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

XLV: Thirty-Six Questions

❝I'll never finish falling in love with you.❞
—Nicole Williams

It feels odd to have a massive celebrity like Joy Nova get excited about seeing me. But that's just what happened.

Sunday coffee. Bright sun. Cold weather. Fur coat. Alexander, Reynolds, and Joy.

February 23, 2059.

A lot happened overnight. For one, Alexander and I have both become "memes" as these Americans call it. A short video I posted on my Instagram some time ago of Alexander running away from a bird before it attacked him became a meme. People put captions over him and the bird.

"Me" over Alexander, and "my final essay due in one hour" on the bird. Or "Harry Potter" on Alexander, and "Death Eaters" on the bird. They're quite funny, but Alexander doesn't think so.

He thinks the sound bite of me saying "His name was Bert", which became a meme, is much funnier. People put a caption above it, such as "When the teacher asks you a question and you weren't paying attention," or "When you're girlfriend asks you if you're listening to her gossip." Not exactly funny to me, but the online world can't get enough of it.

Rory has been spamming me with them. Clearly, he thinks this shit is the funniest thing ever.

But that doesn't matter. We followed through with what Reynolds told us last night. We got picked up by him and our two normal bodyguards and transported to this cafe. The one and only Joy Nova was here waiting for us.

This woman, who won three Acadamy Awards and two Tonys (I don't know what either of those is, but Alexander told me they are relevant), jumped to her feet to greet us. Us! It was stunning, really, to realize how famous Alexander and I have become.

I didn't know it was her at first, and I think our bodyguards were suspicious as well considering they flinched when Joy Nova threw her arms around us each.

I'm still reeling from the fact that this hugely famous person is talking to us casually. You can tell she's famous. She smells like money and everything she's wearing, from her heels to her earings, looks like it's worth more than my soul. Her olive hair looks recently curled and styled, and her make-up is professionally done — I have no doubt that she spends each morning with a personal stylist who makes her presentable. She even said that she flew in from Hollywood to Albany on her private jet. A private fucking jet. I can't even have a private anything with Alexander. But she has a whole jet! Her handbag, which she placed on the table,  is one of a kind, made by a famous designer who I didn't bother catching the name of. The point is, she is a well-established celebrity.

As Reynolds said on the way to this cafe, "The best way to secure fame is to associate with those who have it."

We sat down. Drank some coffee. Talked a lot about irrelevant things. Now it's time to get into some business.

"Has Mr. Reynolds told you my plan?" Joy Nova asks.

"He hasn't spilled anything," Alexander shakes his head. "He said he wants you to drop the news."

Joy giggles and gives a playful nudge to Reynolds. "How thoughtful of you!"

"That's me," Reynolds winks. "Always thinking of others."

I look at his hand; Reynolds said earlier his hand is almost healed. He's no longer wearing his bandage.

"So," Joy leans in closer to us, "I don't know if you two know, but every two years, I host a huge party for an organization or charity."

"We know," I say bluntly.

"Well... the time is rolling around for me to host another party."

"That's wonderful," Alexander says half-heartedly. It's not very often that Alexander does not attempt to swoon a woman. I can only assume this means he dislikes Joy as much as I already do. Something about her seems off, although I don't know what.