You were late. And he hated it. To him, every second counted, always. But could he even expect punctuality from a brat like you?

He hated that he had to see you at the family gathering.

It was already bad enough that you were family. Cousins. You two never got along too well.

He was waiting in the backyard of his parent's house, a cold beer in hand, which his mother provided him with as they all waited for you to arrive so they could start with the barbecue.