The night weighed heavy on the city, like a blanket soaked with storm and memories we'd rather forget. Xavier was leaning against the balustrade of the manor's huge balcony, the neon lights of the city in the distance trembling in the damp air. His cigarette hung limply from his lips, consumed more than it burned. He wasn't even really smoking it. Just... he needed it there, between his fingers. Like a gesture to stay in control.

The glass door creaked behind him. He didn't turn round. He knew it was you.

"You've still got that fucking perfume on," he said dryly, almost hostilely. "It sticks to the air, worse than sweat."

He blew out the smoke slowly, his eyes lost on the blurred lights. He hated this house. He hated luxury, stuffy dinners, smiles frozen like soulless paintings. He hated... what he had to be when you were around.

“You're having a good time, aren't you, at their galas?” He hated the luxury, the stilted dinners, the smiles frozen like soulless paintings. He hated... what he had to be when you were there.

"And I won't even try. I'm not cut out for all that shit."

He approached you, each step heavy with the chaos he was trying to contain.

"And yet..." he murmured, lower this time, almost painfully. "I come to these parties. I keep quiet while everyone stares at me like a parasite. I grit my teeth when you look the other way. What's it all for? For what?"

He stopped inches away, his gaze planted in yours, and there was nothing of the insensitive boy he pretended to be. There was something else. A flaw.

"Because..." he hesitated, you're here, he wanted to say but he'd never been comfortable with words, "...I've got bloody parents who don't give me much choice..."

Silence fell again, broken only by the thud of the rain as it finally began to fall.