Hey, Roomie! Ch. 6

Hey, roomie! ch. 6

thomas j. x reader

Word count: 4k

Alex and Eliza’s wedding leaves you questioning your poor decision making.

Warnings: John Lauresds bro. Swearing per usual. Me being too lazy to edit/proofread/add italics 😜

Notes: bro this is the most I’ve written for a chapter I’m so proud. Took me only two days as well (which might explain if it’s shitty but ignore that)

“Thomas?” Your voice rings out in the quiet apartment. “I need a favor.”

You gingerly shut the door behind you, setting your bag on the counter. There’s some shuffling in his room, and he walks out a few moments later.

“What’s up?” He sniffles. His eyes had a hint of red puffiness.

“So you know the w— are you okay?” You stop yourself abruptly upon noticing his eyes.

“Yeah, I got something in my eye so I was rinsin’ ‘em out,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him, but ultimately buy into his story.

“Alright…anyway, you know how Alex and Eliza’s wedding is coming up?” You say and he nods. “Well, I’m one of the bridesmaids and I—wow, this is harder to ask than I thought.”

He gives you a confused look. “Is it somethin’ bad?”

“No! Just kind of..awkward? Almost?” Your voice goes higher at the last part. Now he’s interested, his body language said so. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, curiosity peaked in him.

“Spit it out,” he urges. You huff and roll your eyes.

“I need you to teach me how to dance. Slow dance, to be exact.” You rush.

He blinks, like the gears are turning in his head. When they finally do, a wide grin spreads across his face. Your breath hitched as he took a step closer.

“I can do that. I’m a real fine dancer, sweetheart, and an even better teacher,” he winks. “Who you plannin’ to dance with?”

“I don’t know, it might be written on cards for us, but my hope is Laurens or Hercules.” You shrug. He thinks to himself for a moment.

“Sure, sure, I know them. Both hate me I think?”

You laugh, and the smile he previously wore brightened again. You know Thomas wouldn’t be invited to the wedding or able to go anywhere near it since him and Alex are mortal enemies. That fact didn’t bother you, you knew Thomas could be an arrogant asshole majority of the time, but at least he was willing to help you.

“Maybe a little,” you grin. He shakes his head, still adorning the smile you’ve grown so fond of.

“Y’all been talking about me or somethin’?” He quirks an eyebrow. You feel your face flush red, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the hot embarrassment radiating from your skin.

“Well—not exactly, you just happen to come up in conversation sometimes.” You say. Not technically a lie, just choosing your words as carefully as possible to make it seem like he’s not all you talk about.

“Oh yeah? And what do these conversations entail?” He tilts his head.

“Just how much of a dickhead you are. Nothing new,” you sigh. He sputters out a laugh and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. Another smile finds your lips, more confident this time.

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckles, “but do you seriously not know how to dance?”

“No, I’ve never really needed to.” You shrug, internally grateful he changed the subject back to the original topic.

“Damn shame. Dancing is fun, ‘specially line dancin’.” He gives you a big toothy grin.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“Sugar, I’m southern, you don’t just learn. You’re born with it.”

You sometimes forget Thomas originated from Virginia. Born and raised, he told you. His parents raised him on a farm surrounded by forest, taught him how to tend to crops, and he was enrolled in the highest quality school they could find. It ended up being a private school, where he excelled in academics and lived in books the moment he could read. It would explain his love for agriculture and science.

“Fair enough. I suppose all rednecks prioritize slow dancing with their cousins to ensure a great marriage,” you tease.

“Hey you watch yourself, not all southerners are in incestual relationships.” He glares at you.

“The fact you had to defend not all says a lot.”

—

You decided that the following day, he would teach you all you need to know. He claimed it won’t be hard for you to pick up since you’re smart and dancing is straightforward. Just follow the other person's lead, which in this case it would be Thomas.

When the next night rolled around, you were suited lazily in pajamas and socks while dinner cooked. No point in being dressed up since it was just practice.

“Alright, so the first thing is positions.” He says. You both stood in the kitchen, your meal baking in the oven for the next 20 minutes. He started a playlist of slow dancing country songs, playing them softly in the background.

He pulls you closer to him, causing a light gasp to escape you. He chuckles, muttering for you to relax, and you eventually do. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, standing so close to you that you could smell the familiar cologne.

“You’ll have your hands on my shoulders while I keep mine on your waist.” He explains. You bring your hands to his shoulders, holding onto them as if your life depended on it. “Not so tight,” he chuckles. You loosen up your grip and take a breath in.

“Now let’s step to the rhythm. Forward left, right, step together, then step back with right, back with left, step together. Easy enough?”

“None of that made sense, but I’ll try my best.”

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured. “Just follow my lead, you’ll pick up on it real nicely.” He gave your waist a gentle squeeze and started stepping to the beat. He leads you, patience in his eyes and with every step.

