiful boy on his screen and look at his sister. “What?”

“You’re gaping at the screen like a goldfish.”

“Whaaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns back to stare at Alexander’s face again. His gorgeous hair, pulled neatly into a bun; his voice, calm and controlled but also invigorating at the same time—

“You’re still doing it.”

“Shut up, Martha.”

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“No.” It probably isn’t convincing given that he’s still staring at Alexander. “Hey, do you remember how long we’re gonna be in Pennsylvania for?”

“Just five days because of the RNC— John, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, grabbing his phone out and immediately looking up the Washington campaign schedule. He really can’t afford to tell his sister what’s going on. He just needs to work out where and when he can see that gorgeous boy again. 

Luckily, it looks like the Washington campaign will still be in Pennsylvania for at least the next week. It’s a stupid, dumb idea, but nonetheless, the seed has been planted. They’ll both be in the same state at the same time…

“Okay, seriously, Jack, what is going on?” Martha lunges over to try and grab his phone out of his hand. John tries to roll away but she grabs a hold of his shoulder and pushes him back playfully, snatching his phone. 

“Is this the Washington campaign schedule?” 

“Uhhh…”

“Why do you care about that?”

There are probably a lot of explanations that John could give in this moment. He’s just interested in the campaign. He’s worried about running into them. He liked watching the rally on TV and wants to know when there’ll be another. But none of them occur to him, and so instead, he just stares at her.

“Call me crazy, but does this have something to do with that mask?”

“What? Why would it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve literally never kept a single secret from me before, and suddenly you seem to have two at once?”

John winces. He really does feel bad for not telling Martha. He swallows. “I’m sorry. It’s just. A bit… stupid.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Jack,” Martha murmurs, her voice softer now. She hands his phone back over. “You’re not stupid. You can come to me about anything, you know.”

“I know, I know, it’s just. This is, genuinely, actually stupid. Not like, ‘I’m insecure’ stupid. It’s actually possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that. Just tell me what’s up.”

John sighs. “You know the other night at the masquerade ball when I left real early?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, earlier that night I’d caught these two guys trying to sneak their friend in through a window. Turns out one had an invite, one was his plus one, but the third didn’t have a ticket.”

She snorts. “Who the hell would want to sneak into that party?”

“Well, once I helped them get him in through a side door, I asked the same thing. Turns out, the guy with the invite is distantly related to nobility or something. But their friend who was getting in the window…” 

“What?”

“Was Alexander Washington-Hamilton.”

Martha gapes at him. “No fucking way.”

“Ha. Yes fucking way. Anyway, I think they were just there because they were bored and starting mischief or whatever. I told them it wasn’t a good idea but I wasn’t gonna like, kick them out or anything so I just stayed out of their way the rest of the night. That was until Alexander came back up to me and dragged me back into the hallway.”

“You two on a first name basis?”

“Well, I’d hope so, given he literally asked me out.”

“WHAT?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just as shocked as you! He didn’t even know who I was, so I told him, and somehow that didn’t deter him, like, at all.” He looks down at his hands as he says so because it’s too embarrassing to say this to her face. “I just wanted a break. I hate those parties, I hate pretending to be conservative, I hate pretending to be straight, and here was this gorgeous, smart, passionate boy saying that he thinks I’m hot, and god, Martha—” He sniffles, which is absolutely humiliating, but he’s too far gone now. “And when he found out who I am, he didn’t turn away. He didn’t give a shit who my dad is. No-one has ever not cared.”

“Oh, Jack.” She grabs his shaking hands and squeezes. 

“We kissed,” John admits. “A lot. It was the best thing I’ve ever felt. That’s why I had the mask. I took it off his face and it must have ended up in my pocket.”

“So that’s why you were so captivated by the TV earlier. He was there.”

“Yeah.”

She chuckles a little. “Wow. This is not what I expected, I have to say.”

“Yeah.”

“It is a little stupid.”

“Yeah.”

She reaches out and lifts his chin up, meeting his eyes. “But I think you deserve it.”

“What?”

“You deserve an escape, John. You don’t have to be controlled by dad anymore. You’re an adult. You’re allowed to make this decision. And if it makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

“I need him for my college funding. You know that, Martha. And it’s not like he has any reservations about beating me, even if it’s illegal now.”

“There’s always another way out.” She gives him a serious look and John raises his eyebrows. “I’m serious! You can get a loan, you can apply for scholarships; you’re smart, I know you’ll get them. You don’t owe him anything.”

He swallows. “I’ll think about it.”

The next day consists of far too much overthinking his future and nowhere near enough working out how to edit his speech. By the time they’re at the Young Republicans event, and John is standing with his sister and father in front of a shit ton of photographers, bright lights flashing in his face, he still hasn’t worked out anything specific. He keeps putting it off with the excuse that ‘I can just do it on the spot’, but now that ‘the spot’ is right in front of him, it’s a lot more intimidating. The crowd is filled with people his age and younger, all adorned in red, and it makes him sick. 

They sit at the back of the stage as his father makes his speech, and John watches the eyes of the teenagers who are pressed up against the banister. They look up in awe, hanging on to his every word, as if they’re meeting their hero or something. One girl is grinning and holding her phone up to film. A boy who can’t be much older than 14 watches with a glimmer in his eye. John has to look away. 

“Your support for our cause to take our country back is inspiring!” Henry Laurens exclaims into the mic. “I am so grateful to see so many young people out here tonight in New York City. But of course, I thought it best that you should hear from one of your own, which is why I am honored to invite my son, John, to speak to you about his experience as a young member of this party.” He gestures for John to stand and walk to the podium.

Technically, John actually isn’t a member of the party. He’s not registered, much to his father’s dismay, and he never intends on being. But details like that don’t really matter when you’re the party leader’s son. The same people who cheered for his father cheer just as loud for him when he walks up. 

