"You need a break," Burr whispers, against his skin. Yet here they cannot get one. Not at war, as they are.
Hamilton's temper has gotten the better of him. If the general was wrong, his was not the way to address it, and yet...
"No one is doing more than you," Burr says. He has never been one to comfort. Had not received such comforts, himself, as a child. He doesn't know what Hamilton needs to hear, or how to make him feel better. Perhaps it is best to address it head-on.
Hamilton is here, and trembling. Vulnerable. Burr kisses him--the skin on his neck, holds him in the silence, the blowing wind, the call of a few winter birds.
"Why don't you like it when he calls you son?" Burr asks.
no subject
Hamilton's temper has gotten the better of him. If the general was wrong, his was not the way to address it, and yet...
"No one is doing more than you," Burr says. He has never been one to comfort. Had not received such comforts, himself, as a child. He doesn't know what Hamilton needs to hear, or how to make him feel better. Perhaps it is best to address it head-on.
Hamilton is here, and trembling. Vulnerable. Burr kisses him--the skin on his neck, holds him in the silence, the blowing wind, the call of a few winter birds.
"Why don't you like it when he calls you son?" Burr asks.