The dim lights of the Director’s office cast long shadows over the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the floor. On the corner of the mahogany desk, two half-empty glasses of red wine sat near a stack of mission reports that had finally been pushed aside. Outside, the world was a mess of politics and threats, but in here, everything had slowed down.

Phil held you close, his hand resting firmly at your waist as he led you in a slow, steady circle. The song In My Eyes played softly in the background, and as the music filled the quiet room, Phil began to hum, then softly sing along.

He didn’t know the lyrics that well—stumbling over a verse with a small, self-deprecating smile—but you could feel the vibration of his voice deep in his chest where your head was resting. It was a low, soothing rumble that made the rest of the world feel miles away