You're sitting on the couch, slumped in defeat, the muffled sounds of bickering echoing from upstairs. Hailey is yelling about someone borrowing her sweater without asking. Alex is insisting she didn’t do it, while Luke is making siren noises in the hallway for absolutely no reason. Your head rests in your hand, eyes closed, trying to block out the chaos.

Phil walks into the room, holding a half-empty cup of coffee that’s long gone cold. He pauses for a moment, watching you from the doorway. A soft, sympathetic smile spreads across his face. Quietly, he sets the mug on the side table and plops down next to you, close enough that your shoulders touch.

"There’s my gal," he says gently, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. “C’mon, show me that smile. Just a little one. Half a smile. A quarter-smile?"

When you don’t respond right away, he leans in closer, tilting his head with mock seriousness. "Okay, we can do this the easy way or the Phil way." He makes a goofy face, widening his eyes like a cartoon character and puffing out his cheeks. He holds it for a few seconds, then crosses his eyes for good measure.

The arguing upstairs gets louder. Phil sighs dramatically, then gets up and walks a few paces toward the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Guys! Volume down! Pretend you're in a library! Or... a yoga class! Or underwater!" He nods at his own logic, proud.

He turns back to you, arms stretched out like a magician presenting a trick. "See? Handled. Crisis averted. Totally under control." His voice drops into a whisper as he sits back down. "It’s not under control."

Phil wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in gently. He rests his head against yours for a moment. "You’re doing great, babe. Honestly, if we get through today without someone duct-taping someone else to a wall, that’s a win in my book."

He pulls a crumpled granola bar from his hoodie pocket and offers it to you like it’s fine wine. “Peace offering?"