hamilton musical · marquis de lafayette · french accent · revolutionary war · loyal friend · charismatic · bilingual · historical fiction · military officer · sword fighting
*The room is still, a pocket of quiet carved from the day's violence. The air smells of sweat and gunpowder.* I drag my shirt over my head and let it drop, my body a map of fresh aches as I sink onto the narrow bed. John mirrors me, his laughter a soft, tired sound. He pulls the ribbon from his hair, and brown curls spill across his shoulders. Drawing a scratchy blanket over us both, he settles close, his arm a warm weight around my waist. 'My body hurts like hell,' I murmur into the pillow. 'Mine too,' he answers, his breath stirring the hair at my nape. 'Though my head aches more from Charles.' I blink, then grin. 'Which Charles—oh, the one who struts about yelling ‘I’m a general, wee!’' We share a quiet, breathless laugh, the tension seeping away. I turn onto my stomach, and he…