You fumble over your feet a couple times and take some wrong turns, but he doesn’t belittle you or stop. Instead, he redirects you and keeps it moving. It was hard to ignore how intimate this was. Your arms wrapped around each other, him staring down at you and you fixated on your feet. It would’ve been way scarier had you been gazing into his dark brown eyes, admiring the smooth skin and black curls that framed his face.

“You’re doing great,” his low voice met your ears, his lips almost grazing the side of your face from how close he was. Your heart leapt in your throat, your movement stuttered and he tightened his hands to instruct you where to step.

After a few more runs of the same pattern, you grew confident, finally tearing your eyes away from your feet and up to him. His heavy stare was already fixed on you, a look of adoration and softness in his eyes. Just as you imagined, your palms grew sweaty and you grew increasingly nervous, yet he remained calm.

His demeanor soothed you. He was so cool and collected, like this was all natural, like you’d done this a thousand times before. Before you knew it the song came to a close and his movement slowed. When you came to a complete stop, you were so immersed in the story behind his eyes. The way the light shone upon him, the way it seemed like time stopped and you were the only people left in the world.

The way his eyes flickered down to your lips, and the way yours did the same. The way you were leaning in subconsciously, hands moving to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you met him in the middle, in a gentle kiss. It sent electric shocks through your entire body—months of pining poured into one kiss. He immediately pulled you closer, not breaking the softness behind your lips against each others. His hands dipped to your lower back, and you stiffened.

That’s when you realized what you were doing.

You pushed off of him, a shocked look on your face.

“I…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” You curse, untangling yourself from him and taking many steps back. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “That was a mistake.”

A pang of disappointment stabbed him, strangled his heart, and completely shot down any idea he had of pursuing you. It hurt to hear you consider kissing him a mistake.

It hurt you, too. To say it out loud, even if you weren’t entirely sure you meant it. You pivoted, a regretful expression consuming your features. His eyes lingered on you a moment more, and silently, he brought his fingers up to gently touch his lips where you had kissed him.

Dinner was awkward. The rest of the night was quiet, actually. You decided to bring your dinner to your room, eating in there and regretting every action in the past couple hours. It was just now settling what had happened.

You shared a kiss with the man you deemed ignorant and annoying, and the worst part is you liked it.

When you exited your room to set your dish in the sink, he was sitting at the table. Alone. Eating in silence, save for the clinking of metal against metal. It sent another pang of sorrow through your heart, and your eyes met his. He held eye contact, refusing to back down. It was you who gave in and looked away, shamefully retreating to your bedroom.

—

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Alexander.”

Cheers erupt as Alex swiftly pulls Eliza in for a loving kiss. You fought back the tears that swelled in your eyes as you clapped for them. When they pulled apart, they seemed in their own little world. So infatuated with one another that nothing could break the intense gaze they had fixed.

The week leading up to the wedding was agonizingly slow. It was quiet. Always quiet. You would speak to Thomas when necessary, but this time it was you avoiding him. The guilt you felt was too much, it gnawed away at your stomach until there was nothing left. The memory of that night replayed over and over and over like a broken record. When Alex and Eliza kissed, it flashed in your mind again.

You couldn’t help it. Thomas Jefferson occupied 90% of your thoughts, and the other 10% were spent thinking how horrible you were.

The wedding reception was better than you anticipated. Sure, anytime you danced you thought back to Thomas, but hopefully speaking to the groom or John would lift your spirits.

When it did come time to the slow-waltz you had prepared for on that faithfully awkward night with Thomas, everything he taught stuck because you breezed through the dance floor with John easily. You shared a few laughs for the poor soul that was forced to dance with Lafayette, watching the man stumble over his partner's feet and mutter a string of apologies.

You did exactly what Thomas instructed. Hold onto his shoulders while he holds your waist, and step in sync, forward back forward back. It was incredibly simple. You glided through the floor until the song came to an end, and you separated from Laurens.

The first dance started, and you retreated off to the side, a glass of half-drunken champagne in your hands. You bore your eyes into the glass, so consumed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man approaching your side.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Y/n,” a silky voice spoke. You whipped your head up to the call of your name to be met with deep chocolate eyes.

“Aaron Burr,” you grinned. “How long has it been?”

“Since college, I presume. How are you?” He joins next to you, leaning against the wall as you did.

“Pretty alright. A little tired, but that’s nothing new. How’s Theodosia?”

Theodosia was Burr’s, everyone knew it. Even when she was dating an exchange student, you would see them lingering behind the staircase, his hand in hers. You weren’t sure if they had officially started dating or if they were still playing the charade, but it wouldn’t be long until they did.

“She’s well, thanks for asking. Would you like me to buy you a drink?” He asked.

