Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

XXVIII: Two Years Ago

❝If you don't control your mind, someone else will.❞
-John Allston

March 16, 2050.

Eight years ago. Rabynya, Russia. I am eleven years old.

"Alexander, that was stupid!"

"My specialty, (Y/N)."

"How much did you take?"

"Enough to support us, not enough to be obvious."

"How much is that exactly, Alex?"

"I'll show you when we get home."

Alexander takes my hand and pulls me down the street, shoving his free hand in his pocket. It jingles with the sound of coins. Our worn boots sink into the deep snow, and we have quite a hard time treading down the street. The snow almost reaches up to my knee, getting my pants wet and freezing my legs.

The streets are vacant as they always are this late at night. Other than a few other people doing shady business (all of which we avoid), we are alone. We make a beeline home, crossing several streets and passing many silent houses.

"I can't believe you did that, Alex!" I whisper-shout.

"I had to, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his attention shifting side to side as if he is looking for someone. "We made almost nothing from robbing those Dorokhovo graves."

"Yeah, but-"

"We can't come home empty-handed for the third day in a row, (Y/N)," Alexander interrupts. "I want to give Luka some hope."

I bite my lip, remembering how sad my little brother looked last night when we came home with nothing but a single coin we happened to find on the ground. "I guess you're right, but-"

"We haven't eaten for two days. With just a little money, we can at least buy some bread."

"But did we have to steal it?"

"We've stolen before, (Y/N)."

"I mean... did we have to steal from someone in our own town? What if we get found out?! We'll never be trusted again."

"It isn't ideal, I know," Alexander sighs. "But starving isn't ideal either."

"We could have tried again tomorrow."

"I'm not willing to wait for it anymore. I'm done with waiting for a little luck. In case you haven't guessed, that luck isn't coming. We have to take our shot now."

I rub my arm and sigh. "I know."

We're silent until we get home. All the other houses on our street are like ours: small, old, and on the verge of collapsing in on itself. The street is silent, meaning everyone must be asleep. It's fairly late, so that explains the serenity. And yet, something is unsettling about tonight. I don't understand.

Alexander looks over his shoulder once more, then he opens the front door, letting the wood barrier creak open. He holds the door open for me, then he closes it behind us. We stand in the entryway for a moment as we take off our boots and coats; we don't want to track snow into the house. The house is almost as cold as is outside, which can only mean one thing: Luka hasn't started a fire yet.

Alexander scoops the coins from his coat and stuffs them in his pants pocket. Then, we stride into the small living room. I half expect to see Luka there, sitting on the beaten-up-and-torn couch, but he is nowhere in sight. As I suspected, the makeshift fireplace against the opposite wall is unlit. Oh, Luka.

"Luka?" I call out.

"I'm over here!"

The small voice squeaks out from the even-smaller kitchen. Alexander follows behind me as we turn a corner and into the kitchen. The room is lit up dimly by a lone lightbulb hanging weakly above us; it is the only electric light in the house. The rest of the house is dark. Luka, who is afraid of the dark, must have come to the kitchen for light.