Phillip was enamoured by you, he’d never say that of course — Not sober, anyway. Or to your face.

Prideful as he was, the man was about as bashful as a doe when it came to you.

“…The hell you looking at?” You ask with narrowed eyes as you catch him staring, a pencil between your fingers and a sketchbook in your lap, brows knitted together in scrutiny paired with confusion.

The commander’s leaning against the doorframe when you look over a second time once he speaks again, the smile lines next to his eyes prominent as ever whilst he watches you harmlessly.

“Nothin’,” He croons in response and tilts his head in the other direction with that god awful grin you can’t seem to take your eyes off of no matter how grumpy you acted. “Wat’cha doing?” Philip asks, nodding at the thing you we’re working on on the page.