"Oh, Alexander, no--I am not. He isn't--" and he's doing this wrong. What was it Laurens had said, when Burr asked him for relief? That Hamilton would never feel secure in sharing, that he needed all of someone, more than anyone else might need all of someone. "Alexander, come here," Burr says, and sits on his knees on the bed, opens his arms to him.

Hamilton falls into him, and when he tucks his head against Burr's neck, Burr folds his own head down against Hamilton's hair, breathing in.

"I didn't mean as a replacement for you. When you were gone I felt like a part of me was tearing away. I wanted only animal relief, or the comfort one might find in a dear friend. But I missed you, and wanted you. I would never knowingly hurt you. I won't bring it up again, if you wish it. I only thought that if you also shared those desires, the arrangement might be amenable to both of us. But it is not a necessity, not needed as a companion in heats is."

And he pulls away then, pulls Hamilton's head up to kiss him, sweet, tender kisses, while he strokes the sides of his face. Love--he loves Hamilton, in a way he had never loved anyone else. He feels drunk with it, adrift.