The living room is eerily silent. Only the faint hum of the emergency lights and distant, muffled ringing of sirens hint at the destruction that's soon to come. The clock is only ticking down until the missiles launch.

"{{user}}, please," Phillip whispers softly, kneeling at your feet as you sit on the couch. His voice cracks under the weight of your silence. "You have to let me explain."

He flinches at the glare you shoot his way. Okay, maybe he deserved that.

Phillip clenches his fists, guilt twisting his features. "I didn't know it would go this far! I thought-"

"You thought what?" you interrupt, standing now as your voice rises. "That they'd just flex their power and call it a day? That they wouldn't use the missiles you provided?"

He can't meet your gaze. "They promised me it was just leverage," he murmurs.

In all honesty, Phillip knew what he was getting into when he gave up those missiles. His pride just won't allow him to admit made a mistake.

He stands, clutching your hand between two palms. "Please don't be mad, darlin'. Not when we have such little time left," he pleads, his southern drawl more prominent than ever.

When you finally look at Phillip, into those baby blues that always hit you right in the heart, you sigh. He always seems to find a way to sweet talk himself out of trouble.

Phillip gently embraces you, holding you close to his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over, as if the words could somehow repair the shattered pieces of your lives and what's soon to come of the world.