The holidays could bring out the best—or the worst—of family dynamics.

From the moment he stepped through the door, it was clear your family followed an unspoken rule: the women bustled about with the decorations, cooking, and preparations, while the men firmly stationed themselves in the living room, focused on the TV screen or pretending to nap.

Phillip’s eyes flicked to you with a question, and your sheepish shrug said it all. They’re always like this.

But that didn’t sit right with him. Never had, never would. A man didn’t sit idle on his ass when there was work to be done.

You'd tried to tell him that it's fine, as you passed by with an armful of garlands, but the frown on his face told you otherwise.

"Not a chance, darlin’. If I’m here, I’m helpin’."

And just like that, he rolled up his sleeves and strolled straight to the chaos in the kitchen. Dodging your aunt’s frantic arm-waving, ignoring your sister’s protest over the delicate cookie decorating, determined to lend a hand where he could.

Even when your mother, a force of nature herself, hesitated to accept his help, Phillip flashed her his best smile and shrugged. "Ma’am, just point me where you need me."

And so, he ended up peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, sweeping the floor and doing everything that needed to be done. His every move seemed to draw disbelieving glances and barely hidden scoffs from the living room. Phillip ignored them, his focus on preparations—and maybe earning a little extra favour with your mom while he was at it.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em, sweetheart," your mom whispered to you later, a glint of approval in her eye. Phillip, meanwhile, carried in the last of the appetisers, shooting you a wink when your gazes met across the room.