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

XXXII: Seven Million Dollar Bottle

The Naval ship is rather large, and I can see sailors on the dock operating whatever they need to operate.

"We were talkin' 'bout why these limeys are comin' into our territory," John says bitterly. "That's what we've been discussin' with the Admirals for a while now. The British are movin' in, and frankly, Hopkins is pissed 'bout it."

"So what does the AC have to do with any of this?" I ask.

"Don't ask me," John shrugs. "Washington dragged the AC into the petty Navy feud. Hopefully, we'll be out of it soon enough."

"So do you know why these British people are coming in?" I ask. "I mean, they must have a reason."

"Uh," Alexander huffs, "don't worry, (Y/N). It's political reasons. You wouldn't understand or care."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Yes."

I smack the back of Alexander's head.

"Cyka blyat."

"Don't piss me off again, Alexander!"

"I'm starting to think if I cough you'll get mad at me."

"If you cough to belittle me, then I will!"

"It's nothin' we're involved in," John says, breaking Alexander and me up. "Navy business. No point of even worryin' 'bout it."

The ship finishes docking and a few people step off the ship and onto the harbor. They are quickly greeted by Burr, Hopkins, Whipple, and Susannah, all of whom seemed to have been anxiously awaiting the newcomers.

"I better join the welcomin' committee," John says bitterly. He strides off to join them, leaving Alexander and me momentarily alone.

Alexander immediately takes the opportunity to bombard me with questions I'd rather not answer.

"Why were you pissed these past two days?"

I shrug. "I wasn't pissed."

"So you didn't talk to me because you lost your voice?" Alexander sarcastically suggests.

"Maybe I did," I say, turning my shoulder to him.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?"

"I never was."

"Yes, you were."

"Fine! Then I'm not anymore."

Alexander sighs heavily. "Good... I don't like you being mad at me. It makes me feel alone."

"How adorable," I roll my eyes.

"I meant that, pumpkin."

"Fuck you."

He laughs. "I'm just teasing, (Y/N). No need to get so defensive."

I wouldn't tell Alexander, but I'm glad I've decided to set aside my grudge. It took some counseling from Lee and quite a few tea parties to give into Lee's advice.

Alexander and I stay in the background for quite a while, watching from afar as the British make quite the impression. 

The British Admiral, whose name I caught to be Richard Howe, is all smiles and laughs. Isn't he the cheery chap? He looks quite spiffy in his black uniform; it contrasts quite well with the white uniforms of the American Navy. But what catches my attention is the man behind Admiral Howe.

It's a man... but he looks normal. He looks like a civilian! No uniform, no patches, no medals. Nothing. Who the hell is he?

The man is medium in stature and somewhat brawny. He has a kind and gentle face but a gleam in his chocolate eyes that glow with a desire for adventure. His whole aura pulses with excitement and bubbliness. I seem to absorb it, and it gives me a giddy feeling inside. He wears a casual blue button-up shirt and blue jeans to match, accompanied by white sneakers. His brown hair is tucked messily under a tweed flat cap, reminding me of a few movies I've seen with men dressed in this style. The man carries an important-looking briefcase in his left hand, holding it quite close to his body.