It takes all of his focus to think about what he’s saying. It would be much easier to just say the speech, let the words wash over him without thinking about their meaning, especially when he feels like he’s about to throw up. But he knows he can’t do that. He’s not sacrificing his own morals for convenience.

It goes alright. A lot of the speech is just rowsing messages, and talk about encouraging young people to get into politics. Nothing too bad. But when he gets to the policy bits: things about ‘restoring traditional family values,’ ‘cutting wasteful spending that allows people to freeload’, and ‘stopping the invasion crisis at our border’, he has to do a lot of paraphrasing. In fact, he mostly just skips over that part entirely, jumping straight to the conclusion. He spots Hancock giving him a look from across the room, but he couldn’t care less. It’s worth it to him. He’d probably head straight out of here and shoot himself if he’d said the original version. 

The crowd claps again for him as he exits the podium, and then he, Martha, and his father all leave the stage. Some generic country song starts playing from the speakers again as Henry Laurens goes to take selfies with all the passionate young Republicans (see: fascists) of New York. 

“What do you think about getting out of here before anyone comes up and tries to speak to us?” John mutters to Martha.

“Hah. Sounds lovely, but I think at this point in the night we’d be pretty sorely missed.”

“Well, let them miss—” He cuts himself off as a boy with slick-back straight hair, holding the hand of a little girl, comes up to them. He didn’t realize how far into the crowd they’d walked. Crap.

“Hey! My name’s Frank. I just wanted to say that I loved your speech, man. You’re a real inspiration to me; I’d like to be in politics some day too.”

John plasters on his fake smile even as his entire soul falls apart at the idea of him inspiring someone to be a Republican. “Oh, thank you so much! It’s nice to meet you,” He says, shaking the guy’s hand. “Is this your sister?” He looks at the little girl standing with Frank, and god, she must still be in elementary school. He wonders if she would still be so happy about being here if she knew his father was campaigning to take away her school lunches. 

“Yeah, this is Leah,” Frank says. “It’s her first event, but she’s very excited to be here.”

She smiles goofily and waves at John. He waves back, hoping that someday, she’ll get out.

The rest of the night is the same. Talking to young people, holding back tears and vomit, and staring at the door, desperate for an escape. The room is bright and loud and sweaty. He is literally living his worst nightmare. Which is why, as soon as he sees an opportunity when his father and Hancock are busy with a TV interview, he slips out the door and into the warm New York night. 

He doesn’t know this city; doesn’t know where he’s going or where he wants to end up as he starts walking. He wants to know it, though. What he hasn’t told his dad is that while he’s been accepted to the University of South Carolina, he’s also been accepted to Colombia. And he hasn’t given either school his decision yet. Since he’s waiting until second semester, he has a little more time to decide. And… Well, he was planning on just staying at home, but something made him put the letters down and wait. He thinks, as he looks around, about what it would be like to live here. Here where it would be considered normal for him to hold a boy’s hand in public. He thinks about Alexander. A life here, with him, sounds like a fairytale. 

He just follows his feet until he finds himself outside a 7/11. The crappy neon lights flicker out into the street. Damn, he could really go for a slushie right now. He walks awkwardly inside, still very cautious that someone might recognize him. 

Hands in his pockets, he waits for the slushie machine for a guy with fluffy black hair, arm slung around a shorter guy wearing a striped hoodie. Once they're gone, He grabs a medium cup and fills it with raspberry slushie.

“Hey!”

He jumps, spilling a bit of slushie on his nice tailored shirt. He looks up to find a person in a yellow hoodie, looking very apologetic.

“Oh crap, sorry!” They grab a paper towel from the counter and hand it to him. He wipes the slushie off his shirt. It leaves a bit of a pink stain, but he can just button his blazer to cover it up. 

“All good,” he murmurs. “Uh, is there something you needed?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if I knew you from somewhere. You seem familiar.”

His stomach drops. “Uh, I don’t know.” He grabs a lid and straw for his slushie, grateful for the chance to turn away from their face. 

“Are you a politician’s kid?”

“What?”

“Well, my dad’s a senator, and given you’re wearing a suit, I just assumed…”

“Uh, yeah. I am.” 

They smile. “Cool! I’m Peggy.” They hold out their hand and he shakes it. “Phillip Schyuler’s kid.”

“Oh, cool.” At least they’re the kid of a Democrat. He just has to avoid telling them who he is.

“Escaping from a boring event?” they ask. 

“Yeah. Election crap.”

“Ah, yeah, Laurens’ campaign is here, isn’t it?” they roll their eyes as they grab a slushie cup for themselves and start to fill it with the coke flavor. “You related to a Republican, then?”

“Uh… yeah.”

They give him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. I won’t judge you on your family’s beliefs.” They place a lid on their drink. “As long as you aren’t an asshole.” They raise their eyebrows.

“Oh, no, I don’t agree with that crap. Just… it’s hard to separate yourself from that when you rely on them financially.”

“Sorry about that, man. At least we have crappy 7/11 slushies to make us feel better, huh?”

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

They both pay for their drinks and step back out into the night, which is warmer than the store. Definitely not natural for it to be, like, 80 degrees at 10pm, even in summer. But even surrounded by the proof of it, John’s father still won’t admit that climate change exists. Just lovely. 

The two of them lean against the side of the building. John decides that he might as well chat with them, given he doesn’t have anything better to do.

“You gonna tell me who you’re related to?” Peggy asks him. 

“I’d rather not.”

“All good. You not a fan of them?”

“Hah. no.” He looks down and kicks a piece of gravel with his foot. “He’s a Republican, and I’m gay, so.” Wait, what the fuck? Why is he admitting this to some stranger that he just met in 7/11? The only people in the world who know that he likes guys are his sister and Alexander. And now this Peggy person, apparently.

“I’m sorry.” They place a hand on his shoulder, and it’s more comforting than he would have thought. “I got lucky, I guess, being the kid of a progressive. But it’s still hard, man, especially being in the public eye. People like to attack my dad for having a trans kid.”

