When It All Goes To Hell (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

On Any Given Night

"Do you ever wish that you left him that day?" The counselor asks you as she takes notes in that notebook of hers, "Or regret not leaving him?"

You bite your lip and shift uncomfortably in the chair you are sitting in, "Well, sometimes...I mean, there are some things that happened after that day, things I wouldn't trade for the world. But yeah..." You looked down at your hands that are folded in your lap, "...sometimes I wonder what I'd be doing, where I'd be if I just left, if I didn't notice my movies..."

"I can't help but notice you're here alone today," She points out, "Care to tell me the reason Patrick is absent today?"

You laugh, "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. He doesn't tell me anything."

This Morning...

You wake up to Patrick missing from your bed. You sit up, holding the sheets up to your bare chest, and look around the room. "Patrick?" You call. There isn't a response. You get out of bed, wrapping the sheets around you like a dress, and begin to look for some clothes you can quickly slip into before going downstairs.

"Patrick?" You call again, this time fully clothed, and make your way downstairs. There is still no response. You start to get worried. "Patrick!"

You step into the kitchen and smile to see your favorite breakfast set up on the small round table that was placed in front of the sliding glass doors that led out to yours and Patrick's small backyard. Next to the meal in a tall thin vase was a rose and a note leaned up against it. You walk up to the table setting and pick up the note, unfolding it to read that he enjoyed last night and that he unfortunately was going to be out all day, that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the session with the marriage counselor.

Your smile fades and you fold the note back up. Your good mood vanishes and you set the piece of paper back in its original place.

This is so typical of Patrick, You think as you go to pour yourself a cup of coffee,. Doing whatever he can to avoid facing his problems, facing our problems.

Last night was great. It reminded the both of you why you were still in the relationship. But it didn't solve anything. It didn't solve any of the problems that existed between you and him.

Last Night...

You and Patrick are in bed. It is near midnight. He is trying to write a song and you are trying to read a book you pulled off the "must read" library shelf at the local library you went to with your friend and her daughter earlier that week.

Patrick is singing under his breath and playing on the small synthesizer you had gotten him for Christmas because that's what he asked for and you didn't know what else to get him, you didn't really know what he wanted anymore. His playing makes it difficult for you to focus on what was going on in the book in your hands and you find yourself rereading sections more than two times.

"Depression is a little bit like happy hour, right?" He sings softly, pressing some keys on the synthesizer to accompany his voice. "Always got to be happening somewhere..." He holds the second syllable out for a long time before he suddenly stops, staring at the synthesizer like it was going to help him finish the line. You've noticed this happen before when he was in Fall Out Boy, and he tried putting music to Pete's lyrics. You know these signs mean one thing - he's stuck.

"On any given night," You murmur under your breath, as if you didn't want him to hear you, flipping the page in your book.

"What was that?" He questions, looking over at you.

You shrug your shoulders, flipping another page, not even reading what was written, "Nothing."

"No...you said something, (Y/N). I heard you. What was it?"

"I said 'On any given night'," You mumble.

"On any given night," He repeats, slowly grinning before playing the full line, with your part added, and looks over at you for approval. You stick your thumb up. He smiles, content with what he's come up with and glad that you like it. He sets the synthesizer aside, crawling over to you, placing his hand on your thigh, and kissing you on the cheek.

"Thanks for the help, (Y/N)."

You make a sound of acknowledgement but continue "reading" your book.

He holds his hand there for a little before making his index and middle fingers "walk" up your bare skin. He moves his fingers to the waistband of your underwear (because you were in your pajamas which were just your underwear and a plain gray short-sleeve t-shirt) and tugs at it. You glance up over your book at him. He smirks and makes his fingers now "walk" up underneath your shirt. You giggle at the cold touch of his fingers, dropping your book onto the mattress beside you and clasping your hands over your mouth, embarrassed of the giggle you let escape your lips.

"Sorry," You apologize through your hands.

"Don't be, I forgot how adorable your giggle was." He crawls on top of you and moves your hands away from your mouth. "I haven't heard it in a while." He leans in and kisses you passionately on the lips. You slide yourself down so that you are positioned beneath him, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him closer to you.

The two of you make out for a little before he pulls away, slightly breathless (as are you), and asks, "Are we really going to do this?"

You nod your head, wanting him to keep going. The two of you hadn't been intimate in a long time. You'd forgotten how much his touch drove you crazy (in a good way, of course).

He smiles at you before taking off his shirt and throwing it to the side, swooping back in and colliding his lips with yours.