"She asleep?"

Thomas flinched.

"Oh my god, Jemmy. A warning next time?"

His friend scoffed quietly. "How was I supposed to warn you without speaking?"

"Dude, you could've woken her up- I mean...feelin' any better?"

He paused. Even in the darkness, Thomas could practically see the teasing smirk on his otherwise neutral face. "Yeah, actually. And I wouldn't worry too much about waking her up," he added. "If she's tired enough to fall asleep around other people, I think it'd take a few major extinction events to wake her up."

Thomas wondered what had exhausted you to this point. As if he could sense what his friend was thinking, James let out a string of muffled coughs, and his mellow voice rang out quietly again. "From what I've heard, usually she has a lot of trouble sleeping already. And I guess the past few days have really worn her out."

Thomas hummed. "From adjusting?"

A beat of silence. "She told you?"

"Bits and pieces, I guess."

"Huh."

After a few moments of silence, James began hesitantly. "A couple days ago, actually. When I gave her your letter... we were on a walk, she left early. She looked like she was gonna tell me something big, but I guess maybe she changed her mind, because she ended up just saying she felt sick."

Thomas furrowed his brow and looked down at you, head tucked comfortably on his shoulder. "Really. That's weird..."

"Yeah, she looked kind of distraught. Scared, in a way. I brought it up to Burr when I got back, and-"

"Burr, huh?"

James sighed. "Shut up. You all suck. Anyways, he pointed something out that I've been thinking about.."

-

"So, what's on your mind?"

James hesitated before speaking. "Well, I was just talking to her and she started to seem kind of... upset, I guess. She looked like she was gonna tell me something important, like she said "James..." but then changed her mind. She just told me she was sick and was gonna leave early."

Aaron twisted his pen in his fingers thoughtfully. "Hmm. Did something happen before that could explain that?"

"Oh- right. Sorry, I probably should've- anyways." James's face burned.

His friend gestured understandingly for him to continue. An amused smile played on his lips.

James continued.

"Anyways, yeah, actually. Thomas- ah, this is confidential information I'm trusting you with, by the way. I'd appreciate it if you kept it on the DL, Mr. Burr."

He laughed. "Both you and your client's information is safe with me, Mr. Madison."

"He wrote her a letter asking her to meet at the café, and he told me to deliver it to her. It was cheesy and stupid, obviously, but I think she liked it. It entertained her, at least. I asked her if she was gonna go. She said she'd consider it,... and then she started looking really worried."

"If it WAS related to what happened before..." It took a moment of careful contemplation before the other man spoke up again. "I mean, considering Thomas's history with relationships... I'd be a little skeptical, too. I know he's probably different now," He continued before James could say anything, "But she... doesn't really know that, does she? And also, the two of you are pretty good friends, right? And you're also really close friends with Thomas, the guy who's... seemingly pursuing her, and you're giving her something to try to convince her to go out with him..."

James's heart dropped. "Oh. Oh no, that does sound kind of fishy."

Aaron nodded sympathetically.

"So... do you think she thinks I'm just friends with her to get her to get with Thomas?"

"It's a possibility." Burr replied carefully, "I think she's scared of getting used and toyed with in general. I don't mean this in an insulting way in the slightest, a lot of times people can't control their circumstances and there's no shame in living the way you so choose to, but from what I've seen so far and heard from the Schuylers, she's always been pretty... isolated and inexperienced with forming genuine connections with people. You'd be one of, if not the first true friends she's had, and us the first group she's really been a part of, so it'd make sense that she'd be extra worried about everything. And I think caring about you and the others scares her."

"Maybe she's afraid of trusting us with her emotions because she's scared of others having any sort of power over her and potentially using them against her..."

"Exactly. Of course, we can't be sure, but... that's an idea."

"Okay," James took a breath in. "That gives us something to work with, I guess. Thank you, Aaron."

"Of course." He replied warmly. "And James," he rested his hand on the other man's shoulder comfortingly, "I wouldn't take too much extra upon yourself to change that. You're already doing the best you can. I have a feeling she knows that you'd never do that, and she wouldn't blame you. She couldn't have a better friend than you." James's face warmed.

"Thank you..." he mumbled

"Also," Aaron continued more lightheartedly, "does she kind of remind you of someone we know?"

-

"She is not like Hamilton." James could hear the frown in his voice.

"You have to admit, Thomas, they are kind of similar. Even Eliza thinks so. The wit? The look in their eyes? Twins, I tell you."

"Fine, maybe she's a little like Hamilton then. But better. And also different."

Thomas heard his friend huff in amusement, and then break out into another coughing fit. He thought back to what Burr had said.

