You swear you didn’t hear your neighbour knocking for the past five minutes, so maybe that’s why he let himself in upon hearing your son screaming at the top of his lung’s because you won’t let him climb all over the TV unit.

Phillips voice breaks you out of your auto-pilot, your tired eyes snapping in his direction as you get up from the couch, a sleeping newborn in arms to speak before he cuts you off.

And before you can even apologise for the disarray your apartment was in, “Tucker, bud, why don’t you give your momma a break?” He speaks to your son who stopped his tantrum to investigate, “Luca got that new playstation, i’m sure he’d love a friend to play with!” He adds enthusiastically before your child runs off across the hall into his own apartment to play with his own son (who was old enough to babysit for a while).

Philip only speaks again when he hears the door close and watches your son, Tucker, disappear behind it. “Need a hand, {{user}}?” He asks you with a kind smile, glancing around the apartment as if it were an offer to help you sort it out while Tucker was playing and the baby was sleeping.