what'd i miss? // jeffmads

t h r e e

warning // panic attack

James Madison

"Oh, cheese." Madison stared around the room, his eyes the size of gumballs. How had Jefferson already disappeared? It had only been four seconds.

But nevermind that. Madison couldn't leave without Thomas—he couldn't abandon his friend.

Even though that's what his friend had just done.

Madison slipped slowly through the crowd. James and Thomas had come a little late, so most of the students there were already pretty drunk, or at least buzzed. He flinched as people came too close to him, and some blond British dude tried to argue with him about tea.

He was panicking.

"Thomas? Jefferson? Tommy?" James called over the music that was pounding in his head. He thought he'd seen Thomas, but it was only Lafayette grinding on Mulligan.

He'd never get that image out of his head.

James took in deep breaths and leaned against the refreshment table, his legs shaking. He needed to leave. He had to leave. He couldn't leave, and he was trapped, because he couldn't even get outside from where he was.

His stomach clenched, and James inhaled a shaky breath. "Thomas!" he called one last time, in vain.

He swallowed roughly and pushed off the table. He was going to get out. Fake determination pressed against his senses and he shoved his way through the crowd, though being his height, he could've easily crawled through.

He shoved past someone. The door was right there.

And so was Thomas... and... Alexander Hamilton??

Making out???

Against a wall????

Madison felt a rush of panic flood him and he tried not to collapse to the floor. He liked Jefferson, more than a friend, and the guy was making out with Alex—who, by the way, he hated. Not James, James didn't hate Alex; but Jefferson did.

And Madison could do nothing about it.

"Crap, crap, crap." He took in a shaky breath and shoved past the rest of the people, out the door, and into the hall.

He leaned against the wall and slid down to a sitting position on the floor, trying to level his breathing.

Thomas was just drunk, right? He didn't really want to screw Alex, right?

Right.

And once again, the tiny Madison was lying to himself, sitting awkwardly against the wall and swallowing back tears.

—
Thomas Jefferson

Jefferson was, actually, currently making out with Hamilton. Terrible idea, sure, but hey. He was drunk.

Something flashed at the back of his mind, something he forgot? Someone? He couldn't place it. His head was pounding. He broke away from Alex, who groaned, and shoved his way through the crowd. What had he forgotten?

Nothing important, he hoped. [Thomas! You fuCKeR]

James. "Fuck!"

Thomas, panicking, headed through the crowd. He couldn't find him. He swung open the door and rushed into the hall, where he tripped over legs. From the floor, he looked up.

There was Madison, eyes red, face dark, fists clenched.

"...Jemmy?"