💚1920s💜

The bar was booming.

Jazz music filled the air in the speakeasy, as young, scandalously dressed women danced along. Somewhat older men either joined them, or were spending their time drinking happily amongst themselves. Though, through all of the fun, the partygoers made sure to be on high alert. After all, if they were to be caught, it'd all be over.

Alexander Hamilton, a spunky, young West Indian boy admired the sights before him with awe. Though he has lived in America for almost a full year since emigrating from the Caribbean, he hasn't been very active in the community, since he was more focused on setting his sights on working. Now, Alex finally has enough to spend a little time for himself.

"A drink, my good man?" The dark-skinned bartender asked, as Alexander slid onto the nearest barstool.

Pushing a lock of his dark hair behind his ear, Alex gave a small nod. "Yessum. I don't drink much, so I ain't all too familiar with all the names. Hit me with whatever this can buy. Je vous remercie."

After spilling some cash on the table, the bartender nodded and turned to making a drink. The sense of rebellion boiling inside Alexander, caused his adrenaline to heighten. He was fully aware of the Prohibition act, yet here he was, disobeying the law. It felt great to him. Like he was still a teenager sneaking from his parents for a date-night with the girl-next-door.

"Was that perhaps français, I heard? Est-ce que c'était ça?"

Recognizing the fluent French phrases, Alex's head shot up. Glancing around, he locked eyes with a man, perhaps younger than himself, just across the bar. A tall Frenchman, with a naïve aura about him. All too intriguing for Alexander. He needed to speak with him more.

"Oui," Alex answered with a chuckle, sliding down the bar, to be closer to the handsome stranger. "My mother came from a line of French Huguenots, it flows through my blood. J'ai maîtriser la langue."

"I see! As I have mastered ze art of Anglais... Or, I hope so..," the Frenchman laughed a bit, running his finger along with rim of his drinking glass. "I must say, Amérique has such...eh... How you say, 'unique' tastes."

"You're an immigrant as well, I presume?" Alex asked, as the bartender returned with a surprise drink. "How long have you lived here for then?"

"Deux mois," he shrugged, glancing over at the flapper-girls, smoking in the corner of the bar. He shook his head, turning back to Alex. "Wait, did you hint that you are an immigrant as well?"

"Yes," Alex sighed, making sure to keep his voice low. "You couldn't tell?"

The French stranger shook his head, with a smile. "Non. Not obvious at all, mon chéri."

Withholding himself from breaking into a blush, Alex quickly looked away. "Flirting, already? I don't even know you're name."

"I do not think you want to," he laughed harder. "But if you insist, bel, ze name is Marie‑Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette."

"Aye..." Scratching the back of his head, Alex couldn't hold back a hardy laugh. "Well, you're most definitely French!"

"Call me Lafayette if you want to save your breath," Lafayette smiled warmly, before dropping his expressions suddenly. "Oh, yes, mon cher, what do I call you?"

"Oh, yeah! That's what I'd forgotten. My name is Alexander Hamilton," Alex immitated a formal bow, though not very successfully since he was still seated on the barstool. Realizing that, he just tipped his cap slightly instead. "Call me Alex, or Alexander, or whatever you please. It's an absolute pleasure to make your acquantice."

"Oui. C'était agréable de rencontrer un homme magnifique, comme vous," Lafayette dipped into complete French, staring longingly into Alex's eyes. Though he was not a mind-reader or magician of any sorts, Alex could sense what he must've been thinking.

"Aye! Who allowed the fags into the bar?!" An obnoxious voice exclaimed, followed by booming laughter.

Both Alexander and Lafayette turned to see what all the commotion was about. Three older men; their outfits insinuating they were higher class; approached the two of them. The one up front, who was also the one that had spoke up, was a paler man, with dark black hair. Everything about his appearance and thundering voice struck fear into Alexander.

Alex couldn't think of what to say. He was being called a 'fag'. Of all the insults he's heard, that's one he's never thought that would be one that hurt him so much. And, he's heard them all since he's moved to America. But never once did they strike at his sexual preferences. It made him feel so weak that he couldn't fight back with witty comebacks.

"Excusez-moi, tête de noeud," Lafayette stood, brushing up his uniform, and puffing out his chest. His once cheerful appearance quickly shifted to one of intimidation. It even frightened Alex. "Mon ami and I were just enjoying a chat. I have no idea what you are calling us, but zis absurdité is upsetting mon Alexander."

"He called you guys fags," one of the dark-haired man's groupies sneered, blowing his ginger-hair out of his eyes. "Do ya get it, you queer, aristocratic bastard?! Go back to your homeland, why don'tcha?"

Alex stood up, reaching up to grab Lafayette's shoulder, in order to pull him back down into his seat. But, he didn't budge. Instead, he just narrowed his dark eyes at the antagonizing group.

"Listen," Alex finally spoke up, biting his lip nervously, "we didn't do anything to you all. Can you just leave us be?"

"You still don't get it do you?" The last member of the group spoke up, flicking his Stetson hat up out of his eyes. "Do you understand who y'all be talking to?" He pointed over at the leader, holding a smirk. "This right 'ere is the Big Boss. Don't mess with 'im, unless ya wanna get shot, you fucking fairies."

"Yeah, what he said," the other groupie nodded, crossing his arms.

"So, unless you wanna die, fags," the leader glared, grabbing Lafayette's collar to pull him closer, "get the hell out of here."

As soon as he was released, his facadę of strength dispersed, due to fear. Lafayette nodded, beginning to stroll out of the speakeasy. Alexander couldn't take it anymore. He balled his fists, storming up to the gang.

"You all are just a bunch of no-good hincty, inconsiderate nitwits! You deserve nothing more than death itself!"

"And you're another one of them immigrant scum attemptin' to steal our hardworkin' jobs," the gang leader reached into his back pocket, as Alex backed up slightly. "Ya best leave our country while you still gots all yer limbs intact."

Alex gave an insulting gesture, before running off after Lafayette. The two of them met outside the speakeasy, leaning up against the side of the building. The air around them was somber and quiet.

"I say we get the coppers to show up and shut the place down," Alex joked, in attempt to lighten the mood. "Maybe those bastards will be shotdown in crossfire!"

"Non, violence is not ze answer," Lafayette sighed, scratching his arm. "Zis is fine. I like it better out here. There is less smoke. And, it i less loud. My eardrums and lungs thank me."

Alex smiled, inching closer to Lafayette. "Hey, thanks for making my first night out on the town exciting."

"Exciting? We did not do much, though..."

"Yeah, but, we got threatened by a mob boss, and lived to tell the tale. That's pretty epic," Alex teased, staring up at him. "Um...say, you wanna head to my place with me? We could...talk some more, if you catch what I'm saying."

Sending a wink his way, Alex took hold of Lafayette's wrist. He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the smaller man. Before, it finally clicked in his head. He chuckled, smirking deviously.

"Oui, of course..."

~~~

Word Count: 1442