Philip Hamilton X Reader (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 2

Your father took notice that you were almost to arrive at the Hamilton's. He began fiddling with his flashy medals, none of which had been won in war. He puffed up his hair, making sure it was fluffy and wild as usual.

Looking over at you he eyed you up and down, making sure that you looked presentable. "(Y/n), sit up straight and fix your skirt. It's wrinkled. Be sure to smile and don't embarrass me. I believe Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton have children, so if they invite you to play humbly accept. Your actions are an extension of my capabilities as a father.... So don't blow it."

The carriage came to a sudden stop, which meant that you had arrived. Your father made his way out first, and held out his hand to help you out. You gratefully took his hand, the many petticoats of your dress making it difficult to stand on your own.

You wished your father would let you dress simple, but you knew it was business. You had to look your best for whatever came in store. You being his daughter did reflect a lot about his personality, after all.

As the two of you walked up the many steps that decorated the Hamilton's home you noticed your father's suit was the same color as your gown. This caused you to smile widely. 

The door opened and a jolly woman opened the door, her rosey cheeks making her complexion seem more youthful.

"Mr. Jefferson and Miss Jefferson! It's a pleasure to have you as company in our home!" the woman, Elizabeth, greeted.

"Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, the pleasure is all ours, I can assure you. Although, I'm sure your husband isn't as delighted to be in our presence as you seem to be."

"Oh, please Mr. Jefferson, drop the formalities and call me Eliza for heaven's sake! And despite your political indifferences I'm sure you and my husband will get along swimmingly! Now, do come in sir, you mustn't stay out too long you might catch a cold!"

The two of you walked into their home, the warmth immediately making you melt. You could've sworn you heard a voice yell something about your father. 

"Dinner will be served shortly, but for now we can converse in the parlor. Shall I take your coats?" your father took his jacket and your own, handing it to Eliza. You had to admit, she was an amazing hostess.

[×]

You watched in disappointment as your father and Hamilton began to fight non-stop. You weren't even sure about half of the things they were saying to be honest.

"Don't say shit about the war Jefferson, you didn't fight it in! You were too busy being a prick and getting high with the French!" Alexander yelled, his face growing angrier by the second.

"Kids. Would you both be darlings and go play somewhere that isn't here. Philip, why not take (y/n) to your room and show her all your lovely poetry," Eliza insisted, trying to get the two of you out of harms way.

"Ma, you didn't have to say it out loud!"

"Listen to your mother Philip." Hamilton said, his voice stern. Philip sighed and hopped out of his chair, waiting for you at the doorway so that the two of you could make your way to his room.

"So, you're a poet?" you questioned, trying to initiate small talk.

"I-I wouldn't really consider myself a poet. I just like rhyming," Philip shyly replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

You laughed at the young boy. "How old are you?" you questioned.

"I just turned eleven. What about you?"

"Ten. I'm gonna be eleven in about a month or so,"

Philip smiled, nodding his head. The two of you arrived at his room, which was surprisingly tidy for a growing boy.

"So about that poetry?" you asked, a sly smirk on your face.

Philip blushed, looking down at the floor. "I was kinda hoping you'd forget..." Philip replied sheepishly.

You tapped your foot, waiting for an actual response.

"I have a few, but I only have one poem memorized..." Philip said, trying his best to get you to lose your interest.

"Well, go on then." you smiled, looking at him encouragingly.

"Uuh...
My name is Philip,
I am a poet,
I wrote this poem just to show it,
And I, just turned nine,
You can write rhymes but you can't write mine!
I practice French and play piano with my mother,
I have a sister, but I want a little brother,
My daddy's trying to start America's bank
Un deux trois quatre cinq!"

When Philip finished he looked at you, waiting for you to respond.

"Philip, that was... Amazing!" you yelled, smiling brightly.

Philip blushed at this. A sudden silence took over the room, Philip spoke in an attempt to break it.

"Y'know, I've never really had a friend..." Philip said in a faint voice, looking away from you.

"Really? Me neither. My dad is too busy with his work so I'm home-schooled."

"I go to boarding school,"

The room fell silent, the two of you looking at each other in the eyes.

"Wanna be frie-"

"yes!" you cut him off before he could finish what he had to say.

"Best friends?"

"Best friends."