John Laurens sighed as he walked through the corridor, his destination being the shared workspace belonging to himself, Meade, Tilghman, Hamilton, and the rest of the Aid De Camps. The rain didn't particularly bother him, but it was certainly not of any convenience. It only meant less travel, fewer issues resolved. The majority of postponable missions would be, lest valuable soldiers fall ill. Storms were nothing, if a minor set back to him.

John approached the door in the surprisingly quiet hall. He heard through the thick oak a soft thump, and a muffled voice. Who else would be awake at this hour? John had stayed up late to finish translating the French on an urgent letter that he was behind on, and none of the other Aids were as set back as him, as far as he knew.

He reached a hand to the knob of the door, poised to turn it open when a loud clap of thunder startled him away. Another small noise from the room. He successfully opened the door a crack, straining his eyes into the dark room to see a small figure huddled between Meade's desk and the wall.

The door emitted a small creak as John quietly stepped into the room. The figure on the floor took no notice as Laurens intruded, however, and as John crept closer he realized the man was shaking and breathing heavily. Could he be injured? A rogue musket shot, or perhaps a traitor among them?

Laurens squinted to make out any prominent features on the man. Wavy ginger hair flowed down his back, and he did wear a soldier's uniform- Minus his coat.

John got close enough to make out the tear stained features of his face. The figure was still shaking, and his breathing was past the point of no return. John recognized this man, although he had yet to see this side of him until now.

Alexander Hamilton.

John resisted the urge to rush forward and embrace him, hold him until he could find out the source of his agony, who had caused this- yet, the small part of him holding him back knew that it would only send Alexander into further panic to do so.

He decided that he should make his presence known. Imagine looking up in a dark room as such to see someone silently watching you.

"Alexander?" John said his name, slowly and hushed, almost a whisper.

Alexander slowly turned his head to look at him, fear ever present in his violet eyes.

John took that as a stamp of approval at his presence, and he kneeled down, taking a seat next to him. He slowly offered his hand, thinking that someone to hold on to may be reassuring.

Alexander let John's hand graze over his own, and just as it seemed he would allow contact, thunder struck and he flinched away once more.

"Okay, okay. Here, uhm, breathe with me." John was starting to piece together what the cause of this was.

Surprisingly, seeing how close the two were, he knew little about Hamilton's background. Just as much as anyone who payed attention, really. An orphan by 12, came to America after his town was ruined by a hurricane- That must take some part in this, along with maybe some natural astraphobia.

John exaggerated slow breathing, as he's seen done a few times before in medical, used for wounded soldiers that needed to be kept still for surgery, and for people who couldn't calm enough to answer questions about their wound.

They sat there for a while, until Alexander's breathing was slightly less struggled. John had managed to grasp his hand, and eventually ended up wrapped around him, holding him tightly as he endured the worst of the thunder.

It must have been an hour, though John most likely lost track of time in the dark room. Eventually the storm died out, and Alexander seemed to have drifted into the blissful realm of sleep.

John smiled as he weighed his options. He could either stay here until morning, risking being caught, or he could take Alexander back to their room, risking being seen awake far after nightfall.

He decided finally, standing up and dusting himself off. John scooped up Alexander and crept out through the dark corridors, careful

not to cause much noise.

It seemed as if the empty corridors went on for forever until they finally reached safety, their room.

John gently tucked his friend into his own bed, careful not to wake him. It wasn't difficult- he seemed an abnormally heavy sleeper. He contemplated joining him, ultimately choosing against it. What if someone were to walk in?

He was about to stand, walk away, when a hand pulled him back. He gave in as Hamilton pulled him into the small bed. No one would likely walk in anyways. Nobody needed to know.

It was that relaxing thought that made him nestle into Alexander, drifting into a soft sleep.