WELCOME BACK TO ANOTHER CHAPTER OF I TRY TO GIVE MY LIFE MEANING BY WRITING HAMILTON FANFICTION!! SORRY FOR THE PAUSE FOLKS, ENJOY
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"Hey. Hey. Hey."

You were greeted with a persistent shaking wracking your bed as you awoke.

Earthquake...?

Before you could scoff at Mother Nature's feeble threats and bury yourself back into your slumber, your whole body tensed in a rude awakening as you felt the distinct sensation of a finger poking sharply at your shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

You blinked at the form before you, vision still blurry with sleep.

"Alex?"

"Yeah, it's me," he scoffed, prying your hand off of his neck. "Unhand me, wench! You didn't have to attack me like that!"

You leaned back onto your pillows, bringing an arm up lazily to cover your mouth in a yawn. "You scared me, asshole. You didn't have to barge in like that."

"You weren't answering!"

"Because I was sleeping, stupid!"

"It's noon!"

"Yeah, and it's the weekend!"

"You still could've just not lunged at me," your friend rubbed the tender skin of his throat where your fingers had previously been. "Who do you take me for, James Reynolds?"

"An intruder, obviously! I wasn't planning on having my precious privacy violated in such a vulnerable state. Is this what I get for leaving my door unlocked for once?"

Alexander's eyes followed the curve of your arm as you stretched and sat up, perceptive gaze lingering on the bandages covering your wrist, but saying nothing as you cautiously tucked it back under the covers.

"Relax, you wuss. We've slept in the same bed together before, it's no big deal."

You smirked. "Yeah. You drooled a lot."

"Shut up! Anyways, I wouldn't have come in here if I weren't bearing news."

"...What is it?"

He grinned wickedly. "Come see."

Hamilton graciously allowed you to at least don a change of clothes before pulling you out into the hallway and into the living area. The scuffle of your feet against the floor caused John, Angelica, Eliza, Hercules, and Lafayette to raise their heads and turn to you with glinting eyes.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"Ah, mon amie, you're here! Come, take a look at this."

You approached with a questioning stare, Alex following close behind you. Laurens handed you the subject they were all gathered in a circle examining.

Your eyes flicked across the stack of paper, widening in disbelief.

"You're kidding."

COLUMBIA DAILY SPECTATOR

RESIDENT ADVISORS TO CRACK DOWN ON MISDEMEANORS WITHIN STUDENT HOUSING ESTABLISHMENTS
By A.W. Farmer

A baffled laugh slipped past your lips. "There's no fucking way! That's... that's that ginger's pen name, isn't it?"

Hercules grinned and patted you on the shoulder. "Sure is. Keep reading, it gets better."

Skimming past the first paragraph detailing how with a growing amount of misdemeanours observed in the dorms in recent times, housing administration had agreed as a collective to more strictly enforce rules and regulations through more diligent supervising "in the interest of the safety and wellbeing of all residents," your keen eyes came to rest on the next chunk of text.

"The behavior exhibited within the confines of school-owned facilities greatly affects all those who attend classes to pursue their dreams and better themselves,"

""...says Residential Assistant Samuel Seabury." No. He quoted himself in his own article."

"Keep going."

"The rest of the management team and I are currently working to proactively create a proper learning environment for all those attending Columbia University." Seabury expresses that both he and his colleagues are disappointed about the misbehaviour recently displayed within the confines of the school dormitories.

"Some of the behavior I've had to deal with, from a few students, is truly appalling. I wouldn't be exaggerating the situation in the slightest if I described their actions as 'borderline illegal'. I don't even want to imagine the lack of discipline that would lead them to perpetrate these issues. Still, their identities will be kept anonymous due to privacy reasons. "

That being said, residents of the dorm are advised to stay aware of the activity in the halls and to read all passages in the Columbia University Student Handbook related to in-school housing and conduct policies.

"Help from residents would also be appreciated," says Seabury. "We plan to resolve these issues by continuously monitoring specific areas where these things have occurred frequently. Currently, our focus starts in Dorm 1 on the second floor, particularly in the section of rooms 232-240, where I've witnessed terrible misdemeanors. If you see anything, please drop by our office or alert one of us about it."

"That's our room, holy shit."

Those who tip off the housing management will receive compensation.

Lips parted in bewilderment, you scanned the rest of the article quickly as you gripped the newspaper in your hands. Nothing else but a lecture on how the behavior of the students reflects the integrity of the university itself.

"...Did I just get fucking publicly dunked on on the school newspaper? With a bounty over my head? Placed by the entirety of housing management?"

Your friends chortled, and Eliza beckoned you to sit down. She shook her head, but an amused smile played on her delicate lips.

