where's my mind / poetry, oneshots etc.

lost and found / lams

the doorbell rings.

john sighs, stops petting his cat, and swings open the door.

standing in the doorway is a man.

slick black hair.

deep brown eyes.

he looks oddly familiar.

"are you john laurens?"

"yes. um, who's asking?"

"alexander hamilton."

john has to shut the door.

no no no no no no-

he opens it again and yes it's him but he's dead-

as if reading his mind, alex chuckles lightly. "i didn't die, john. i've spent ten years looking for you."

"you- you died. i saw you die, alexander. i saw it."

"you can't get rid of me that easily."

"but- the hurricane. e-everyone died."

"i know! i thought you had died. i couldn't find you anywhere. but i couldn't find your body, either."

"can you come in? i feel like we've got some catching up to do."

***

two mugs of black coffee later, the two have settled in john's house.

"tell me everything." he begged. "everything that happened since the last time i saw you.

alex whistled. "ten years?"

an eager nod.

"ok. we last saw each other... august twenty-eighth, two-thousand-and-seven. you were round my house because we were making cookies before school started.

"august thirtieth, the hurricane. i went outside looking for you while it was only slightly wet and windy. you- you weren't at your house. where were-"

"mum's grave." john says quietly. "i was visiting her in case i never could again."

"the wind and rain got worse and i still couldn't find you, or martha or james or henry or mary. where they with you?"

john sobs at the mention of his four siblings. "no. they were in the bunker- i thought- i thought they'd be safe."

he was properly crying at this point and alex had to sling his arm round his shoulders.

"then i saw james --my james. he- he was dead, too." alex croaked. "i looked e-everywhere for you --mr. washington's classroom; the park we used to hang out at; miss. bartow's corner shop; the church; alleyways; every nook; every cranny-" he paused to scrub the tears from his eyes- "but i was too scared to go to the graveyard. i-i'm sorry, john. we could've-"

"it's not your fault, alex," john laughed tearily, clutching his shaking friend. "it's not your fault. i know how much you despise graveyards, and i don't blame you."

"where was the bunker your siblings were in?"

"just left of miss. bartow's shop. the one by that rose bush."

"was mr. laurens there?"

"no. dad had gone out to make sure everyone was inside. but it wouldn't have made any difference if you were inside or outside."

"how did you survive?"

"i could ask you the same thing."

"if i told you spite, would you believe me?" alex chuckled.

"knowing you, yes." john ruffled his hair. "so what'd you do after that?"

"once the storm had died down, i looked for your body."

"who did you find who survived?"

"mr. washington. we couldn't find your body so we assumed you'd died... that it had been washed away or something. so i wrote. and it managed to get in the papers. and they raised enough for me to go to new york. how'd you get out?"

"i used my dad's bank account to buy a ticket here. i-i'm sorry i didn't look for you. i just thought you were dead. everyone else was."

alex smiled sadly. "i guess that's what happens when you live in a poor neighbourhood and your friend lives in a rich one."

they embrace again and alex cups john's face with a shaking hand.

"i've missed you so much, john. there wasn't a day that went by when i didn't think of you."

"i've missed you too, alexander. can we pick up where we left off?"

"yes." he breathed.

and their lips touch hungrily, sharing what each had been craving for ten years.