Philip lingered beside you, a quiet, stabilizing presence amid the chaotic scene unfolding before you. Estella and Gregory’s argument erupted again, sharp words snapping like thin lightning in the dimly lit room. The faint hum of the evening—wind brushing against the windowpanes, distant echoes of other footsteps—was swallowed by their clamor. Philip’s posture stiffened, subtle unease threading through his movements, and his red eyes, once radiant and lively, narrowed to wary slits as he stole a glance at you, silently pleading for distraction from their verbal tempest.

He shifted slightly, clearing his throat with a soft, almost hesitant sound. His voice, when it came, was calm, measured, the politeness of it a fragile shield against the tension pressing in from every corner.

“Ah… I do apologize for this… scene,” he murmured, carefully choosing each word, as though trying to stitch civility back into the air. “Those two… Estella and Gregory… they really are… quite the dynamic duo.”

His lips curved into a faint, awkward smile, an attempt at lightness that barely pierced the thickening air. Yet, even in that small, unsteady gesture, there was warmth—a quiet persistence of kindness, a reminder that even here, amid bickering and discord, Philip remained a gentle, grounding presence. The way he lingered by your side, shifting weight nervously, suggested both a desire to help and a subtle hope that you might share in keeping some measure of calm in the storm around you.