"Of all the people to piss off, why did you choose the R.A. AND the newspaper guy?"

Shrugging, you leaned back with a lopsided grin. "How was I supposed to know? No one reads the fucking newspaper."

Alexander coughed. "Speak for yourself."

"You read the school paper? Actually, I'm not surprised."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? And I suppose you don't know of my little side hustle yet."

"He means," John broke in. "The publishing war between him and Seabury."

"Publishing war?"

Alex puffed out his chest, looking very pleased with himself. "Yup. Been going on since I got here! He stopped responding a couple of weeks ago, but you brought him back! Finally, I got something to do again."

"Couldn't handle the Hamilheat, huh?"

John laughed, tossing his head back. Your friend's eyes subtly trailed down the exposed skin over his collarbone. You noted this. "Hell yeah. Now we can watch 'em publicly diss each other pretentiously every week again."

Hamilton rubbed his hands together. "Not only did you revive my opponent, but now I have an extra shiny, new topic to slight him with!"

"Technically, he's not being super outrageous here." Angelica mused from across the coffee table. "He's a lame stick in the mud, but you technically did violate the rules."

"When have I ever not done that, Angie?"

"Never," she muttered.

"Exactly! He was gonna bust all of you and kick you out of your dorms! You should be thanking me graciously." Hercules chuckled as you waved a hand dismissively. "Moral correctness comes far behind my loyalty."

"You, mon ami, are a true friend."

"Thanks, Laf. I'd eat a notepad for you any day."

Something buzzed against your leg, and your gaze dipped down to see your phone, which you had haphazardly tossed onto the plush of the couch a few minutes prior.

"Who the fuck is calling me?"

"Probably loverboy," Hercules snorted. "Everyone knows, by the way."

You excused yourself to answer the call.

"Hello?"

A reluctant smile formed on your face when a familiar, southern drawl hit your ears.

"Hey, sweets. Got a moment to spare for ol' Thomas Jefferson?"

"What do you want?"

"Ouch, so cold." He bemoaned dramatically, and you laughed. "Just wanted to interview you about your newfound fame, sugar."

"Ah, yes..."

"You saw, huh?"

"Of course I did. Shit is crazy."

"Sure is. Mind if Jemmy and I drop by?"

You arched an eyebrow, leaning against the wall of your room. "Why?"

"Well, it's not every day I get to see my sweetheart make the headlines."

A huff of amusement escaped you, and you could practically see Thomas's Cheshire grin on the other side of the line. "I wasn't even mentioned by name in the headlines. Or the article."

"I mean, what can I say," he cooed. "I can just sense your presence from a mile away."

You conceded defeat. "I don't know if some of the people here would welcome you."

"Too bad for those people, 'cause I'm outside your door! Open up, darlin'!"

"I knew it."

"James is here too. Say hi, James!"

"Hi."

Surprisingly, when the door swung open, it wasn't you who greeted him.

Hercules Mulligan stared at him. Thomas stared back, a grocery bag hanging loosely in his hands. The tailor squinted at James, and then turned and called over his shoulder.

"Yo, are these guys supposed to be here?"

"She told you to let them in, so I suppose." Angelica's voice rang out, and Thomas laughed. "Y/N's hooligans."

He made his way inside to the kitchen, flashing a smile, James trailing behind him. "Hey, Ms. Schuyler. Your groceries."

Eliza took the bag from him with a gracious smile, delicate fingers closing over the handles. "Thanks, Thomas. Make yourself comfortable

"Y/N got him running groceries for you? This man is whipped beyond belief."

"I simply believe in givin' everyone the appreciation they deserve, Laurens. And don't think I've forgotten how you once almost murdered Charles Lee for throwin' some words at dear Alexander over there."

"You are so fucking lucky I'm too preoccupied to deal with you, Jeffershit." Alex snarled from the couch, typing furiously. "Besides, Y/N doesn't want your sorry ass anyways."

"Yeah? And h-"

"She's on the phone with Miss Maria Clement right now, is how I would know, dipshit."

"As if that matters," he scoffed, leaning backwards against the counter, broad shoulders adjusting to support himself.

"And why wouldn't it matter? You put so much emphasis on how hot she was, that makes her seem pretty significant to me."

Thomas heard a laugh- your laugh, emanating very faintly from the direction of the hallway. He wondered what the two of you were talking about, what she said to get you to laugh like that, why it wasn't him making you laugh like that, privy to the image of your shining eyes scrunched in amusement, your lips curled up in amusement to reveal your teeth, and the soft movement of the wisps of hair hanging around your face as you threw your head back.

"Oh, so you think someone's value is based on how attractive they are?"

Another laugh-even quieter this time, but even more bothersome than the last. Your tinkling voice reverberated in his ears like a siren's call. He could really use some wax right now.