“I’m sorry.” Now he thinks about it, that does ring a bell. Crap, he feels awful. “I think my dad might have done that.”

“Talked about me?”

“Yeah. I’m real sorry.”

“It’s alright. Nothing you can control. Just… Know that you’re not him.”

“What do you mean?” he takes another sip of his slushie.

“You’re your own person. Don’t let his career or his opinions control you. You deserve your own life.”

He takes another sip to avoid answering for a few more moments. “I know,” he says finally. “But it’s much easier said than done.”

“It’s much better done than just said.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I ‘spose so.”

They smile at him, sipping their slushie. “I hope I see you again.”

“You too.” He really does mean it. It’s nice to finally meet a politician’s kid that isn’t a conservative asshole. With the exception of Alexander, of course, he hasn’t met any.

“Can I know your first name?”

“John.”

“Nice to meet you, John.”

“You too, Peggy.”

They’re off to Pennsylvania tomorrow, so he doubts he’ll see them again. But he’s glad for the conversation. And if he’s now itching more than ever to show up at a Washington event when he gets there, that’s no-one’s business but his own.

Chapter Text

Now that he’s proven that he can actually be a help to the campaign, Alexander’s ban from HQ has been lifted. He spends most of the day there in Pennsylvania, talking with volunteers and only occasionally annoying Harrison. At one point he checks in on the social media office and gives them some tips. He thinks he’s within reason, there, given that the social media is being run by a 42-year-old guy named Brian who probably didn’t know the difference between instagram and facebook until he got the job. And as a professional young person, he knows a thing or two about social media. At least more than Brian. 

He’s sitting in the breakroom, eating a protein bar that he swiped from Brian’s desk, scrolling instagram, when he gets a message from Laf. It’s a youtube link. 

He opens the video and almost spits out the protein bar when he sees the title: John Lauren’s rallying speech at NYC Young Republicans event. Crap. He gave a speech? Half of Alex is excited to hear his voice, half of him is absolutely terrified of what he’s going to say. A young Republicans event sounds like Alex’s absolute worst nightmare. He can’t imagine what kind of crap he’d say there. 

Instead of watching it, because the idea of that makes him want to throw up, he messages Laf back.

Alex: Is it bad?

Laf: watch it and find out

Alex: no, too scary.

Laf: You made out with Henry Laurens’ son in the middle of one of their events. I think you can handle hearing him speak.

Alex: That was easy!

Laf: sure. Just watch the video, Alexandre. You’re a big boy.

He sighs and opens the youtube app back up. He watches from some person in the crowd’s shaky phone footage as John, who is still the most gorgeous boy that Alex has ever seen, walks up to the podium. He weakly waves at the crowd, fake smile plastered on his face. 

The speech isn’t as bad as he had imagined. It’s in support of Henry Laurens, of course, but he doesn’t go too much into policy. He just says ‘fighting to achieve change with these policies’, which is a little stilted, in Alex’s opinion. John stutters through a couple of those sentences, which is very unlike the rest of the speech. Had he been editing on the spot? Had he even wanted to do the speech? One half of Alex desperately hopes that he had been forced into that. The idea of John voluntarily giving a speech at an event like that would’ve seemed perfectly plausible a couple weeks ago, but a lot has changed since then. He really hopes he didn’t choose that. 

The other half of him, though, really hopes he wasn’t forced into it. Because as much as he’s tried to push it down, he can’t stamp out the fact that he cares, deeply, for John Laurens. Why, he doesn’t know. But he knows that he feels like punching something at the idea of him being forced into a speech.

He closes Youtube and forces himself to think about something, anything, else. There’s a fundraising ball for his father tonight, not unlike the one he snuck into the other week (although with less masks and less bigotry and less hot boys) that he’s expected to attend. These kinds of events are probably his least favourite, as it’s less politics as it is getting rich people to donate to their campaign. At least it’s a distraction, though. God knows he needs that. 

A couple hours later, he’s in a suit with a stupid bowtie that feels like it’s choking him, standing at the side of a huge ballroom at some fancy hotel. He had previously been talking to Martha, but now she’s twirling across the dancefloor with George. He doesn’t mind, really. He’s glad his parents are happy. But right now, when the night is still relatively young and the music is moderately loud, he feels like the only person who isn’t on the dancefloor. Herc and Laf aren’t here, of course; they can’t give up their precious summer time to follow Alexander around the country. Plus, even if they were, they’d probably be dancing too. If he did have someone to do it with, he would probably enjoy it, he thinks. George taught him a few years ago when he started coming to political events so that if he saw someone he liked, he could ask. That’s how he got a crush on Eliza: dancing with her at some Democratic party event. Both of their parents were senators at the time. He stumbled a lot, but she didn’t mind. He wishes he had someone now. But no. Instead, he’s standing at the edge of the room, watching everyone else, sipping a sprite because everyone here knows him so he can’t get away with using his fake ID.

“How’re you doing, sweetie?” 

He almost jumps at the soft voice that interrupts his dreadful thoughts. He turns to see Senator Abigail Adams smiling sweetly at him. “Oh, I’m good,” he replies. “Sorry, I thought you’d be dancing.”

“Ah, no, John’s talking to the governor over there.” She gestures in the direction of the bar. 

The simple sound of the name ‘John’ gives Alex momentary heart palpitations before he realizes that he had just thought of John Adams in the same vein as John Laurens and feels like he wants to throw up. 

“Ah, cool.” He’s not quite sure where his eyes should land, what his hands should do. He’s not usually this awkward with people. It’s just that he can’t get the last conversation he had with her out of his mind. About what Laurens said about him, and whether he cares. Does he? God. He cannot think about this right now. 

His attention is caught by Senator Adams pulling something out of her pocket. She artfully unscrews the cap of the little flask off with one finger and pours a little into her drink. She looks up and catches his eye.