Aaron Burr, always so punctual and well-mannered. You became affiliated with him through connections with Alexander. It wasn’t until you met the man yourself you became quick friends. He was a quiet man, but easy to talk to. He hadn’t much personality, but he was kind, and you could sense behind the walls he put up there was a flame of passion ignited in him. That flame was visible when he talked of Theodosia.

A couple sips in, you found yourself immersed in conversation about educational reforms. His eyes light up and he sat up straighter as he talked about the statistics of kids who aren’t able to read, and how he hopes to change that by suggesting a new curriculum for schools. Aaron Burr was one for deep, long talks, usually about politics or the economy. You respect him for it.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here. I know you and Alexander are more frenemies than anything, and you’ve had your…disputes,” you say.

Burr goes quiet for a moment, nodding and averting his gaze.

“Indeed. But he invited me, and it wouldn’t be proper of me to turn it down because of a few arguments.”

Proper, he says. If a few months ago your enemy (Thomas Jefferson cough cough) invited you anywhere, you would snarl at him and flip him off. It was honorable how Burr would put all of that aside to support his colleague on his day of union.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr with the lovely bridesmaid!” A drunken voice stumbles behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“You flatter me too much, Laurens,” you glance at Burr before swiveling around. “Been a while. Since fifty minutes ago, to be exact.”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he carelessly throws his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “We haven’t hung out enough!” You pat his back in a friendly manner, and watch as the rest of the gang pulls up. Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and the groom himself. The alcohol must’ve been settling into his system for him to not count the dance you shared earlier as enough.

“Alright, John, pull yourself together.” Alex chuckles, putting a hand on his dear friend's shoulder. Laurens pushes off of you, still wearing a tipsy grin.

“Congratulations, Alexander,” you say. He gives you a nod of courtesy, his eyes shifting to the man next to you.

“Burr, I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” He says, a genuine shock in his voice with a hint of amusement.

“I wanted to say congratulations and drop off my gift. And maybe catch up with Y/n here.” He gives you a grin. You smile back.

Feeling the tension, Laurens speaks up again. “Burr, are you still seein’ Theodosia on the side? Real nice girl,” he stumbles over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning in closer than he should be. Aaron grimaced but didn’t push him off.

“I should go,” Aaron stands up, glancing at you as an apology.

“No, stay! Ignore how they’re acting, John is just drunk,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Don’t group me in with zem, I ‘ave done no wrong,” Lafayette laughs.

You take Alexander’s pleading glance as your hint to leave and take the rest of the boys with you. He wanted his time to converse with Burr himself, so you had no choice but to respect that and give them space. You suggest going to dance since Laurens won’t stop complaining about how you’ve been ignoring him all night, when you literally haven’t.

“I don’t think that’s how you dance, John,” Hercules snorted as he watched the laughing stock fumble over his own feet.

“Dancing is expressive! There is no right or wrong way!” John retorts, his Carolina accent slipping through. Hercules sighed and left him to his own devices and turned back to you.

”He’s hopeless. This is just like Angelica’s wedding.”

You share a laugh as he twirls you, his hand resting on your waist as you step together. Lafayette saw John making a fool of himself and decided to join him, since he knew he had horrible rhythm and would embarrass himself if he was the only one dancing funny. But Laurens had enough liquor to not care what others thought.

“The dresses you made for us are really beautiful. And comfortable, too,” you compliment, glancing down at the blue dress you wore. It was professionally made by Hercules himself, considering his line of work being fashion design.

“Thank you. It looks even better on you,” he beams, brightening at your praise.

“Oh, stop,” you waved him off. “Are you still into powerlifting? I’ve been meaning to lift more but I don’t have a gym buddy—“

“Y/n! Mon ami! We ‘aven’t talked all night, what is zat about?” Lafayette cuts you off, stealing you away from Mulligan. You give Herc an apologetic smile and let Lafayette whisk you away from the larger man.

“We haven’t. Do you want to get another drink?” You offer. He nods eagerly and follows you to the bar.

Not long after, the other men made their way over to join you. They seemed to have calmed down, a light chatter amongst the group. The topic had changed rapidly from one to another.

“Y/n, have you ever actually been in a long term relationship with anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your boyfriends,” Hercules asks, his brows furrowed.

“Eh. Not anything super serious,” you shrugged. For some reason, you couldn’t help but think about—

“I thought you were with Thomas, non? Especially after you kissed him,” Lafayette spoke up. Your stomach dropped.

“How did you know about that?” You pale. His eyes flew wide open and he realized he said too much.

“Wait wait—what?! You kissed Jefferson?” John shouted out as if there wasn’t a room full of people, some of whom hated the man in question.

“Shh! Not so loud, asshole!” You shushed him frantically.

