“Background checks...” Philip blinked as he repeated the thought without surprise or confusion colouring his tone, the same brand of bland but amiable vacancy blanketing his expression, which left the impression of disarming harmlessness. “I guess it’s just one of those things we all have to go through every now and then.” His gaze was left unbroken in a fashion uncharacteristic of his previous tendency toward flitting distraction at the almost imperceptible variances of his environment. Perhaps because for once it had none to offer, or perhaps because for the brevity of that instant, he could see in Samuel more than most when his perception was not limited to the input of his eyes but his imagination. There was no challenge in the act, only frank and contemplative interest. The flat, dull hue of his eyes of his nevertheless reflected the brighter spark of a quick mind, working through some tangle of thought, and then the look was gone, focus splintered as Philip tilted his face upward toward the overhead light that spilled over them in a wash of yellow illumination that had very briefly waned. He smiled again, not with the mimicry of childlike adoration or the bittersweet weariness of a troubled soul as he was apt to give before but a genuine, good-natured smile.
“But really, who’d be foolish enough to engage in illicit activity with you lurking about? I feel safer already knowing you’re just a few doors down to scare them off.” Sometime, during that sparse, handful of seconds that felt longer if only for the steadiness they temporarily granted to Philip, a decision had been made, that whoever this Samuel was he did not pose an immediate threat. While it had not eased the shift of weight between his feet, or the constant movement of hands and head and gaze that stripped stillness from even a stationary position, there was a difference, a tentative, experimentally teasing nature to his tone. “With a face like that, I’ll bet you can look really intimidating. You know, to be honest though, I’m not all that impressive myself, at least on paper. Maybe I should turn over my application in person to the man in charge, one on one, face to face, cheek to cheek? No, all right, that probably wouldn’t do me any favours, but then, I really don’t know anything about who owns this building, do you?” His hands slid from his jeans, idly patting down the front of his shirt as though in search of some hidden fold or breast pocket.