“Uh—”

“Ah, you won’t tell on me, huh?” She winks, holding her drink out for him to hold as she does the flask back up and puts it back into her pocket. “I’m not meant to be drinking at these things,” she explains as she takes her drink back, “Want to show a good face for the campaign or whatever. But I can hold my booze pretty well, and these events are dreadfully boring.” She takes a sip and spots him eyeing her cup. “Ah ah, young man, you sip your sprite.”

He chuckles awkwardly and takes a sip. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “These things really are a huge drag.”

“It really would be much more engaging, effective, and morally sound if they focused their fundraising efforts on the general population, don’t you think?” 

He gives her a strange look.

“You know, instead of relying on millions of dollars from a few billionaires, if we poured heaps into social media and advertising, going out onto the streets and talking to real people, encouraging the hundreds of millions of people who are actually going to benefit from these policies to donate instead.” She takes another sip as she shakes her head. “Campaigning and fundraising all in one. Plus, you wouldn’t be beholden to billionaire’s money. You would only be beholden to the people.”

He stares at her. “You should run for VP.”

She laughs. “You’re funny, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m being serious. That… well, I had thought similar things, of course, but I’m just a teenager. You’re a senator. You’re well-connected with the campaign, my father knows you well, I’m sure he’d be open to your ideas. I mean, even if you don’t want to be Vice President, you should still talk to him. But, like, I think you’d be great at it.”

She smiles. “Thank you. You’re very kind. But Vice President isn’t even a real job anyway.” She takes another sip. “I’m fine with my senate seat. It lets me actually make a change. I can’t abandon my constituents. It has far more of a vote than VP does. You might be right about talking to your father, though.” She stares across the dancefloor to where George and Martha are still twirling around, intertwined. “You really think he’ll be perceptive to the feedback?”

“Of course! He’s also letting me get more involved in the campaign, too. I can help advocate for your ideas.”

“That’s very generous of you, Alexander.” She holds her glass out and he clicks it against hers. Takes a sip.

There’s a buzz in his pocket. It’s strange, because all his friends know that he’s here, and all his family (read: George and Martha) are here. He pulls it up to check the notification. 

And spits his drink out in front of him. 

It’s an instagram DM from @John_L_05— the account he specifically remembers stalking just a little bit over the past week.

“Goodness, are you alright, there, sweetheart?” Senator Adams asks him. 

“Uh—” He looks back down at his phone. “Yeah, I— I’m fine— I just gotta—” he gestures vaguely behind him before hightailing it out of the room and dashing to the men’s bathroom. He thinks he hears her chuckling at him as he leaves, but he frankly doesn’t give a shit. 

He shuts himself in a stall and opens the DM, both hands holding his phone with an iron grip. He’s genuinely shaking. 

John_L_05: 

Hey this is gonna sound so weird and like no pressure ofc and god i really hope it’s you who runs this account and not some campaign manager or something, but you’re at that ball event tonight, right?

Alex types out his reply at lightning speed.

Alex-WH: 

Yeah, I am.

The anticipation he feels as he sees the typing bubble appear, then disappear, then appear again, is almost unbearable. Finally, the message appears.

John_L_05: 

okay this is going to sound so strange but is there any way you could get to the balcony facing the pool?

Alex-WH: 

um.

Alex-WH: 

I mean yeah I could see.

He has genuinely no idea what the hell this could be. For all he knows it could be some kind of trap for paparazzi to get embarrassing photos of him. Unfortunately, though, he’s extremely bored, and would probably also jump off a cliff if John Laurens asked him to. He puts his phone back into his pocket and slips out of the bathroom, heading directly from the hallway and hoping no-one has seen him. He knows that he’s on the second floor, and that the pool is on the first, so It’s likely that there’s a balcony overlooking it somewhere… 

He finds an emergency escape map pinned to the wall next to a door. On it, he finds where he should be going and then heads off in the direction of the balcony John had told him to go to. 

When he finds the glass door, the surrounding hallway is pretty much abandoned, so he confidently walks out into the hot sun, looking around. There’s no-one here. The pool downstairs is abandoned, probably closed for the day so that no-one makes too much noise and interrupts the ball. 

“Hello?” he calls.

“Down here!”

Alex would recognize that voice anywhere. He run to the edge of the balcony, where he leans over, and sees John Laurens, in all his glory, standing there, looking up at him. 

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” he exclaims, grinning.

“We’re both in Pennsylvania and I couldn’t really help myself.”

Alex feels something warm glow in his chest that he decides to ignore. He hadn’t meant to ever see this boy again. But now he’s here, right in front of— well, below— him, and he can’t just send him away. What’s the difference between seeing each other once and seeing each other twice, right?

“Do you want me to let you in?”

“I can just—” John doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead he hurries over to the side of the building, where there’s a lattice with some creeping vines. If it weren’t happening right in front of him, Alex wouldn’t believe what he’s seeing. John starts to climb up the lattice like some kind of fairytale prince. 

“You—” Alex seems lost for words. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Well, that would be less fun, huh?” John asks, finally getting up to eye level with him. “Luckily for me I’m far more graceful at sneaking into buildings than you are.”

“Is that stable?” John seems to have a pretty good grip on the lattice, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I had one at my childhood home. Came in handy for sneaking out.”

The entire conversation, their faces have been getting closer and closer. Alex is practically leaning over the balcony now, and John has one arm braced on the railing, one still holding the lattice.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Alex breathes.

“Me either.” His eyes flick down to Alex’s lips and then back up to his eyes. His stomach flips. “I— I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again. I saw your interview the other day… You’re so talented. I don’t want to mess up your career.”

He suddenly feels awful about the fact that he’d had that exact thought. He could try to ignore it all he wanted, brush it off and never think about John again, but that wouldn't change the fact that John would still be stuck with his asshole father, and as far as he knows, no-one to go to. Surely it can’t mess up his career if they’re not caught, right?

“Of course I want to see you again,” He says, and it’s not even a lie. He did want to see John again. He just refused to admit such. “It’s just… scary.”

“Yeah, it is.” John pauses for a moment. “I can go, if you want—”

“No, no, come in, please. Let me help you.”

