Letters - A Phillip Hamilton X Male Reader

Chapter 33: A Rising, Crashing Wave.

Y/N had released his hand from Phillips wrist, making no change of expression to his face as he continued to stare blank-faced at the freckled man whom despised him so. Phillip Hamilton, truly, was an irritation, an annoyance to him—yet he was such an enigma, Y/N could not seem to figure him out. Yet of course, he relied on his own assumptions and assumed Phillip to be a brat.

"Why do you keep starin' at me?" Phillip inquired, a line of sweat silently dripping down his face, nervous tingles trickling down his back as he continued to stare into the e/c eyes of his enemy whom stared at him with such venom. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, wasn't that obvious?" Phillip said, grabbing his plate of breakfast, and picking at it with the fork Y/N had provided him with. "No, you are extremely vague when it comes to things you want—is this for the sake of your father being proud of you, or are you doing something meaningful this time?" Y/N crossed his arms again, though he did not furrow his brows like usual.

"Makin' my pops proud is meaningful!" Phillip protested, though he then began to find himself fading into a coughing fit. Y/N made no look of concern. And only placed his hand on the coughing man's back, raiding it, and then.. he began to hit the man repeatedly.

"O—Ow, what was that for?!" Phillip yelped out of pain.

"You seemed as if you were choking, I did not feel like seeing the disgusting sight of you laying on your bed dead, so I attempted to help you. Is there a problem with normal human decency?" Y/N finally raised a brow, though no emotion was present in his eyes. He seemed as if he were a blank slate of a soul, a mannequin. That was at least how Phillip saw him.

"Thats not normal human decency—" Phillip coughed, "—normal human decency is actually caring about another human being."

"I do believe I have that sort of decency then, if it means caring about the sight of your dead corpse laying upon your bed In disgusting fashion possibly coming true." Y/N then layed his hands upon his lap again, only remaining with no emotion once Phillip had stared at him with possible concern.

"What is wrong with you?!" Phillip yelled, his voice ripe with confusion and slight fear.

"I believe I should be asking that question, after all, you cannot act like a civil human being." Y/N then stood up, only staring down at the man whom had finally ceased the coughing fit. "Civil human being? Look at you! Your anything but a civil human being—" Phillip weakly retorted, leaning foward.

"The same could go for you, Hamilton." Y/N snarled, though his voice remained tinted with ice, "You only care about making your father proud of you, no matter what you have to do."

"What the hell does that mean—"

"It means though I do not dedicate myself to such a silly task, I am better than you by far. Your father is nothing compared to mine. You are capable of so much, Hamilton, so why do you waste your time?" Y/N had inquired, placing his hands behind his back.

"Why do you waste yours?! You only care about your family. Not yourself!"

"Correct. They are worth my time. And I would save them if they required me to. No one is worth my time, other than my family."

Phillip then let out a slight chuckle with a soft tone of venom laced within his words, "Oh really?" He smirked, "Then why'd you save me?"

Y/N did not answer.

————

Y/N had been painting again, delicate shades of red for the sky and beautiful light blues for the lake in the middle of the painting; "A Hellscape". That is what Y/N had decided to title this painting, or at least that is what Phillip had thought, after all; when he had asked, that is what the man had answered with, though he did not turn away from the painting he skillfully crafted.

Phillip had sat on his bed still, wrapping his arms around his legs, and leaving his mouth slightly buried into the pits of his knees. He had attempted to watch the man paint, yet he found himself tickling with boredom; he had groaned about five times in the past hour, that is at least what Y/N had told him the last time he did.

Phillip groaned. "Six." Y/N counted, brushing his paintbrush against the canvas. Phillip slightly raised his head from his knees, and found himself aching to say something, though he could not find the exact words for what ached inside of him, that longed to be poured out like a waterfall.

"Why are you counting?" Phillip had asked, knowing damn well what the answer was.

"I am counting how much pigs there are in the sky, what else would I be counting?" Sarcasm was present in Y/Ns still blank voice, his words dripping with ice-cold venom, that could poison any person with hatred.

Phillip sighed, and only buried his face into his legs further.

"Why is it that you intend on flirting with every girl you see? Could that possibly be one of your actions influenced by your desperation for love?" The sudden question surprised Phillip, and he did not answer for a few moments, though he raised his head as if he were searching for the exact answer.

"I don't think so," Phillip rasped, "I just—I just like women."

"You have made that incredibly clear."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"You do not need to know."

The room went silent again, until Y/N had suddenly stopped stroking the tendrils of his wand of endless color on the canvas; "I do wonder why you intend on me not caring for you—it is almost satisfying seeing your absolute frustration at such a simple thing." He was slightly stunned when Phillip did not answer with a retort, but a completely unrelated sentence.

"Would I really have died? If I was left there any longer."

"Yes, I do believe that had they dealt enough damage on you, you would have passed. However, you are here now," Y/N slightly turned his head to reveal one of his eyes, "so there is no need to ponder what could have possibly been your fate."

"Do you think the wounds are fatal enough to kill me?"

"...why do you ask?"

Phillips voice had then slightly rised up in pitch, "I just wanna know."

"No, I don't believe they are."

"You don't know that."

"I do, thank you, you are not physically injured enough to die—not even mentally. Physically, you shall be fine, though I cannot say for your mentality."

"You think I'm gonna go crazy?"

"No. What gave you that idea?.."

Phillip didn't answer.

And for a second, Y/N had began to attempt to paint again, but then he heard a sharp sound from behind him. Gasps, excessive exhaling and inhaling. Hyperventilating, that was it. Though why did.. why was Phillip hyperventilating?

Y/N slightly turned his head again. And saw a sight he didn't believe he would see. Phillip was still sitting on the cushion of his bed, yes, but his expression had not been so smug or prideful as it would have usually been.

Y/N then finally realized what emotion Phillip was depicting, or what he was doing.

His enemy was panicking.

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