Chapter Text
“But it’d be so boring without you there!”
Those were the words that put Aaron Burr over the edge. He wasn’t ever much of a socialite, especially not in comparison to his roommate. Where his roommate would eat in the dining hall with his energetic friends, Aaron preferred to bring his food back to their room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the tray of food in his lap and his laptop computer on his outstretched legs, swallowing forkfuls of mashed potatoes over an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. He was perfectly content to spend the holiday season the exact same way. Without family to go home to, Christmas became less of a happy, opening-presents-under-a-tree event and more of a sleeping-for-many-hours-and-ignoring-the-date thing.
Alexander Hamilton had a different idea. The two were both without parents, so Aaron had initially believed that him and his roommate would have lots in common. After his parents’ deaths, he’d spent a considerable amount of time holed up in his room studying. Alexander had, too-- but he’d also spent a considerable amount of time running rampant among the social scene, searching for influential friends and ways to get ahead. It was exhausting just to watch. When Alexander had finally made a group of friends in John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Gilbert Lafayette, Aaron figured he’d be left well enough alone.
When Alexander suggested that he tag along to their Christmas party, Aaron wasn’t so sure. “I don’t fit in with you guys,” he’d said. “I hate Christmas,” he’d said. “I think Secret Santa is trite and cliche,” he’d said. Alexander was relentless.
So he’d put his name in the Secret Santa draw and he’d decided to come. He wasn’t exactly sure why. (Maybe it was the way Alexander’s eyes looked when he asked him to come along. Maybe it was the way he’d fidgeted with his hands as he invited Aaron. Maybe it was the way that Alexander somehow always managed to win him over.)
They trudged through week-old snow to the small apartment off-campus where the party was being held. Alexander might have said it was his friend Hercules’ apartment, but Aaron couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter. All that he cared about was getting through Secret Santa and leaving.
They reach the doorstep after ten minutes or so of walking. Alexander’s nose is bright pink with cold. Aaron quickly diverts his gaze from him, casting it straight forward onto the door.
“We can just go right in,” Alexander says.
“Right.”
Alexander swings the door open and is immediately greeted by what seems like entirely too friendly hugs, and in an instant he is swept off into the kitchen by both Lafayette and Hercules. Aaron imagines that’s the source of the vanilla cookie smell that is bombarding his nose, entirely too sweet and cheery.
He scans the room. String lights and showy metallic tinsel line the walls. A few evergreen wreaths tied with cheerful red bows are hung against the wall alongside snowflake cut-outs and cardboard cut-outs of angels. A decorated tree stands proudly in the back corner of the room, with a few hastily-wrapped gifts shoved underneath it, all to a name and signed from ‘Secret Santa’. Aaron carelessly slides his gift under the tree. He assumes that’s what he’s supposed to do.
And then, he’s at a loss. Why’d he come to party where he only really knew one person, and everyone wanted his attention? Aaron spies a table of snacks and then a cheap cooler. He shuffles over, opens the top and-- a Miller Light. He breathes a sigh, grabs a can from the ice, and he cracks the top open with a sizzle. Aaron finds himself a seat on a couch, dejectedly flops onto it, and takes a huge gulp as he peeks around again.
At this point, Angelica Schuyler and her siblings have arrived. Eliza with her hair done in a braid down her back and dressed in an over-sized Christmas sweater, and Peggy with xir lips painted red and hair up in two buns. The trio is breathtaking. They slip their gifts under the tree in almost unison as the door opens again. In waltzes a drift of cool air and an all-too-well dressed Tom Jefferson, who greets Angelica with a kiss on the cheek.
Never before has Aaron felt so completely ostracized. He takes another swallow of beer as the group talks amongst each other. He sees Eliza politely refuse a drink, sees Lafayette smile when Tom walks in, sees Hercules Mulligan hastily fixing his (likely self-knit) grumpy cat Christmas sweater. But he doesn’t see Alexander.