He looks away from John’s eyes (a difficult feat) and grabs onto his arm. Slowly, he transfers one foot from the lattice to the balcony, and then the other. Alex doesn’t think his heart has ever been beating faster. Luckily, the suspense doesn’t last too long, because John swings a leg over and plops down onto the balcony, his feet planted safely on the floor.

“Jeez, that was risky,” Alex breathes.

“The balcony thing or the me coming here thing?”

“Hah. Both.”

“You’re…” John looks away. “I can leave, you know. You have a real bright future, Alexander. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“It’s alright. We won’t get caught, and anyway, it’s not like we’re going to see each other much again after the campaigns.” He looks away awkwardly. “And it’s not like I’d want the votes of people who would judge me for this.”

“Yeah,” John breathes, a little stilted. “We should make the most of the time we have.”

“I have a room here,” Alex says.

“Uh, I don’t think I’m ready for—”

“Oh, no, not for that. Just to spend time, yeah? We don’t want to get seen out here.”

“Okay.” John nods.

They sneak to Alex’s hotel room, making sure to pointedly avoid anywhere even remotely close to the ballroom. They really can’t risk anything. When they finally get there, and Alex closes the door behind him, he doesn’t quite know what to say. 

John goes over to the bed and sits at the end, looking out the window. Alex goes to sit next to him. 

The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s loud. Both of them know how risky this is. Neither of them want to leave.

“I can’t believe I actually did that,” John says breathily after a few minutes, breaking the silence. “I just feel like I’ve been itching to do anything but stand ramrod straight in a suit and smile at cameras my entire life.”

“I gotta say, when this evening started, I did not envision finding the son of my father’s political enemy climbing the side of a building just to get to me.”

“I also did not envision that. But then I got here and realized that there was no way I could get in the front door…”

“How did you get here, anyway?” Alex asks, finally turning to look at John. “Doesn’t your father have a fundraising dinner tonight?”

“Are you stalking my father’s campaign schedule, Mr Hamilton?” John asks jokingly, one eyebrow raised with a grin on his face.

“No!” A pause. “Well… maybe.”

“It’s okay, I was doing the same to you.”

“Well, I guess we're even.”

“Ha. I actually faked sick to get out of the dinner. Martha totally didn’t believe me.”

“Martha?”

“My sister. Granted, she probably just thinks I’m staying at the hotel to watch Netflix or something. Not…” He looks up at Alex.

“Sneaking into a Washington event to make out with his son?”

“Yeah. That.”

They talk for hours, about everything and anything. Well, everything except acknowledging what their relationship is. Talking to John is so easy. Despite the fact that Alex is a natural politician and public speaker, it’s a little different when it comes to personal conversations. George joked one time that he’s socially anxious until he’s in a group of more than fifteen people. He hates small talk. But he and John fit together, somehow. They just skip past the small talk and actually talk about the things on their minds.  John tells Alex about his family: his sister who came with him, and all his younger siblings who are stuck in South Carolina with a babysitter. Alex tells John about his family, too. Well, his current family. George and Martha. He’s not ready to talk about the before. And John doesn’t seem to mind. 

Eventually, they get to the subject of college. 

“I’m starting at Colombia in January,” Alex tells him. “Gonna do a Polisci and law double degree. I would’ve started in September but I just couldn’t miss the rest of the campaign.”

“Wow. That’s like a way less fucked up version of my reason for starting in second semester.” 

Alex looks worriedly at him. They’re both sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. 

“My father wants kids to parade around on the campaign to project ‘family values’ or something,” John explains, punctuating ‘family values’ with air quotes. “So I have to wait to start college so that I can be his little poster kid.”

Alex’s heart aches at that. God, he wants to just hold John so close that Henry Laurens can never get his dirty little hands on him ever again. That probably isn’t th kind of thought he should be having for a short-term affair. So instead, he reaches out and grabs John’s hands, squeezing them tight. John smiles sadly at him. 

“Im so sorry,” he murmurs. “I like all the campaigning because I actually believe in it. I can’t imagine going around with him.”

John shrugs. “Well, once I’m off to college maybe he won’t control me as much.”

“Where are you going?”

It takes John a minute to respond. “In theory, I’m going to USC,” he says.

“In theory?”

“I haven’t actually accepted.”

“Why not?”

John takes a deep breath. “I also got into Colombia.”

It’s like being hit by lightning. If John went to Colombia, Alex would be there with him. He would be living right there. Maybe, just maybe, they could make something work. 

Except living away from him wouldn’t make John any less of Henry Laurens’ son. He can’t just delete his last name, the association. It’d be picked up by the press and thrown around like a beachball. They’d have to hide no matter what. Alex doesn’t like hiding. Best not to hope too much.

They stare at each other for a few moments, silent. And then John kisses him. Alex makes a small noise of surprise, but doesn’t complain as John entwines a hand in his hair and deepens the kiss. He’s glad to have an excuse to move on from the topic. Alex falls back onto the pillows, and John follows, kissing him into the bed. 

They break away, gasping a little for air. 

“Sorry, that was so sudden—”

“It’s alright,” Alex assures him. “You’re a great kisser.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

John blushes and looks away. “I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

“Are you serious?” Alex scrambles to sit up a little to get a good look at John to see if he’s lying or not.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had crushes on guys and I’ve kissed a couple girls, but I didn’t like them.”

Alex gapes at him. “Well, I’m honoured.”

John smiles. “You’re a good kisser, too, for the record.”

“Thank you.” Alex kisses him lightly again. And because he’s an idiot with not much self-control, he decides to ask the question that’s nagging at him. “Do you want to go to Colombia?”

John freezes. “Uh—” He looks away. “I mean, of course I do. But I don’t even know if my dad would pay for it. I think if he were to let me go anywhere outside of the South, it’d have to be DC.”

“Why DC?”

“To be at the political hotspot. And also theoretically… close to him.”

“Ah. If he wins the election.”

