Another Scottish Tragedy [LAMS AU]

14

When John woke up, the first thing he saw was a post from Alex.

It was another poem, this one considerably longer than the last, though what it lacked in brevity it made up for in beauty.

Lord, Alex truly did have a way with words. The way he crafted his sentences, the way he weaved words together into a tapestry of emotion, each word flowing into the next with the smooth swiftness of a mountain stream.

Alexander Hamilton didn't write. He built. Words were his building blocks, and his paragraphs were palaces.

Beautiful. Utterly beautiful.

As much as John tried to deny it, he wanted Alex to write something for him. Wanted him to think him worthy of those beautiful words. It was his deepest secret, his greatest wish.

But John knew that it wasn't true. That no matter how much he wished it, Alex would never write something beautiful about him.

While reading through, John could almost pretend that this was written about him. Could block out reality and dare to dream.

"Your innocence drew me in."

Hmm... Alex would always call me pure.

"Redcoats and Patriots..."

I had told him about the Redcoat fraternity...

"I was afraid that once you knew who I am you would cease to treat me like a real person and treat me like the invincible god the rest of the world expects me to be."

He said he liked me because I treated him like a normal person not the invincible god everyone expected Alexander "Non-Stop" Hamilton to be...

"I feared that I would lose my only anchor in the rocky sea of life."

He'd told me that I was the only thing keeping him afloat...

John shook his head, pushing away the delusions. This letter was not about him.

No matter how much he wanted it to be.

No matter how eerily similar some phrases were to actual conversations they'd had...

Be realistic, John. Be realitic. This letter isn't about you. It's all just a coincidence. It's not about you.

No matter what John's mind told him, his heart refused to obey. His heart refused to let go of the hope that that letter was somehow about him.

Late at night, beneath the cover of darkness, John fanticized about that letter, about that letter being about him. About Alexander reading that letter out loud to him, calling him "My Dearest, Laurens."

Dear Lord help me.

John couldn't get the letter out of his mind. He couldn't stop dreaming about that letter, about the possibility that that letter was about him.

He knew it couldn't be, knew it was impossible for someone like Alexanded Hamilton to feel that way about someone like him.

But his heart was not so easily convinced.

John_Laurens: Good morning, Alex!

AnotherScottishTragedy: Good morning, John.

John_Laurens: I saw your post. With the letter. It's so beautiful. I love the way you write.

AnotherScottishTragedy: I haven't written anything like that in a while. I'm glad you like it. I must admit I've fallen a bit out of practice when it comes to writing letters on the deepest matters of the heart.