Where could Alexander have gotten off to? He pictures him outside, rubbing his own arms to fend of the cold. He pictures him behind closed doors, pressing kisses against someone’s lips (and, frankly, it could be anybody-- Alexander seems to flirt with every person he meets), and he pictures him somewhere normal, alone and bored. He stands in search of his roommate, wandering the thin hallway and peering into rooms. No sign of Alexander. He finally ends up at the end of the hallway where a sliding door leads to a small porch, and so he slides the door open and steps outside. A figure leans against the railing of the porch and their breath fogs up the air.
“Alexander?” Aaron calls.
The person turns around, and the porchlight illuminates a freckled face, blinking in surprise. “Aaron Burr?”
His stomach twists. “Laurens,” he says, voice tinged with a strange flavor of regret. “I thought you might be Alexander. I’m looking for him.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Laurens says bluntly. His voice seems odd. Heightened with emotion.
“Are you alright?” Aaron asks, moving to stand beside him.
Laurens swallows, maybe to buy time. “Just a little nervous, if I’m being honest.”
Aaron lifts his brows, looking over at Laurens, asking with his eyes for him to continue.
“Well...” he starts. He wets his lips, wipes his bare palms on his jeans and shoves them into the pockets of his coat. “You can’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you, alright?” Aaron nods. “I got Alex for my Secret Santa, right? And I-- God. I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He stifles a nervous laugh, looking up at the sky and letting out a sigh that creates a cloud in the cold air. “I’ve kind of. Liked him? For a while. For a long while now.”
Why does that sit weirdly with him?
“Anyways, I-- hah. I can’t believe I just told you that I like Alex. Of all people.”
And why does that line twist like a knife in his side?
Laurens laughs a short laugh, and keeps on. “I think-- no, no, I’m definitely doing it-- I’m going to kiss him tonight. For the first time.”
Aaron’s stomach catches in his throat. He blinks a few times, tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, and says, “C-- Congrats. That’s exciting.”
“Thanks,” Laurens answers excitedly, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet before falling back onto his heel. “Anyways, I should probably get going. Secret Santa will probably start real soon.”
“Oh,” Aaron breathes.
“Are you alright, Burr?”
Is he? His heart falls through his entire chest, catching in the pits of his belly and fermenting with an incredible feeling of despair. Why wouldn’t he be alright? Alexander would be happy. Wouldn’t he? Happy with Laurens. And isn’t that better, anyways? It’ll keep Alexander out of their room even more. Aaron wouldn’t mind more alone time. He wouldn’t mind the loneliness.
The loneliness. He wants to throw up.
“I’m fine.”
Laurens shoots him a smile that lights up the entire night, bright and full of sunshine. Aaron responds with a midnight nod. With a wave and a few steps, Laurens is back inside and Aaron is left outside, holding his breath.
There’s a moment of quiet solitude before a tender voice cuts through the frigid air.
“Excuse me?” asks the young woman. As she inches sheepishly closer, it becomes clear that her eyes are a deep brown, almost black. It’s the same Elizabeth Schuyler from before, with her hair done in a neat braid, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her bare knuckles. “Have you seen Alexander Hamilton?”
All he can muster is a simple shake of his head, and she softly returns in the direction from which she came.
So he goes back inside, but he barely makes it back down that long hallway. Nobody is watching, so he puts his back to the wall and slides down until he’s sitting, staring mindlessly at the wall in front of him. In what world does the thought of John Laurens kissing Alexander Hamilton make his chest boil? This isn’t him. This isn’t him. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring at the blank white wall. He hears their gift exchange start-- Alexander is the one who gathers them all together-- and he doesn’t even care. He just sits there.
After a while, a young woman with raven hair pulled into a tight bun takes a seat beside him. She’s got a heavy necklace around her neck and gemstones dangling from her ears. In short, she’s beautiful. In a tender voice, she asks if he’s okay.
“Honestly,” he says, his voice laced with angst, “I’m kind of crushed.”
Her pink lips curl into a smile. “I’m Theo. It’s nice to meet you.”