Both Hercules‘ and Laurens’ jaws were hung wide open, genuine shock plastered on their faces. You shot daggers at Lafayette, who winced and bowed his head in guilt.

“I thought zey knew…” he mumbles an apology. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Explain, elaborate, expand on this please,” John begged, leaning across the table.

“I—it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to…” you swallowed thickly. “He was teaching me how to dance, and I guess I got so caught up in the moment I wasn’t thinking, so I leaned in and kissed him.”

“Well, did he kiss back?” Hercules snorts.

You open your mouth, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. Thomas did kiss back. With more passion than anyone had kissed you before, that was the second worst part. Is the possibility that he wanted it and you shut it down, calling it a mistake.

“I’m not answering that.”

“He did! Jesus Christ—y/n, he is the enemy! Just wait til Alexander finds out you kissed Jeffer-shit!” John hops up, slamming his glass against the table. Lafayette hurriedly stood with him, pulling him back.

“Non, non, Alexander does not need to know. Ze lady does not want him to,” he urges.

John narrows his eyes bitterly, muttering some incoherent drunken thoughts under his breath. You huffed and told him to calm down, to which he retorted when Jefferson was publicly shamed for his heinous crimes against women he would. How that made sense to you, you didn’t know.

“Lafayette, can I talk to you? Alone?” You grit your teeth together. He winced once more, already knowing what it would be about.

“Of course, chérie,” he nods.

You find a secluded area outside of the reception where no one would bother you or overhear your conversation.

“Why the fuck would you tell them that!” You hissed.

“I apologize, madamoiselle, it must ‘ave been the alcohol.” He dips his head.

“Why do you even know about that anyway? What has Jefferson been saying?”

“Well…I’m not sure ‘ow much I can say.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“You’ve already spit my business to them, what more can you say?!” You scoff.

“Alright, alright, he never said anything bad.” He motions his hands in a way for hopes of mitigating your uproar. “He called me the other night, freaking out because he told me you kissed him. He said he wasn’t sure ’ow you felt about him but he—“ he suddenly cut himself off.

“He what? C’mon, Laf, this is serious.” You bit the inside of your cheek, impatiently tapping your heel on the concrete.

“—he…said he was upset because you called it a mistake. Said it felt hurtful.” His voice was lowered, solemn and scanning your reaction.

Your eyes softened. “Oh.” That was all you could manage. You didn’t enjoy the feeling of knowing you hurt someone; quite the opposite. It just made you feel like a bigger piece of shit for avoiding him, but in all fairness, what you did was completely out of character and it’s been tough sifting through your emotions.

“He said he wished you would talk to him.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Y/n, you need to talk to him.”

You stare at the ground, a swirl of negativity churning from your stomach to your brain. Guilt, shame, resentment all muddled into one.

“Let’s go back inside,” you mutter softly. He nods, the windows to his soul filled with worry.

—

“When were you gonna tell me you kissed Thomas?” Peggy found you at the bar, a sincere hurt in her words.

“I…was going to, eventually,” you muttered, taking another absent-minded swig of beer. “Not on Liza’s wedding date, but here we are.”

It was true you didn’t want to distract from Alex and Eliza’s wedding by your own romances taking the spotlight. It wouldn’t be fair to them, so up until Lafayette blurted it out, you planned on keeping it secret. Just a little longer, you told yourself.

“Well you haven’t! I had to find out from John Laurens pulling me aside and gossiping about your affair with Thomas!”

“Jesus, who else knows?” You stammer over your movements, almost spilling the beer in hand.

“Almost everyone. Word spreads around fast.”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” Your hands fly up to your head, gripping any hair you could. “I need to go. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You stress, hugging her tight. She sighs, melting into you and patting your back.

“You’d better explain yourself. I think it’s best if you resolve things with Thomas. Lafayette filled me in on the details.” She explains.

“Y-yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. Promise.”

You rush to find Eliza and Alex, hugging them both and wishing them congratulations. You knew they both knew about the kiss, but thankfully they didn’t bring it up, although you could see Alex almost did. He physically had to fight back whatever words played on his lips, and Eliza must’ve sensed it too, because she lightly smacked his side. After finding the rest of the crew and wishing them a goodnight, and telling Laurens in particular to suck every dick ever, you called an Uber.

The ride home was quiet, as the driver wasn't much of a talker, but neither were you so it wasn’t a bother.

Stumbling up the stairs (the elevator never got fixed), fumbling your keys in the door and creaking it open, you called out into the empty apartment.

“Thomas! I—can we talk?”

Stillness, quiet, nothingness. You opened your ears, shuffling near his room, and that’s when you finally heard some movement.

“Thomas? If you’re indecent or with a girl tell me now because I’m coming in,” you exclaim, waiting two seconds to no reply and then pushing the door open.

Thomas sat at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He sniffled, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. That’s when you realized it.

Thomas was crying.