Letters - A Phillip Hamilton X Male Reader

Chapter 37: A Wavering Flame.

Phillip Hamilton had once again been left alone in his room, as his dear enemy had left in the lower floor to go and feed himself so he would not be a possible victim of starvation for the sake of the care of this man. He had stared at the painting Y/N had left unfinished, the painting of a Hellscape. He had been wondering ever since it had happened.. why had his enemy helped him?

Maybe this place was a Hellscape to him, and that was why he was painting it, though surely his place couldn't be Heaven. If anything, Phillip would have guessed Y/N to be from hell itself with the way he had always behaved towards him and towards others.

Their hatred was a long-lasting flame that could not go out, so passionate, oh, how longingly it would burn! And now that Y/N was present inside of his home, Phillips flame was practically begging to burst, to rip the entire house apart and engulf it with fire. Phillip knew deep down his father's plan wouldn't work. Surely, it never would! It was hard to get through to Y/N. He was an ever cruel man, an asshole!

There was nothing that could be done to get the flame to go out. Ever.

————

It was about dinner time by the time his family had finally returned—he was most grateful and relieved at their arrival, oh he felt soothed ever so! He was beginning to think he could not last another hour with his sworn enemy by his side, providing him care.

His mother had brought him his dinner—alas, he could not eat at the dinner table, due to the injuries he had been dealt. Phillip Hamilton wanted to eat with his family, but due to what happened, he could not! He blamed Y/N, deeply, ever so. But for a moment, he sat still, his hands unmoving.

He had been in this position for only 10 minutes or so, not touching his food since his mother had left the room—freshly cooked beef, vegetables, a glass of water for himself so he would not dehydrate. His mother, always such a good cooker, had cared about him ever so. And he cared about her too.

But what had been bothering him was the man whom he despised greatly, the emotionless man whom would paint and paint. His enemy had been up since two in the morning, so how was he so active even so? He managed to pay attention, or at least he looked to be paying attention. He could walk just fine, he would act just fine. He had only yawned at least once throughout the entire day. Or at least through the few minutes Phillip had seen him.

It wasn't as if Phillip had cared about the man—no, of course not, he just wanted to know how he was even able to function with how long he had stayed up. Phillip had found himself staring at the unfinished Hellscape painting, deep red and blue scattered all over its portrayal. Panic had seeped into the painting for a few moments more, the painting almost gave off a sense of panic!

"Phillip?"

His sister, Angelica, had been peeking through the door—her plate of food in her hand. Had she come to have dinner with him? He had smiled at the thought, as he and his sister were always rather close. He did enjoy her company, and he would long to be in the company of his family rather than his enemy.

With a smile, he had sighed; "Hey, Angie."

And yet, a hellscape would be what was awaiting him once she had left.

————

Y/N had been sitting at a desk, writing away again, upon a piece of paper, adressed to his father affectionately. He could not wait to receive a letter back from his father, as he much rather would be in his father's presence than his own enemy's. Quiet humming began to erupt from his mouth, and for a moment, from the sheer vibration, it looked as if the candle-flame had stopped. But of course, that was ridiculous—in no way could that happen!

Phillip Hamilton had still sat upon his bed, glaring at the man from where he had sat, that irritating humming noise of an unknown melody had filled his ears, and he only held back any urge to screech or keep staring out of his own annoyance. "So, your hummin' while you write now? Maybe you aren't so borin' after all."

The humming had stopped.

"Why do you feel the need to speak? Is there something you need, or do you perhaps intend on irritating me until I fall asleep?" Y/N questioned, still continuing to write all of what he had to say, and send to his father.

Phillip did not reply to the question, and had suddenly spoken up with an almost sparkling tone of surprise; "Ya know, I don't think I've ever seen you smilin' before."

"How is this related to what I had asked you?" Y/N questioned, slightly turning his head and arching his brow in his own confusion. "I—I dunno—does everythin' I have to say have to have some kind of meaning?"

"Yes, if it didn't, it would not be a sentence." Y/N then closed his eyes, "Perhaps you are more dimwitted than i thought."

"Its like that?" Phillip inquired, sounding almost passive aggresive as he lifted his head upwards. "Yes, i do believe it to be. Are you deaf as well? Do you need me to start speaking sign language?" Y/N would ask with his arms crossed, slightly turning in his seat to face the freckled face of his enemy.

"Oh, shut the fuck up—listen, man." Phillip gestured with his hand, "All I'm saying is I've never seen you smilin' before. How come you don't do that?"

"Perhaps it is because I am in your presence. I do not see why you would be worthy smiling around."

"Why's it like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why won't you smile 'round me?"

"Why? Do you want me to?"

."I—I dont want you to smile 'round me, I just wanna know! Argh—why do you always make everythin' somethin' it's not?! What the hell is your problem?"

"I do not know—why do you always go around and make everyone's day worse?"

"And when the hell did this get about me?"

...

Y/N turned his head, as if he were struggling to hide something from the light blue eyes of his enemy. Truthfully, he did not seem to know when this had gotten about his enemy. When had this gotten about his enemy? Why did he always feel the need to bring him into every conversation they had?

Y/N sighed. What mattered more was his family, and what mattered more was that he got back to his family soon. He did not need to question why he had always brought his enemy into everything, as long as he would be back with his family soon. And he did not need to question his enemy as long as his enemy obeyed what he had suggested.

With a sigh, the man had only turned in his seat, ignoring his enemy's confused face, and blew the flame of the candle out. Though for a moment, the candle had wavered—as if it were struggling to maintain itself.

Maybe a flame could struggle to maintain itself after all.

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