Helpless~ Jamilton

two- confused

Thomas POV ~

It's unusually quiet.

Rain splatters down outsides, raindrops dancing in the wind and adding spots to my many windows. I sat on the couch, the quietness of my 3 story house bothering me.

I long for company. I hate being alone. But because I was fired from my last job and got into a fight with my best friend James Madison, I basically have nobody.

And it sucks.

I'm normally so full of life. So happy. So joyous. Normally the overly energetic Thomas Jefferson who loved Mac and Cheese.

Now I was the Thomas Jefferson who spent most of his days on Instagram, sitting on the couch, being an antisocial piece of shit.

I scroll through my feed now, ear buds in my ears, pounding music from the hit musical Miranda. The song What'd I Miss is surprisingly catchy.

When suddenly, I practically jump out of my skin with fright, and a loud noise echoes throughout the entire house.

I'm getting a phone call.

Weird, nobody ever wants to call me.

I glance briefly at the name, and almost drop my phone when I see who it is.

Incoming call- Alexander Hamilton 😡

What? I'm confused.

Why the fuck would he want to call me?

For some reason I have the urge to answer.

As much as I hate him, my finger slowly lowers down to where the green Accept button is.

I press it.

"What do you want?" I say, rather harshly. I don't even know why. Immediately, for some reason, I wish I'd said it quieter. And calmer. And softer.

"Jefferson." He responds coldly. His voice sounds raspy. Very raspy. I can hear loud noises from the background of his call.

"Why are you calling?" I ask, keeping calm.

"I need your help."

"What?"

Now I'm BEYOND confused.

"Why me?" I murmur into the phone.

"It's...complicated. Just...ugh. Can you pick me up. Please, Jefferson?"

I don't answer, mainly because I'm confused and wonder why he wants my help.

"You know what? Never mind. I'll just-" He begins, sounding defeated.

I stop him.

"No Ham- Alexander, it's fine. Where are you? I'll come now."

Holy shit. I just referred to him using his first name.

"Thank you!" Alexander breathes, sounding relieved. He sniffles before telling me his whereabouts and I nod to myself.

"I'll come now."

Then I hang up.

Why do I feel....happy?

Probably just because now I have had human contact.

I leap off the couch and grab my keys off the table, taking only also my phone with me. Before going out the door, I check to make sure my hair looks fine. It's still a brown poof, and my magenta cloak looks fresher than ever. I look fine.

Why do I care though? I'm going to pick up Hamilton...why should it matter?

I shrug the thought off and head to my car, locking the front door behind me.

•••

Fucking hell, New York City traffic is insane. I've texted Alexander telling him I'll be late and he said it was perfectly fine. The cars split again and I move an inch, before stepping head first into a long line of traffic again.

This could be a long ride.

5 minutes passes, and I'm on the street where Alexander told me he was. I pull over to where he told me to pull over and I see him standing against a wall.

My god, he looks terrible.

His usual soft, brown hair, normally tied up in the slickest of ponytails is a scruffy rag tied behind his head. Those glistening brown eyes look like angered balls of mud. Dark circles loom around his eyes. His clothing and backpack dripping wet.

As soon as he sees me he swiftly moves from the wall towards the car and opens the door. I can feel sprays of water ejecting onto me as he climbs in but I don't say anything.

"Thank you." He says quietly. His eyes are bloodshot and tears lurk in the distance. Poor guy, something must've happened.

"It's okay. Now, where do you need me to take you?" I answer, not nicely but in a mutual tone.

He pauses, then looks straight at me, eyes filled of despair.

"I need a place to stay, Jefferson." He asks pleadingly

What?!?

Jesus Christ.

Something really bad must've happened.

"I'm sorry if this is too much to ask!!" He mumbles quickly. "I can...go to a hotel."

I ponder on this thought. It wouldn't be so bad sharing my home with Alexander Hamilton.

Would it?

"How long will you stay for?" I question softly. He smiles a little.

"Not for long, maybe a few days? A week at the most."

"Fine. You can stay." I state shortly. I can tell he's relieved, and I see him wipe a dried tear from his cheek.

"Thanks Jefferson." He says, then dragging out his phone to text someone. Probably John, his boyfriend.

The rest of the car ride home is awkwardly quiet. Alexander Hamilton, normally "Non-Stop" is being quiet for once. Nothing, and I mean, NOTHING causes this man to act this way.

Some deep shit has gone down.

•••

862 words.