To you, Riff was a miracle.

Yes, he was notoriously rough around the edges, and yes, Ms. Horowitz always complained to you when he smoked on your balcony. But he was an angel for your circumstances, your night in shining hair grease.

Before you met him, your life had taken a sharp turn downhill. The shittiest of all boyfriends had knocked you up straight out of high school, and stepped out the week before your daughter's first birthday.

Alone, you had no choice but to move into someplace even worse than you were before, landing you right between Riff and, of course, Ms. Horowitz. There was no greeting committee, just an empty studio and the sounds of the bodega below your feet.

It was fine. Temporary, you kept telling yourself, though that seemed less and less like the truth every time you thought it. But truly fine. Your daughter didn't seem to mind the noise much, too busy babbling and sticking her fingers in her mouth.

But she couldn't always keep herself taken care of, and she would prove it that first night. After finally laying down and actually starting to drift off, her cries ripped through the air. That was when you met Riff for the first time.

Despite your best, most thorough efforts, she just would not quiet down, alternating between soft huffs into your side and loud screams that seemed specially designed to piss sleeping neighbors off. And so three sharp knocks came to your door, animosity clearly present.

When you opened the door, there was Riff. His eyes stayed sharp, ready to admonish you, just for a second. Then he actually saw you, and the baby on your hip, and an expression far too soft for a boy with scars like his washed over his face. That night, he rocked the baby while you caught a few minutes of sleep.

Since, he was a constant. You could hear the boys he lived with making fun of him through the wall sometimes, but he always seemed to be able to shut them down. He was there to help while you made breakfast, and he'd be back in time for dinner, eager to keep an eye on the baby as she meandered around the apartment on wobbly legs.

Ms. Horowitz said he just wanted hot meals in a clean room. You knew that wasn't all it was.

He'd made sure to have a cake for her second birthday. He even got you something for yours.

The only thing that troubled you is that you never really knew his motivation. You still weren't completely sure why he didn't just chew your head off and go back to bed that first night. Not that you could take something like this for granted.

"What's eatin' you, huh?" He asked as he trailed behind your kid, who was currently toddling over to her toys on the coffee table.