“Yeah. And I wish I could just brush that off but, well, shit man, it’s not like last time. The polls are either tied or have one candidate leading by, like, one point. There’s no way to know.”

“No. There isn’t,” Alex admits. “Do you even want to do politics, though?”

“Oh, of course not. But the concept of doing anything but law is even more outlandish than going to college in New York. He’d probably beat me to a pulp for even suggesting it.”

Alex feels sick to the stomach. John had said it in a joking tone, but with the undercurrent of someone who was joking to avoid admitting it was true. He remembers what that was like. Back when he was with his cousin. Avoiding doing anything at all out of line to protect yourself.

“I’m sorry that my dad said that crap at the debate,” Alex murmurs softly. 

“About my dad beating his kids?” John shrugs. “It’s not like it’s not true.”

“It shouldn’t be. And you shouldn’t have been brought up. The debate was about policy, not you.”

“I appreciate it, Alex. But also…” John looks up, smirking a little. “I came here for a distraction, you know.”

Alex leans forward to kiss again, ignoring the fact that he’s never felt like this while kissing someone before.

Do you want to keep in touch?” John asks when they break away. “We’ll probably be in the same state again a couple times.”

“Yeah, okay.” Something in the back of his mind says badideabadideabadideabadidea…. But he can’t bring himself to listen to it when John’s right in front of him. “Just like…. Friendly, right?” he asks, just to be safe

“Yeah. Just friends who make out sometimes.”

It’s ridiculous, it sounds ridiculous, and he knows that John knows that too. But they really can’t afford anything else. And if there’s no emotional attachment, it’ll be much easier when it ends.

“Let’s not waste any more time talking details, yeah?” John asks, rolling over to lay next to Alex. 

“Yeah, okay.” He rolls over to kiss John again and is glad when his brain goes silent.

Chapter Text

Is it maybe a little hypocritical for Alexander to be worrying about PR when three hours ago he was texting John Laurens, son of his father’s political enemy, overtly flirting? Maybe. But they’ll be fine, as long as they don’t get caught. And after this summer it’ll all be behind them. It’s just a way to get rid of stress during the election. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

“What the hell is going on with Gates?” Washington asks angrily at a meeting, his hand clenched into a fist on the table. 

“He thinks he’s better than you,” Alex deadpans, not looking away from his phone where he’s checking one Horatio Gates’ campaign website. Since the beginning of election season, he’s been the only other Democratic candidate who was considered to have a chance. Since Biden, the incumbent Democratic President, is retiring, it’s a race between the two. Yet, Washington has gotten up to 1,980 pledged delegates. There isn’t really a viable way for Gates to get the nomination anymore, unless all of the superdelegates at the DNC vote for him. 

This would be great news for Washington, if it weren’t for the fact that Gates still hasn’t dropped out. 

“My guess is that he thinks he can get the superdelegates because Biden endorsed him,” Harrison sighs. 

“But we knew he was going to do that. Old Joe is a conservative under a blue flag, just like Gates is,” says Anne Bailey, their field director. “They’re scared as hell of letting the party go back to actually being for the working class and opposing murdering foreign children, and they’re not gonna back down until the very end.”

“Surely it’s a waste of money at this point, though?” George asks, his head in his hand. “They threw hundreds of millions of dollars in advertising trying to take my platform down, and yet we’re still ahead by so much.”

“Not a waste of money for their billionaire donors who are petrified of paying 5% more in taxes and not being allowed to exploit their workers,” Alex supplies.

“Capitalism at its finest,” Anne sighs.

“It’s okay. It’s not like he’ll cause that much trouble for us. After the DNC it’s all over for him, anyway,” Alex says.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be like, hanging out with friends or something?” Anne asks. “It’s Saturday.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

She rolls her eyes at him. 

“Now that I think about it, Alexander, aren’t your friends coming over today for the Young Democrats meeting tomorrow?” George asks.

“Yeah, but this is more important.”

“Not for an eighteen-year-old who has no official campaign role,” Harrison says. 

“You said you guys would let me get more involved!”

“And we are! But you can’t sit in here all day, every day.”

He sighs. “Fine. You guys have fun trying to work out some asshole Neo-Lib’s intentions without me.” He pushes his seat away from the table and stomps petulantly out of the room. 

Truthfully, he was meant to meet with Herc and Laf half an hour ago, but he’d gotten distracted with the Gates situation. Political drama can capture his attention more than anything. 

He steps out of the campaign office and into the blinding sun, looking around until he spots his two friends, sitting on a bench just outside HQ.

“Alexandre! Nous avons pensé que t’es mort!” Laf exclaims as soon as they spot him.

“Desoleé,” he responds, walking over. “I got distracted. Gates still hasn’t dropped out of the race.”

“I don’t even know who that is,” Hercules says.

“Well, he’s—”

“And I never said I wanted to know.”

Alexander rolls his eyes and sits down next to Laf. “Sorry, guys. I’m so glad you made it down here. I like the campaign, but I really do miss you a lot.”

“C’est pas grave. But you’ve got to focus on some other things sometimes, you know?” Laf asks. “Really, Alex, we know you love this stuff, but…” they and Herc exchange a look. “Well, you are still a teenager. It’s not your job to worry about the presidential race, not yet.”

“I know, I know.” Alex looks away. “I just— some people draw, some people play an instrument or video games or sport— this is my thing. I analyze polls and debates and elections.”

“You’re just a big nerd,” Herc mutters.

Alex rolls his eyes again. “Whatever. What’s up with you guys?”

“Oh, show him your instagram, babe.” Herc nudges Laf’s shoulder.

“Ah, yes, look at this, Alex.” Laf pulls out their phone and opens up their instagram page. “I guess you could say I’ve become a bit of a celebrity.”

Alex looks at the page, which has about fifty thousand followers. “Damn! What are you posting?”

“My makeup stuff. I really didn’t think people would care about it that much. I didn’t even think it was that good. But I seem to have— how you say— blown up.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t come across your page on my feed.” Alex opens up his phone and searches up the name. 

