Work Text:
Beautiful.
Alexander Hamilton was beautiful.
He was a shining, brilliant star, destined for something great, something better than what life had given him so far.
He is beautiful and incredible in every single way, but he is not John's.
Of course, John Laurens is well aware of this, has been for the many years that the two have been friends.
But being at the wedding, seeing the man he loves look at a woman with such adoring eyes...
Well, it stings, to say the least. John says his part, introduces the maid of honor, and slips away as quick as he can to find some form of alcohol to dull the pain in his heart. Of course, he is beyond happy for his friend, happy that he has found a woman as good, as kind and loving as Elizabeth Schuyler.
He still wishes things could have been different.
He drinks, and he drinks, and he drinks, and it does nothing to lessen the ache in his chest. It is persistent, demanding to be felt, demanding to be fed. At some point, Alexander himself comes looking for him, and the hurt only blossoms further when his best friend drapes a concerned arm over his shoulder. It bites at his heart, and John is afraid for a moment that it will consume him completely, that there will be nothing left but an aching, hollow shell. He doesn't dwell on this thought for too long, however.
After all, it's already taken him completely.
Alexander asks him softly if he is alright, and it's so gentle, so affectionate. It makes John want to cry his eyes out. He gives only a watery smile in response, a boisterous laugh, and it doesn't seem to convince his friend completely, but he says nothing more.
"If you're feeling unwell, you are more than welcome to go home. I wouldn't be cross with you, in fact I'd prefer it if you left if something is bothering you,"Alexander says, and John feels sick to his stomach when he can only think about how much he wants to kiss away the small, nervous smile on his face.
"No, I assure you, I am well,"John begins, carefully calculating his words,"why wouldn't I be? My dearest friend is married!"
The statement causes Alexander to flush, a wide grin settling into his face. It's a gorgeous sight, and John has to look away, afraid that if he keeps staring he will be drawn in like a moth to flame;he can't risk this, can't risk bringing to light all of the disgusting feelings he has worked so hard to keep hidden.
His friend is speaking now, laughing, but John can't bring himself to give his complete attention. He instead focuses everything he has on trying not to burst into tears, as well as trying not to throw up from his own sinful thoughts, his drunken mind screaming in sorrow.
'If only he had been mine, if only he had been mine, if only he had been mine-'
___
John is knocked off his horse when he is shot. For a second, he is too dazed to comprehend what is occurring; he falls in the grass, hard, let's out a loud, pained groan.
His body aches, and when he coughs, blood trickles out of his mouth. He understands with a strange sense of calmness that he is dying.
Death has never scared him, though. If anything, throughout the years, he had actively seeked death out, flirting with her on multiple occasions. Now that she has come for him, John can feel nothing but relief. Maybe death will bring his tired soul rest, or at the very least, lift the heavy weight on his shoulders a little more.
His mind wanders blissfully to Alexander, the best person he has ever had the chance to call his friend. What will he do when he receives the news of his death? Will he grieve at all?
John hopes he won't; after all, his existence isn't worthy of grieving. He had done nothing but disappoint throughout his entire life.
He begins to whisper a prayer to himself, a prayer that his love will get everything he deserves. If it had been allowed, John would've stopped at nothing to give him the entire world.
He lets out a soft gasp, eyes widening when he realizes he is crying. But why? What is there to cry for? Certainly not his own life;he hadn't wanted it in the first place, had been disgusted by his own existence.
It strikes him suddenly, solemnly; Alexander. Like an old, well loved song he has known his entire life, the name drifts from his lips. It sounds almost like a prayer in itself, a sweet lullaby, and John can't help but laugh. What a fool he had been. A stupid, stupid fool who had managed to fall in love with a man who smiled like the sun, a man who could be chained down by absolutely nothing. He had gotten too close, yearned too deeply, and now this was just the price he had to pay for his sins.
He won't ever get to see that sunshine smile again, won't ever get to hear that melodious laugh of his, the way John's name sounds coming off of his lips, and these thoughts alone send him into hysterical sobs.
He wracks his mind, looks for something to say, some sort of plea in his last moments.
"I do not care whether or not you will hate me for it,"he whispers, and he is unsure if he is saying it to the heavens or his own cruel, unforgiving heart.
"I loved my love with everything in me. I would love him in every lifetime, would die over and over if it meant I would meet him time and time again."
As he speaks, he feels the tightness in his ribcage finally let go, shifting until he can breathe again. His fingers are cold and numb, entire body shuddering as death pulls him into her sweet embrace, but John feels nothing but content. He smiles genuinely for the first time in ages, thoughts and memories of his closest friend filling all of his senses. At least he can rest assured that he did everything he could for his love.
It feels like coming home.