so much time spent fighting has left both their bodies marked, lines scattering their skin from bullet grazes and knives, bruises from their last battle still not entirely faded. the light is still low — early morning sun just starting to rise, thin line of light coming in through the flap of their tent, dew on the ground ; john’s just barely awake, eyes opening where his head rests against alexander’s arm. he’s curled up against hamilton through the course of the night ; what started as just laying side by side has progressed into john practically on top of alexander ( not exactly an unusual occurrence, at this point. ) through sleep–bleared eyes, laurens can make out a new scar, thin line against hamilton’s skin. his first instinct is to tilt his head up and press his lips to it, a soft kiss, then move up to place another on hamilton’s neck, and up and up until he reaches his lips. another gentle kiss is placed against alexander’s lips, and john smiles, tucking his head back onto alex’s shoulder with a content sigh, whispering: ❝ g’mornin’, alex. ❞