"Benefits" [Under Editing]

Beaten Up (In More Ways Than One)

A/N: While editing the chapters I decided to change Sally Hemmings for Martha Jefferson (or Martha Wayles) cause I don't want Sally to have anything to do with Jeffershit, okay? Okay <3

Edited.

Class was over and as he didn't have anything at all to do, John headed to his dorm. He knew Alexander wasn't going to be there, he was still at class, so he didn't bother getting his hopes up. It was still fairly early for college standards, so the hall he was walking by was empty, or at least he thought it was. That is until he heard someone yelling his name with not-so-nice connotations. And as one does when your name is being yelled in threatening ways, John politely ignored it.

"Hey! I'm talkin' to you, asshole!" The person continued.

He turned around and was met with a really tall, really intimidating guy he vaguely recognized as Thomas Something. He remembered sleeping with his girlfriend about a few months ago because she was tired of his shit. Nice girl, really, if you ignore the cheating and all that. Thomas Something looked drunk or high or something along those lines, and really angry. John has had enough similar experiences to know this wasn't going to end well.

"You got a bone to pick?" John answered, and silently patted himself in the back for the subtle Heathers reference.

"Damn right we're gonna have a problem, you fucked my girlfriend!" He spat, conforming John's suspicions on the situation.

"You mean Marty Wayles?"

"Martha."

"Yeah, her. Look, dude, that happened a while ago, why are you bothering me now?" He asked. Frankly, John never understood why people went after him instead of their partners. It wasn't him who cheated, right? And it's not like he wants guys to start beating up their girlfriends, but maybe break up? Or something? Whatever, he might as well just get another concussion.

"Doesn't matter, it's time for you to pay the piper for the pants that you unbuckled"

"I don't have any money I can't pay you shit, and what piper?"

Jefferson smirked as he cracked his knuckles. "That's not what I meant by paying and you know it."

—•—

A while later, John stumbled into his dorm with a dripping nose and a black eye. He had intended to be more discrete on his grand entrance, but his sense of balance was seemingly worse than he thought, because upon opening the door he immediately fell to the ground, further fucking up his handsome face.

His roommate (how long had John been sulking on the school floor if he was already there?) did a double-take after he fell. "What happened to you!? You look like hell!"

"I just got back," John mumbled from the ground.

"Not the time, Laurens," Hamilton hissed as he slammed his laptop closed and went to the bathroom.

"What are you doing, Ham?"

He came back with a small first aid kit. "First of all, don't call me Ham. Second, I'm helping you."

Too disoriented to properly process the situation, he let Alexander help him sit up so he could clean him up. In his dazed state, all John think of was of how close Alexander's face was to his. How he could see every single cute mole and dark eyelash. How he could feel his fine fingers touching his skin as he dabbed his wounds with cotton and his warm breath on his cheek

"Tssk, ouch!" He hissed in sudden pain.

"Don't move, Laurens, you're really messed up,"

"You should've seen the other guy," He said, even though he had barely managed to scratch Jefferson.

His roommate rolled his eyes, unconvinced. "What the hell happened anyway?"

"A Thomas Something beat the crap out of me,"

"Jefferson?" He asked, John nodded. Alexander scoffed. "Screw Jefferson. Honestly, forget everything I've ever said about Madison, Jefferson is definitely the worst." John chuckled, and then stopped because it hurt like a bitch.

In a weird, possibly creepy way, John was actually glad this had happened. He hasn't felt this good in weeks, even if his face hurt. He wanted to stay like this all night, with Alexander this close to him, watching his brown eyes squint adorably as he concentrates on cleaning John's cuts and bruises. With his warm fingertips brushing against his skin. It was such an imperfectly perfect scene, and John didn't want to be anywhere else in the world.

And that's when it hit him like a giant beach wave slamming against a skinny toddler.

'Oh my god

I'm in love with Alexander Hamilton aren't I?

I'm so fucked'