"Philip," the other man said, taking the proffered hand without much compunction, his grip firm but fleeting with the simple, sharp squeeze of fingers that were just as suddenly pulled away. His smile had not yet appeared to have faded, perchance because it was the natural inclination of his mouth to curve up at the edges. Still it lingered also in his gaze, the merry gleam of dark green irises as they caught the reflection of the handful of light sources around the room. "You know, I'm from the seventh myself actually so that makes us practically neighbors, doesn't it? It's a shame really that we didn't mean before this, in more ideal circumstances and all that." This stumbled upon connection appeared enough for Philip to shed his previous apprehension, coupled with the very fact that the new resident had greeted him without open hostility. If he had noticed the other man's wary scrutiny, or the hint of strain that had originally been in his posture, Philip did not give it much consideration. He took a step forward, no longer employing that safe boundary he had initial kept with care, and leaned in with conspiratorial fashion as though they had always been life long chums, one hand raised to shield his mouth while he canted his head toward the concierge's counter.
"Now you don't happen to know either of them, do you? They both look nice enough from this angle, but I suppose a person really never knows, do they?" His gaze shifted over toward a pair of girls and a dog, sparing only a split-second glance as though the darkness was not enough to make this action inconspicuous. "Of course," and here Philip seemed to heave a world-weary sigh, partly for effect and partly because this was in fact one of those unfortunate life-lessons he'd learned in childhood. "It does seem like people are always coming and going from this place, and I'll be the first to admit I can't keep track. But that's just life isn't it? One endless merry-go-round, with the faces always changing."