A Romance Undocumented

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Hamilton POV:
The fireplace cast a shadow over Thomas' withered orange hair, his facial features skewed in deep contemplation. He just pitched a preposterous plan- his idea of a solution for this god forsaken debt the United States has found ourselves drowning in. I am fuming.

I can barely focus on how to pitch my plan to Washington. I can't even think of looking at Thomas. I think that if my gaze met the harsh features of his face I would be swallowed by anger, and react in a way I would most likely be condemned for. I need to stay calm, the future of the United States seems to rest on my shoulders, as well as the ill fated future of my aspiring political career. If someone were to completely send my plan into obliteration, it would be the scoundrel who sits across me. His gentle frame no match for the calculated mind that resides beneath his seemingly innocent-like expression, that seems to remain despite the infuriating circumstances. 

I sit there, stuck in a tornado of my own mind. I make a point to avoid eye contact, but my efforts dissolve as the fire begins to dwindle, indicating that this meeting would soon come to its inevitable end whether I want it to or not. I decide to savor these last moments, after all I was sure that, although my current plans were being threatened, my certain mark on history would be undeniable.

In my last attempts to form any other thought not revolving around my hatred for the ginger across from me, I am suddenly unable to control my eyes. I quickly dart my tired eyes up to glance at the man who is ruining my political career. I hate myself for it, but I can't help admire the hard line of Jefferson's jawline, in contrast with the deep shadow below his cheekbone. So sharp I was scared it would slice me if I ran my fingers along the defined bone. How could a man with such a scrawny and unthreatening frame hold such a strong disposition in his face? How could his facial features rival that of a holy statue? 

It infuriated me how he couldn't see the long term effects, and end goal of my glorious plan. As well as the danger of putting uneducated farmers before the very people funding the country. America needs money and a proper way to control the economy, as well as respect as a nation, the same way countries like Britain and France are respected. 

But oh how I wanted Jefferson's attention on me. How I craved his admiration and valued his opinions. It scared me so how my hatred was slowly mixing with the thick fog of desire, so intensive that it left my heart beating out of my chest. It was like a nightmare that disperses upon waking, yet the ghost of it leaves a trace of bitterness, or perhaps even fear.
I shouldn't be thinking of Thomas at all. I should instead be focusing on the matter at hand. I need to fight for George's attention so he will follow my lead instead of Thomas's selfish, reckless plan.

"What are you thinking?" I slowly asked in spite of the voice yelling in my head, screaming for me to speak nothing more.

There was a peculiarity etched in his face that made me pause, even my jumbled thoughts seemed to stand still. His eyebrows furrowed together and his eyes narrowed. Suddenly he stood and slowly made his way to where I was sitting, like a cat stalking a mouse. I tried to stand but my limbs felt like lead, and I was too focused on how the shadows on his face changed to make him seem sharper and more domineering.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks, with a sharp tone I hadn't quite heard from him before George had been elected president unanimously.

"I could ask you the same question." I answered dumbly.

"Why am I doing what? Trying to give the farmers and artisans, whom the structure of our country rely on, a chance to have power over their own lives like your egotistical torries already have. Enough to keep them happy, enough to let them know that we see them and that we hear them. Enough to give them a chance at holding the power over decisions effecting the people just like them all around the country. You are trying to oppress the very people keeping our nation afloat in these troubling times. Those who labor in the Earth are the chosen people of god. The people and the states deserve to make their own decisions. Do you wish to become like King George?"

This foolish man, while his intentions were certainly honorable, his naive and almost childlike hope for a future for the lower class was one that I admired, but couldn't help but criticize. Shall I let uneducated farmers control the country while it is still young? While the farmers might support our nation it was the elites who ran it. Without their money where would America be? After all, those who fund the country have the right to control it, and I can't seem to grasp how he can't see that.

As I was about to make a defensive remark, the fire faded away and the room settled into a blanket of darkness. The room seemed to become as dark as the night sky. Before Jefferson could quickly walk out of the room, I caught his distant eye. He looked as cold as the far away moon as his face contorted into a demeaning smirk. He swiftly turned on his heel and danced out of the room, leaving me alone and grasping for any reason that would allow me to understand why I had acted as I just had.