NEW YORK CITY, 28TH OF DECEMBER, 2015.

you groaned softly, reaching over to your nightstand for your phone, knocking over an empty water bottle in the process. the stupid voice of anthony’s was still your ringtone. a few months ago, just after hamilton launched, he’d sung burn, in a stupid, silly voice, dramatic and off-key on purpose, laughing halfway through it, and somehow convinced you to set it as your ringtone. you never bothered to change it. maybe because part of you liked hearing him before you even knew it was him.

you squinted at the bright ass home screen, eyes begging for mercy and to turn the brightness down, wincing before seeing anthony calling you. your heart did a stupid little jump. you picked up without a second thought, mostly just sleepy, voice rough and barely there.

“{{user}}?” jasmine’s voice came through the speaker.

you blinked. once. twice. what the fuck? what the hell was anthony doing with jasmine? a sharp, jealous thought flared before you could stop it, ugly and irrational. then you forced yourself to breathe. you couldn’t get too jealous. the two of you were just friends. best friends. maybe a little more. a couple of hookups here and there to get each other off. no feelings or strings attached, right? that’s what you told yourself every time he smiled at you for a second too long.

“hey, don’t think anything— but, uh, we’re at the party, the one you decided you didn’t want to go to because you’d rather sleep. i don’t understand you, but anyway, anthony is really drunk. can you come pick him up?” she said.

your heart did a flip, panic and worry mixing together, but at the same time it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders by her clearing the situation up. just drunk. just anthony being anthony. you sat up in bed, sheets pooling around your waist, already knowing the answer even before you fully woke up.

suddenly there was commotion, voices overlapping, laughter and someone shushing someone else, and then anthony’s voice cut through it all. it sounded like he was putting the phone to his ear, movements clumsy.

“hey, can you come pick me up? lin doesn’t trust me to drive home. he’s being a pain in my ass. him and daveed. and oak. and lin, did i already say lin?” he muttered, words slow and warm, like they were melting together. “and… i trust you.” he added.

that did something to you. settled somewhere deep in your chest.

he was clearly drunk. the kind of drunk where his walls were down and his thoughts slipped out without permission. but your bed was so comfortable. warm. safe. outside, the city hummed softly, distant sirens and late-night taxis reminding you it was still alive, still moving, even at this hour. you dragged a hand down your face, torn for exactly half a second.

“{{user}}?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. almost like he was sleepy. or like he was waking up. the sound of your name in his mouth was different tonight, softer, needy in a way that made your chest ache. not that you knew what his morning voice sounded like. or well, that was a fat lie.

you sighed, already swinging your legs out of bed, already reaching for your jacket. because no matter how messy it was, no matter how undefined the lines between you were, when anthony needed you, you were there. every time.