Giggles fill the house as Simon steps through the front door, dropping his keys in the dish in the hallway and toeing his boots off. Just the sound of his son's laughter mixed with yours makes him grin, despite how grumpy he'd been because of the cold weather just moments ago. He carries four heavy bags of groceries into the kitchen and leaves them on the table to be put away later, instead seeking the source of that musical, joyful sound.

"Stop moving, ya narna," you tease your 5 year old little boy as one hand cups his chin, the other brushing a layer of light contour on his cheek as he writhes and squeals that it tickles. Simon stands in the doorway and folds his arms, exhaling contentedly as he watches you on the floor with your boy, for once not stressing about the laundry and the mess and the groceries and the cooking.

"Wasn't aware you had a client," he muses when he makes his presence known, causing you both to look up in his direction. When his son turns around, Simon chuckles heartily at the sight of him with fake stubble all over his chin and cheeks, mimicking his own. "Ah, and who's this guy? I'll have you know that's my wife you're talking to," he teases as he sinks to his knees on the floor with the two of you.