"I know, save your strength and stay alive!" (Y/N) heard Alexander's pleading voice as she ran into the room her son was in. He sounded desperate, just as she was, tears streaming down both of their faces.
As soon as she stepped in, she saw the wound. A bloody bandage covered Philip's left arm, soaked with red liquid. The bullet had obviously done quite a bit of damage, and it pained her to see her son wincing in pain.
"(Y/N)!" Alexander turned his head to look at his wife.
"Is he breathing, is he going to survive this?" (Y/N) asked frantically, kneeling by her son's side. "Who did this, Alexander, did you know?"
Alexander looked down and nodded in shame.
"WHAT?" (Y/N) shrieked. "And you gave him pistols?!"
"Yes."
(Y/N) was about to scream, but Philip brought her attention to him.
"Ma, I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me."
(Y/N)'s head snapped to Philip. "My son."
"We played piano..."
"I taught you piano." She smiled softly.
"You would put your hands on mine." Philip grabbed his mother's hand.
"You changed the melody every time." Her smile became a grin.
Philip chuckled softly before wincing. "I would always change the line."
"Shh, I know, I know," I whisper.
"I would always change the line." Philip choked out quietly.
"I know, I know."
• • •
Calling Philip to their piano, (Y/N) sat down on the bench. He obliged, and his mother began playing the melody they had been practicing.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf." (Y/N) sang along with the melody of the piano.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf," he repeated.
"Good!" Philip smiled at his mother's praise.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf," (Y/N) sang again, her long fingers hitting the notes cleanly.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."
"Sept huit neuf," she gently corrected.
"Sept huit neuf," Philip insisted.
"Sept huit neuf."
"Sept huit neuf."
(Y/N) sighed while Philip grinned victoriously.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!"
• • •
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf." Remembering how she used to sing that melody with Philip when he was young, (Y/N) started singing.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."
"Good." Philip's mother tried to hide the fact that her son was dying, even though he was fully aware.
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."
"Un, deux, trois."
Philip went quiet.
"Sept, huit, neuf," (Y/N) whispered, wiping away her tears.
"Sept, huit-"
(Y/N) screamed in agony, realizing that when Philip stopped singing, his heart stopped beating.
• • •
Word count: 436
• • •
I'm sorry.
Idk why, I just feel an overwhelming need to apologize.
For the record, that was as painful for me to write as it probably was for you to read.
(a crazy man in the back corner of my brain: can we get an f in the chat for our boi philip?????)
(^^^ I hate myself.)
Remember, if you liked this chapter, go ahead and leave a vote down below and feel free to leave a comment if you have any feedback for me. Even if you don't, I love to read your comments!
Thanks for reading, Lima Bean <3
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Forgotten || A Hamilton x Schuyler!Reader Fanfiction || ✔️
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