Chapter 10: America's Favorite Fighting Frenchman

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   Y/N's POV

   I was sleeping over at Thomas' house. Dad was okay with it, so I jumped at the opportunity.

   I woke up from the comfy guest room bed to the a knock on the door and the shuffle of feet.

   I tiredly glanced at the grandfather clock in the guest bedroom.

   2:34 AM.

   I groaned. Who would be at the door at that hour?

   I heard Thomas and someone I didn't know talking in hushed voices. Even though the men were being quiet, I heard that the stranger had a very thick French accent.

   To find out who this stranger was, I wearily scuffled over to where they were talking.

   Thomas' POV (Fin-fricking-ly)

   Knock, knock.

   My eyes fluttered open. By the darkness of my room, I could tell it was very early.

   Picking myself out of bed, I sighed and walked over to the door, hoping that whoever that was didn't wake Y/N up.

   I opened the door, rubbing my eyes.

   To my surprise, the light that the hallway light gave off revealed my friend Lafayette standing there, smiling. (Guns and ships came on wow.) 

   I felt my eyes widen. "Lafayette? Is that you?" I said quietly.

   With another smile, he responded. "Indeed, mon ami!" he returned the quietness.

   "Laf! I missed you!" I said, a tad bit louder, but still quiet, bro-hugging him.

   Laf smiled, hugging back. "I missed you too, Thomas."

   When we pulled apart, a burning question rose within me. "What brings you to America?"

   Lafayette shrugged. "I finished the declaration and brought considerable amounts of peace to I was thinking we you say...hang out?"

   "At this hour?" I questioned, rubbing my tired eyes.

   Laf scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ehe...about that, mon ami. I left for America this past morning, and it took a lot longer to get here than I had hoped..."

   I smiled. "Well, you can stay here for the night and we can all hang out later today."

   Laf smirked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'all?' Is there a third ami I should know about?"

   I flinched, feeling heat rising to my cheeks. "Um...m-maybe?"

   "Thomas?" I heard a familiar voice croak.

   I turned around to see Y/N standing in front of me. "Speak of the Devil..," Lafayette whispered.

   She had a hand on her hip. "What's going on?" she asked.

   Y/N's POV

The guy that Thomas was talking to looked oddly similar to him. He had the same skin tone, the same beard, and the same color hair. Except his hair was pulled into a neat little bun. He wore this blue coat instead of magenta as well.

Thomas turned to look at me.

"Speak of the Devil," I heard the stranger mutter through that thick French accent of his.

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