"I guess that does sound kind of suspicious, huh?"

James sniffled. "Yeah. I can see where she's coming from. She likes us, she likes you, Thomas. She's comfortable enough to fall asleep around you... on you, and I think that kind of scares her. Just be... be patient, Thomas. I know how you can get-"

"What is that supposed to mean?" But his tone held no annoyance.

James rolled his eyes. "You KNOW what I mean. Think before you do things, Thomas. Be gentle. Be patient. Give her time. Learn from your mistakes, or whatever."

He scoffed under his breath, but when he spoke, his voice was sincere. "Yeah, I know. I will, Jem."

A silence fell over the room, thick and comfortable, and Thomas stared into the darkness. A couple slivers of moonlight slipped through the curtains, and slightly illuminated your head in a silvery glow, as if delicate strings of light itself were woven into your hair.

He was glad you weren't awake to hear his heart stutter painfully in his chest.

Thomas brushed a few stray strands out of your face, marveling at how relaxed you looked. He resisted the urge to take you into his arms and squeeze you tight. But he was nothing if not a little bit selfish, so he pulled you just a little bit closer to him, delighting in the way you hugged onto him tighter.

He rested his head against yours.

Would it have changed anything if you knew that he was scared too?

-

You blinked drops of golden sunlight out of your eyes as you woke in a haze of warmth. Your blankets and pillows were soft around you as you curled into them. You faded in and out of consciousness, and the sound of mundane familial conversations from the kitchen and something sizzling on a pan drifted in and out of your ears like an echo of something you couldn't quite catch.

Except you weren't in a rush to catch it. You contented yourself in your little patch of paradise for as long as you pleased, knowing that even when you eventually left, that feeling of security would never dissipate.

There'd always be a warm meal waiting for you on the table and an even warmer sense of belonging hanging in idle talks.

Your mother would scold you for sleeping late with no trace of real disapproval in her expression, as if it were more customary than truly justified.

Because it was, wasn't it? Kids slept in late. She asked you if you'd taken your medicine, which, of course you had.

You thought about the strange dream of a life that was indubitably foreign, but at the same time, so familiar to you as you ate.

She told you to eat more. She asked you if you had any plans for the day, knowing full well what you'd say.

You always did love to read, didn't you?

Maybe that dream of yours would've made for a good story prompt.

Your father stoically teased you about being a shut-in as he readied himself to work in the garage with your mother on building a new bookshelf for you. It was a secret project, or at least it was supposed to be. You'd found out as soon as they'd started, despite their efforts to keep the doors to their workspace locked.

You'd always been observant.

Knowing that nothing could take away from the joy of simply receiving a gift and a silent promise of unconditional support, you kept your lips sealed with a smile. Your parents grinned at you before closing the door with a pleasant breeze and a tinkling from the wind chimes hanging from the top.

At least, you thought they grinned. Had their faces always been so blurry?

Hypnopompia was defined as the state of consciousness leading out of sleep, in the realm of transition towards wakefulness. The non-linear and credulous part of your brain reserved for the fluidity of dreams struggles to make sense of the solidity and harshness of real life, often leading to hallucinations, heralded appropriately as 'hypnopompic hallucinations.'

The term was coined by Frederic Myers, and discovered by you a few years prior in a large, dusty Encyclopedia Angelica Schuyler had dragged out for you from Philip Schuyler's personal library. It was also what you experienced when you came to wake up in a bed that wasn't yours. As you shot up and patted yourself down, a flurry of emotions you didn't even dare to try to unpack ate through your brain.

You didn't fall asleep in Thomas's bed, so why...?

You had everything you came with, so why...?
The wrenching impact of reality seemed to be strangely softened compared to the times before when your delusional dreaming mind had brought you to your metaphorical knees, so why...?

The decor of his room could be described as pompously tacky, so why...?

The dream was over, so why did some of its warmth stay with you even as...

You muttered to yourself, checked yourself in a mirror (of course there were multiple) and left the room.

-

James sat at the table, still bundled in his blankets, trying to shove his waffles into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows when you emerged from Thomas's room. The man in question had his back turned, busying himself at the stove. You watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, and looked back at Madison.

He shrugged, and then sneezed.

You walked over to Thomas and leaned casually against the counter, stationing yourself a distance behind him. When he finally noticed you, you took great pleasure in seeing his broad shoulders jump.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart. When'd you get here?"

You shrugged. "Why did I wake up in your bed?"

"Straight to business, huh? Well, I just didn't want you breaking your neck sleeping on the floor. Honest! You know I wouldn't try anything!"

Thomas struggled not to squirm under the intensity of your gaze as you eyed him.

