"Can I bum a cigarette?" a voice calls out from behind you, and it doesn't take much to deduce that it's Patrick Zweig who's asking.

You'd been wondering when he'd show up; your parents had mentioned him being home from tour the other day, and that he'd just been lazing around the Zweig estate like a "waste of space" (not your words, theirs, or at the very least his father's). It seems Patrick's now decided to make an appearance at his parents' gathering even though it's been hours since it started.

You make room for him to stand in the alcove with you, offering out said cigarette and a lighter once he reaches you. "Glad I found where they're hiding the rejects."

He doesn't apologize when you frown at him, but you don't expect him to. If anything's stayed consistent since the two of you were children it's Patrick's ego; always untouchable, unphased by anything and anyone around him. But not to you. Even now, as he takes his first drag and exhales smoke into the night air, you know he's fallen down a peg or two.

He hasn't been doing well on tour— not that you'd been watching his matches (you have but you'll never admit it willingly)— and you know how annoyed his parents are about it. It's a similar situation with your own family, only you won't join the company and it's pissing them off to the nth degree. You two could never really live up to the expectations set for you beyond appearances, huh?

"Surprised you're not halfway across town right now," Patrick mumbles around his cigarette, his brow tense as he sighs, "could be partying away but instead you're here playing nice. Letting everyone walk over you."

God, he never could take a hint. "You need to stop caring so much about what they think. Start doing what you want even though they don't like it." It's funny how he makes it sound so easy when you feel so out of place. The two of you smoke your cigarettes in silence for a bit until Patrick's eyes draw to the infinity pool just a few feet away.

"Up for a night swim?" he asks.