“What, you usually get makeup tutorials on your for you page, Alex?” Hercules asks with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, fuck off. I mean because they’re my friend!”

“Sure, sure.”

“You dick.” He finds the page and follows it, scrolling through some of the photos. There’s a lot of intricate graphic liner designs, some of the stuff that Alexander has seen Laf do before, but a lot of it more colourful and extravagant.

“Hey, maybe do you think I could post a selfie with you? You know, promote the campaign?”

“You mean promote your page? I happen to have a hundred thousand followers, actually,” Alex teases.

“Ugh, t’es un con. Please?” Laf gives an awful attempt at a puppy face.

“As long as you stop making that face.”

“Deal.”

They take a selfie which Laf posts to their story, a caption reading ‘hanging with my favorite politics nerd’. 

“Hey!”

“Oh come on, Alex, it’s an open secret,” Hercules deadpans.

They post the story, though Alexander doesn’t get a notification that he’s been tagged because he’s had notifications on all his socials turned off for about a year and a half, now.

“Anyway, now that you’ve finally emerged from the political hell that is the campaign office in the most important battleground,” Hercules says, “We’ve got a booking at a bowling place.”

“Aw, you guys should’ve told me you had a booking! I wouldn’t have been so late.”

“Yeah, you would—” Laf stops short, staring at something behind Alexander.

Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared Alexander for the shock of turning around to find Republican Congressman Thomas Jefferson, one hand on his hip and one holding his phone, staring down at the three of them as if he’s just found a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. 

“You.” He says darkly, staring straight at Lafayette.

“Me?” they point at themselves, bewildered.

“Yes, you. You’re the asshole who was at that Laurens event two weeks ago. And now you’re posting all this woke shit online and endorsing Washington? Hanging out with his son?”

Alexander’s heart sinks. Jefferson saw them. 

“Okay, and why would you care?” Laf asks.

Jefferson scoffs. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Not really, and I honestly don’t care.”

Alexander tries to nudge Laf to indicate that they really should not be engaging with this guy, but they don’t seem to understand what he’s trying to do.

“Well, come to think of it, your little friends were there too, weren’t they?” he shoots a glance at Alexander and Hercules. Alexander swallows. “You think you kids can turn up and cause chaos just because you’re Washington’s little bitches? Well, unfortunately for you, daddy can’t protect you from real world consequences.”

Alexander still has his phone in his hand. He discreetly double-clicks the on button to open the camera and presses record. He doesn’t like how Jefferson is talking to his friends. If anything happens, he wants it on camera.

“Look, mec, I don’t know who the hell you are and frankly I don’t care what you think of me,” Laf replies, looking almost as disgusted at Jefferson as Alexander feels on the daily. 

“If you show up at anything else now that you’ve proven what kind of person you are, I won’t hesitate to deal with you, mark my words,” Jefferson threatens, his eyes fiery. 

“Hey, fuck off,” Herc warns, his voice deep. “I don’t give a shit that you’re a congressman, you can’t go around threatening minors like that.”

Jefferson does a double-take. Clearly he hadn’t realized that Laf is still only 17.  “Being a kid doesn’t give you an excuse to go around disrespecting legitimate presidential candidates.”

“Being a congressman doesn’t give you an excuse to fucking stalk and threaten us, Jefferson,” Alexander spits back. “It’s not like you have any proof, anyway.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Jefferson smirks. “My father happens to own the hotel that it was held at. So if you happen to show up in any of the security cameras, you better watch that social media of yours.” With that, he turns on his heel and stomps away. 

“Fuck.”

Unfortunately for their bowling plans, this is a little more pressing. Alexander drags Laf and Herc into HQ, going back up to the meeting room and bursting through the door.

Harrison sighs. “Alex. I thought you were going out.”

“Change of plans. I need to speak to George.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, we’re quite busy here—”

“It’s really important.” He sends a pleading look in his father’s direction and he can tell that he knows it’s serious.

Washington stands up. “Okay, everyone out. We can continue this later. I need to speak to my son.”

Everyone in the room lets out a collective groan but nonetheless they clear out. No-one wants to mess with Washington when he’s protecting his family. They learned that at the debate.

“What is it that you need, Alexander?”

He only realizes now that he’s sitting down in the meeting room across from his father, his friends sitting either side of him, that he’s going to have to admit to sneaking into the party. Well. At least he won’t have to mention the other stuff that he did that night.

Instead of an answer, he opens his phone to the video he took and passes it to George. 

The room is so silent as he watches it that he can hear every word that Jefferson says. It’s extremely awkward. Alexander cringes when he hears Jefferson accuse them of going to the party and George flicks his eyes up to them. When he finally finishes the video, he places the phone face down on the table and looks very seriously back at them.

“Is this true? That you went to that party?”

Alexander looks down at his lap as he nods. “Yeah.”

George sighs. “Why?” He asks exasperatedly. 

“Alexandre needed a distraction, and we thought it would be funny,” Laf explains, jumping to his rescue. “I had an invite, we didn’t sneak in.” It’s a half-lie, but not too egregious.

“Invite or not, you understand that that was extremely risky, right?”

“Yeah,” Alexander mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

George shakes his head, disappointed. “There’s nothing to be done to change it now. I’ll write to the Congressman to see if he can be reasonable.”

“But he threatened a seventeen-year-old! Can’t we like, report him or something?”

“Report one of the most famous Republican members of congress in the middle of an election?” George raises his eyebrows. “Even if it did get through, which it wouldn’t, because Jefferson has enough money to buy every lawyer in the country if he wanted, people would just call it a political stunt on my part.”

“Seriously? But we have proof!”

“Proof that also confirms the allegations. I’m sorry, Alexander, there’s nothing I can do.”

Suddenly it feels like everything that was going so well yesterday is down the drain. If Jefferson has this to hold on top of them, they’re going to be on edge for the entire election cycle. 

