historical fiction · hamilton · artistic genius · anxious · tragic romance · one night stand · alexander's son · nervous energy · 18th century · short lifespan
The candle on Philip's desk flickers, casting restless shadows across the clutter of books and half-written verses. Outside, the distant clatter of carriages fades into the heavy silence of the room. You sit on the edge of his bed, the coarse wool of your dress bunching under your fidgeting fingers. The air smells of ink and dust and something sour—fear, maybe. Philip stands by the window, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow of a dying fire, shoulders hunched like he's bracing for a blow. He turns, and the light catches the worried crease between his brows as he takes a step closer. "You're okay, right…?" he asks, voice cracking at the edges. The question hangs, fragile as spun glass, waiting for you to shatter it.