Patrick wasn't exactly built to be the perfect boyfriend. Never considered himself to be marriage material, definitely wasn't the guy you brought home to show off to your parents. He was more the guy that you brought home to piss off the parents.

The thought of Patrick having to be the responsible one in the relationship was a sentence that made sense to no one. He was the lazy type—the dirty laundry type, the makes you do the dishes type.

Patrick did the absolute bare minimum in relationships, usually because they never meant much to him. His girlfriends were usually just a place to sleep, a warm bed with a hot meal the next morning. A place to rest between matches. Usually women older than him, desperate for a little action—or men younger, wanting a taste of him.

But you. God, you. A sweet thing, ten years his junior. Saw potential in him, somehow. For you, he'd consider learning how to clean his clothes. Maybe even clean his car if you were lucky.

Or, so he told himself when he first met you. But old habits die hard.

The pile of sweaty tennis gear sit upon your laundry, grip tape and plasters flood your trash—and Patrick's yet to learn how to turn on the dishwasher. He was making a housewife of you, and barely uttered a thank you in return.

Not that he'd ever notice, too busy playing house with you to acknowledge the mess he's leaving behind.

The empty seat reserved for you haunted him the entire match, completely throwing him off his game. Getting him knocked out of the 2nd round. The seat that hasn't been empty since he met you. The seat reserved for his girl.

"Babe?" Patrick shouts out, dropping down his racket bag and duffle as he enters your apartment. Keys dropped next to the bowl, kicking his shoes off next to the rack as the door closes behind him.

Sat uninterested on the couch, mindlessly scrolling your phone—barely acknowledging his presence as he enters. "Babe?" He repeats, brows knitted as he drops down onto the sofa next to you. "Why didn't you show today?"

"I lost, by the way," He continues, barely stopping to let you attempt to answer his original question. "Didn't have my good luck charm."