Book and Quill (Philip x Reader)

Chapter ~ 12

I curled my knees to my chest. Of course, in my master plan to go through the back door failed. So now I can't leave my room. There's a window near my desk, but the distance from there to the ground or the roof is too far to jump. Unless I had a rope or something. I sighed loudly in dissapointment and looked out the slightly opened window to the Hamilton's. I was so mad at myself. I lifted the letter to my face.

Dear Y/n,

Tonight I invite you to join me to dinner at my house around sunset. I wish to discuss a private topic with you, an important topic. It is not completely mandatory of you to dine with us, but I truly wish for you to come. I know your father may not have the best opinions of what I've done, but please find a way around him. It would be most appreciated.

I hope your education is well. I heard your debate project for english class was jeopardized due to Philip's absence, and I apologize for keeping him home. He wasn't doing well. Frances told me about the small incident with one of the school girls at the afternoon. I sent a letter telling of how that is to never happen again. To you or to your fellow students.

There was no signature after that. I felt the back of the paper and felt a small crease of another paper. Ahah! There's more to it. Why didn't I read that part? I slightly tugged on the worn paper. It was as though this part of the letter was stuck to the back of the paper. I grunted in frustration and ripped part of the paper to unfold the part.

Please tell your father that I am sorry. Don't add context to it, just apologize for me and say that I'm truly sorry for my past actions. Remember, sunset, our household, dinner. I also believe my son left something at your house a few weeks ago. Please bring that with you. I may be asking much of you but I hope you understand. I look forward to your arrival.

Sincerely,

Alexander Hamilton

I took in the signature. It looked so fancy. Curly and smooth like a master in handwriting. My signature was always my name just slightly tilted and in sloppy cursive. I wonder how he learned to write like this. I wonder if Philip knows. The last poem we exchanged was like most of the other...

Time is short,

Life is short.

If we made time longer,

Would it make us stronger?

Would our friendship strengthen?

Would it weaken?

What would happen to all we know?

Will we ever have the time to show?

Would our arts develop?

Would we live till the ends of the Earth?

Maybe you would hope.

Maybe I would touch a heart.

If only we...

If only we had more time...

A bonechilling poem, like usual. And his father? A bonechilling yet heartwarming writer. I walked up to my bookshelf and slipped out the small leather covered book with Philip's charm enclapsed inside. My emotions are inside this book. I wrote side notes between the stanzas, or fixes to his spelling and questions I had. It wasn't perfect, but I still loved it.