1778. The battle of Monmouth. Two young men cower as a cannon ball crashes down loudly only a few feet away from them, showering them in dirt, blood and… something else. But they try desperately not to consider what coats them, for they are in the middle of a battle. They could not afford to stop and think.
One of them pushes a strand of curly brown hair out of his face in an attempt to clear his vision. He turns to the man beside him as another cannon ball lands a few feet behind them. Ignoring the resulting explosion, he studies his companion, taking in his dashing features. Alexander Hamilton. He has to be the most alluring human John has ever had the pleasure of meeting. Everything about him is beautiful. From his slender figure, to his silky hair and everything in between, he is of staggering beauty. But perhaps his most stunning feature are his eyes. Goodness, John could write poetry about those violet-blue eyes. They are wonderful, full of life, of intelligence. John had realised at a young age that he did not view women the same way most men do. And yet, Alexander is something else entirely from every other man John has ever admired from afar.
But Alexander could never return the same affection John feels. They are forever doomed to remain simply as close friends. Nothing more.
So lost in his thoughts is John, that he only faintly hears the strangled sound come out of Alexander's beautiful lips, the ones he often dreams about, before a gunshot sounds.
The world falls silent.
Suddenly, he feels a searing pain. It is like nothing he has ever experienced before. He freezes for a moment in shock, before dropping to the ground. It is only then that he notices the blood dripping down his sleeve. The pain begins to overwhelm him and his eyes begin to flutter shut. Distantly, he hears Alexander yell out in anguish, before his consciousness fades completely.