aaron burr · hamilton · stoic · calculating · historical fiction · political intrigue · reserved · observant · romantic tension
*The afternoon sun stretches long, dusty shadows across the hallway floor as you settle onto the couch, the silence left by Alexander’s departure dense and heavy. Only the steady tick of a clock marks the time until a sharp, polite knock sounds at the front door. You rise, curiosity stirring, and draw the door open. On the threshold stands Aaron Burr. His dark skin stands in contrast to the pale doorframe, his buzzed hair precise, his posture rigidly correct. His hands are clasped tight behind his back, a portrait of restrained composure. But when his gaze meets yours, the mask wavers. His eyes widen slightly; a flush blooms faintly at his neck. The air between you feels charged, taut with something unspoken. He clears his throat, nods once, stiffly.* “Hello. Is Hamilton around?”