"Hate to say this, but I can vouch." James rasped from the table.

"Huh." You turned your head towards the table, and for once, Thomas was grateful that your eyes were no longer on him.

"Yeah, he only took you there after he woke up in the morning."

You turned back to Thomas. "You carried me?"

"Is that bad?"

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. "Don't make a habit of it."

"You guys both fell asleep on the floor," James continued. "Thomas drooled-"

"I did not!"

You finally cracked a smile. "Okay, I'm feeling nice. I believe you."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "What makes Jemmy's word worth more than mine?"

You laughed guardedly under your breath. "You act like I don't have a tangible reason to be a little mistrustful of you, Jefferson. Can I use your washroom?" Without waiting for an answer, you strode down the hall. As you locked the door with a click, James attempted to disguise his laughter with a cough. His friend muttered.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

Thomas Jefferson, ever the charmer, well known to be an outrageous flirt, suddenly became so clueless finding himself pining over another where the end goal wasn't just to have some fun and get in their pants. James found it a little amusing, as he watched his friend continue to stare after you, even though you'd already vanished around the corner.

-

In the washroom, you dug through your friends' cabinets under the sink.

There's gotta be something I can use SOMEWHERE.

Your brow furrowed when you reached to the side, where you found countless bottles of... cinnamon cologne?

Good god, they just keep coming. How many are IN here?

And was that... a copy of Pride and Prejudice?

Eventually, you found a disposable toothbrush and some mouthwash. As you were freshening up, you were suddenly very aware of how out of place you felt, how irritatingly comforting the smell of cinnamon was, and also, how you could almost feel the chaos of the messages in your phone.

You saw James had texted the group chat about your situation last night, reassuring them that no, you had not been kidnapped, and yes, you were there by your own volition.

You scrolled past vaguely threatening messages from Angelica. You told yourself you'd read everything later.

(MAINLY BECAUSE I AM TIRED OF WRITING TEXTFIC PARTS IN EVERY CHAPTER IM GOING INSANE! AUTHORS NOTE OVER)

When you emerged from the bathroom, your two friends invited you to join them for breakfast, which you were in no place to decline.

As you ate, Thomas seemed unusually reserved. He threw jokes and quips like he always did, but underneath that unnerving smile, he seemed to be lost in a haze of thought.

"Did you end up finishing your paper?"

"Hm... yeah."

"I'd hate to think my charity services went to waste."

He grinned. "I'd never waste your time, doll." And his eyes unfocused again. Sometimes he seemed to be staring right through you, and you and James exchanged looks of concern. He only seemed to snap out of his trance when you got up and washed off your plate. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah? I finished. And you know Angie's out for my blood at this point." You added the second part when you saw him furrow his brow at your words.

"I'll walk you." It was almost cute how adamant his frown was, but you placed your hand on his arm briefly, gently. Instantly, Thomas was brought back to how you clung to his arm the prior night. No matter what words you threw at him, sometimes, you touched him like he was made of glass, like he was something valuable and delicate and worth protecting. Thomas felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

"No. Stay, rest, finish your meal. And your friend's still sick, if I may remind you."

He tried to ignore the burning sensation creeping up his body. "It's cold out." He blurted as he watched you step towards the door.

"Shit, it is." You almost had to suppress a smile as you pretended to think. "Can I borrow a coat or something?"

"You can take the one right by the-"

"I got ya, honey. I'll be right back." Thomas beamed, cutting off his friend, and sauntered into his room.

James rolled his eyes, and you snickered under your breath. A few moments later, Thomas returned with a bundle of fabric in his arms. A hooded sweater, in a hue of an absolutely obnoxious magenta. He deposited it theatrically into your arms.

"Here you are, my lady."

You snorted, pretending you didn't notice Thomas watching you closely as you inspected it for a second before pulling it over your head. For just a moment, you were dizzy with warmth and cinnamon.

"I am obliged to you, good sir."

The sweatshirt was going to be large for you to some degree regardless, and Thomas tried not to let his eyes linger too long. When you approached the front door again, he looked much more satisfied. Behind him, James made a gagging motion.

"Don't mess it up too much, chérie. I'd be hurt if you took advantage of my generosity." You rolled your eyes, and he laughed.

"Then I commend you for your charitable nature, chéri."

The sugary words rolled off of your tongue and past your lips with a syrupy, sarcastic lilt, and Thomas almost coughed.

Before he could get himself to respond, you'd already bid James a speedy recovery and waved casually, and as you stepped outside and swung the metal knob to close the door, you turned just enough to catch a glimpse of Thomas Jefferson's comically wide eyes.