Not just to ward off your dangerous spell, but also to hopefully block out Alexander's irritating voice.

"I know that's how you think, Jefferson. And so does everyone else with half a fucking brain."

"What's your reasonin', genius? Smells like projection to me."

"The only thing you'll be smelling is regret after I shove my shoe so far up your nose that your beady eyes are hanging out. You wanna talk about the 'reasonin''? Tell me, what did you spend your highschool years doing again?"

"Not spending them wasting away orphaned in poverty and writing fucking essays to get pity funds just to bring my shitty work to a bigger city."

An almost-instantaneous silence befell the group. John, Hercules, and Lafayette looked between the two men with wide eyes. Some time during Thomas's arrival, all the others had wisely slipped away. James sighed from beside him, like it was a regular occurrence.

Which, it was. Hamilton and Jefferson bickering was the most regular of regular occurrences. It was as if the laws of nature designed them never to get along.

However, there were some pieces that were rarely played, and for good reason, that was.

"Mon ami," Laf began. "Y/N would not be pleased to hear that."

Thomas shrugged. "That's too bad. It's true. What," he smirked as Alex opened his mouth indignantly. "You gonna tell on me? Don't tell me you need her to defend you."

"You seem awfully concerned about the prospect of her knowing, Jefferson. I can fend for myself. Against her, I don't think you can."

"Really. Just because you rely on her to protect you means that I do the same? You've got an awfully narrow worldview."

"Oh, give me a fucking break. Y-"

"You want a 'fucking' break? Well Laurens is right th-"

"Oh you're just fucking asking for it at this point, you cock-sucking, cheating lying son of a bitch- Hercules, let go of me!"

"Can you guys keep it down? I'm talking to someone."

Your presence brought to the room a crude mix of emotions—delight, a gleam of opportunity, smugness, exasperation, childishness.

As usual, Thomas would've thought. Of course you practically command the room without even trying.

He would've, had something not been amiss.

You were typically observant, perceptive, almost excessively so— even if you couldn't pinpoint what it was, you almost always seemed to feel the tension in the air and a prickling in your gut that told you all you needed to know to act.

Thomas and Alexander's quarreling was no novelty. You routinely came along, sensed their bickering, and gave one of them—usually the latter— a flick on the nose, a simple "knock it off," and slightly friendlier quips would be uttered, attentions diverted.

But this time, you offered no such reprieve. Your caller's silken voice and coy banter seemed to have captured your attention to the extent that you didn't even realize what was happening— or rather, you didn't even care.

The thought bothered Thomas far more than he'd ever admit.

Before he could hog your attention, you turned back towards your room, but not before he had a chance to catch a glimpse of the absentminded hint of a smile playing on your lips, one that made his skin prickle in jealousy.

And thus, he was left watching the silhouette of your back retreat into the hallway, just like everyone else.

Thomas Jefferson hated being like everyone else.

He wasn't there just to run errands for your roommates or mingle with your insufferable friends—as begrudgingly well as they got along sometimes— he was there for you. To be your center of attention, to feel the intoxicating glow of your eyes on him.

And though he had to appreciate being able to observe your apparent social growth and the facets of your personality as an onlooker, a more perverse part of him wondered just why you couldn't do the same for him.

It was petty and wrong—he knew it was wrong. You didn't owe him anything, your relationship wasn't to be owed. Your heart was special, your interactions were special, the way you made him feel—fumbling and giddy—was special. You were novel, the most personalized form a novelty could ever take.

He should be grateful, and he was.

Then at moments you were a little too indifferent, a little too cautious. Your regard was given to another for too long, and they didn't yearn for it like he did, didn't lap it up and preen for it like he did. There was nothing that that scruffy, sleek-haired scholar could do that he couldn't also do, nothing that red-clad vixen could do that he couldn't do better... He'd start stewing and snarking; there was that nastier side of him, all the gratefulness he had becoming lost in the crevices of its ugly, reared head.

And with each moment you decided to favor Maria or Hamilton over him, it bubbled up and festered just a bit more.

Insults and jabs flew across the living room still, casting shadows across the worn material of the couch, but Thomas's mind was elsewhere. Long fingers tapped along his thigh, restlessly thoughtful.

"If you ever need anything,

If anything ever ails you, you can come to me."

Thomas wondered. If you knew that it was you that ailed him, could he still go to you?

Somewhere beyond the chatter and walls, the faint drone of your voice seemed to stop.

If it was you that he needed both a reprieve and more from, could he still expect to feel your brisk, comforting words on his cheek?

The door squeaked open just the tiniest bit, and there you were; Thomas was the one you first looked at upon reentering the room—and so everything was fine again.

He began to think that even you would have trouble helping him.