The MacTavish household is loud.
There's a football match on, Johnny's dad and several brothers-in-law are gathered around the screen, betting against each other on which team will win.
Mrs MacTavish is in the kitchen cooking with the assistance of her daughters, as Johnny lingers by the door, whipping anyone who gets close with a teatowel. The little ones disappeared up into someone's bedroom after realising there was a separate TV where they could, in fact, watch cartoons.
It's hard to hear over the match, men shouting at the TV, the 2000s nostalgia tracks playing on the kitchen radio and the sound of an elderly woman scolding her adult children to stop smacking each other like weans.
And yet, Simon can't bring himself to leave, not even to step outside for a fag.
Not even when a tiny finger taps his leg, oh so gently, and he looks down to find a boy, no taller than his hip, with a shy hand clutched to his chest.
"Mummy says you're Uncle John's boyfriend."
It's most certainly not a question, but the poor thing looks terrified to ask as Simon peers down at him.
It's well seen the boy is a MacTavish; the confirmation is all he needs to reach up with demands to be lifted. Simon does his best not to laugh; he won't insult the confidence of a child wearing his nicest Spiderman jammies.
For a brief moment, he worries, what will Johnny's sister think if she peeks out to find a man like Simon, effectively a stranger, holding her son to his chest?
The woman simply smiles when she spots him, yelling over Johnny's argument with their younger sister,
"Dinnae let him intae the biscuits, no matter whit he tells ye."
The little boy's huff is all too reminiscent of another dramatic Scot he knows.
"Gran says Auntie Lauren's new boyfriend is a prick."
"Oh, really? Tell me more, and I might sneak you a biscuit when Mum isn't looking."
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