“Look, if he does release footage then we’ll deal with it then. But more often than not hotel security cameras are few and far between, and poor quality at that. If there is something bad then we’ll deal with it then.”

“Okay.” It feels like such a non-answer. Alexander knows that he’s going to be worrying about the possibility constantly from now on. But George is right. It’s out of their hands now; there’s nothing they can do about it. 

“Ca va aller, mec,” Laf consoles him as they leave the office. “Let’s just distract ourselves with bowling now, huh?”

He gives a weak smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Bowling was fine, Alex supposes. It was nice to have something fun to mess around with instead of thinking about polls and numbers and running mates and primaries for a little bit. One of the employees even recognizes him and they take a selfie, which always cheers him up a bit. Of course, he’s absolutely dogshit at the game itself, and Hercules always absolutely demolishes both him and Lafayette, but it’s mostly just for the fun, anyway. 

“So, how are things going?” Laf asks him as Herc stands up for his turn, lining up for what is probably going to be his fourth strike in a row.

“What do you mean, things?” 

“Tu sais. Your amour.”

Alex rolls his eyes even as he feels a hot blush crawl across his face. “He is not my amour. We just… made out a few times.”

“Hmm. Sure.” They’re looking at him with a strange expression.

“What?”

“I just think you should be careful, is all,” they say, taking a sip of their diet coke. “I know he seems wonderful, but he’s still Laurens’ son. What if he’s taking advantage of you?”

It’s almost as if someone had actually stabbed him through the heart. The idea of John doing something like that is outlandish, and he’s almost offended that Laf would even suggest such a thing. “Of course he isn’t! He would never.”

They sigh, a fond smile on their face. “I know it feels like that, mon pote. But you’ve only met him twice. I’m not trying to tell you that you shouldn’t be with him or whatever. I don’t think there’s anything stopping you at this point. But just… be careful. You can’t take another heartbreak.”

Alex is still very much opposed to this theory, although he tries his best to see it from Laf’s point of view. And they’re right, really. Despite the fact that they’ve been talking constantly over the past few days, they still don’t know each other very well. He just has to be careful. And make sure that he doesn’t do anything silly like falling in love. Easy, right?

Besides the awkward conversation, bowling with his friends was actually a pretty good distraction, and by the time he gets back to the hotel that evening, he’s feeling much lighter. There’s still one thing he needs to do, though: call John. 

They’ve been texting back and forth every day since John came to the Washington event, and it’s all Alex ever wants to do anymore. He texts John under the table while in meetings, while hanging out with his friends (much to their dismay), and late into the night when he really should be sleeping. It really isn’t boding well for his whole ‘forget this entire thing after this summer’ plan. But that’s a problem for future Alex. And anyway, if he wants to prove to himself that John is good and nothing like his father, then he has to spend more time with him, right?

He shoots off a quick message as soon as he gets to the room, and by the time he’s changed into pajamas John has already replied. 

Alex: 

do you want to call tonight?

John <3333: 

sure :)

In quite possibly the most humiliating thing Alex has ever done, he lets out an involuntary high-pitched giggle when he reads the message. Thank god no-one else is in the room. He almost (almost) makes the noise again when his phone starts buzzing with the call. Flopping happily onto the hotel bed, he answers.

“Hey.” 

He’s relieved to hear John’s voice again.

“John! Hi.”

“How’re you doing?” His smile can be heard, even without the image to go alongside it. 

“I’m alright.” He sighs. “There is something I wanted to tell you, though.”

“What’s up?”

“So, you know Congressman Jefferson?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He kind of came up to me and my friends outside HQ today. Apparently he saw us at your dad’s event.”

“Oh, crap.”

Alex chuckles darkly. “Crap indeed. He said he would get the security footage with proof of us being there and then release it to the media. He was threatening us and everything, but George says there’s nothing he can do even though I got a video.”

“He was threatening to get security footage?”

“Yeah.” Even though he can’t see John’s face, he looks away from his phone in shame.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I heard my dad arguing about it earlier. Apparently Lee, who he’s choosing for VP— oh shit, forget I said that— snuck in like three bottles of vodka in his suit jacket, and so my dad had the hotel delete all the footage just in case.”

Alex bursts into laughter. “Oh my god. I’ve heard that ass speaking on TV. And he’s still picking him for VP after that?”

“Yeah, it was too late by the time he found out. I think it was just a couple days ago. And the RNC is on Monday.”

The stark reminder of the fact that the Republican National Convention is in just two days shocks Alex for a moment. It’s in Milwaukee, so John will be leaving either tomorrow or the day after. He really should not ask him to meet up again. Really. “Oh, crap I forgot about that. Are you going?”

A deep sigh. “Unfortunately I am. My father seems to have thought that the reason you’re popular is because you introduce your dad or whatever, not that you’re a political genius, so he’s stolen the idea. I have to introduce him.”

“Oh, shit. That’s awful. I’m sorry I inspired him.”

“Eh, it’s not your fault.” There’s a pause for a moment. “It’s going to be the longest four days of my life, I swear to god.”

“Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Nah, at like 5 am on Monday.”

“Want to meet up before you go?” I should not have fucking done that.

“Where?”

“Uh… Maybe somewhere on the outskirts? A diner, at night? Somewhere with not many people so we don’t get recognized. I can find a place and then send you the address?”

“Sure. I’ll get someone to drive me over.”

Alex’s heart is beating a thousand miles per minute at the idea of seeing John again tomorrow. He’s going to make sure they have the best night before John has to go to Milwaukee. And it’s not a date. It’s just… a little meet up between two guys. They agreed that they were friends. Friends spend time together. And John needs support for the RNC. Friends support each other. Yeah.

They talk late into the night, about something and nothing at all, about politics and sea creatures and pop culture and sports, until both boys are falling asleep but neither wants to hang up the phone. 

“J’hn?” Alex murmurs at one point, half asleep.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me neither.”

They both fall asleep minutes afterwards, the phone call still going.