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

Immature

"I'm worried sick about her every time I go away," Patrick tells the counselor, glancing over at you briefly before returning his attention to the other woman in the room, "What if something happens and I'm not there?" The counselor nods her head in understanding. "I just...it's not just her who doesn't like me going away all the time." I want to spend more time with her, I really do, but-"

"Spend more time with me?" You interrupt him, "Patrick, you barely want to eat dinner with me!"

"I came home late!" He becomes defensive and angry, "God, (Y/N)! Sor-ry I was busy working on my solo career!"

"What solo career? You just sit around all day writing god-knows-what and then throwing it away because it's not good enough for you!" You yell back, "You haven't gotten anywhere with your fucking so-called solo career! Admit it, Patrick, you're doing nothing with your life!"

"Well it's not my fault the band broke up!"

"I never said it was!"

The counselor looks at the two of you in amazement, taking notes as the two of you bicker back and forth.

"You didn't say it, but I know you were thinking it!" He accuses you.

"Patrick, it happened a year ago, when are you going to get over it?" He scoffs and turns his head away from you, crossing his arms over his chest like a little toddler. You roll your eyes and mutter, "You always use that damn excuse for everything. 'My band broke up'," You mock him, attracting his attention, "Yeah well guess what, Patrick? Your band isn't the only band that's broken up! Hell, you guys didn't even break up! You went on hiatus!"

"Same fucking thing!"

"No it's not!"

"Yeah it is!"

"Nu-huh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"No!"

He stands up and turns to face you, "You're so immature, (Y/N), you know that?"

"Me? Immature?" You stand up as well, "You started it!" He puts his hands on his hips and gives you that look that says Do you hear yourself right now? Your cheeks blush a deep shade of red and you say in an embarrassed tone, "Well I am younger than you. I have the right to be immature."

"You're only younger than me by two years!" He reminds you.

"Whatever," You cross your arms and avert your gaze to your feet. Patrick turns away from you and begins to pace. The counselor finishes up her notes and looks up at the two of you.

"Well, that was entertaining." The two of you shoot a glare at her and the smile on her face immediately fades. She clears her throat and rises to her feet, "I guess this concludes today's session...?" She looks at Patrick and then back at you, "Unless you have something else you'd like to discuss in the next..." She looks at the watch on her wrist, "...two minutes and seventeen seconds?"

"No, we're good," You tell her.

"Alright, then, I'll see you next time." She pats you on the shoulder and leaves the room. You and Patrick follow shortly after her.

*****

You're in the car driving home when you ask him softly, "Do you really think that?"

"Think what?" He retorts, his grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly, starting to turn his knuckles white.

"That I'm immature."

He doesn't immediately respond, and when he does, his answer is 'safe'. "Not all the time."

"So sometimes."

"Not even sometimes. You're very mature for your age, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I just something think that you grew up way too fast and sometimes you break and have immature moments." You stare at him, not entirely understanding what he's saying. "Look, just forget I ever said that, okay?" He pleads.

"No," You object. He slows to a complete stop at a stop light and looks over at you. "Patrick, you're always avoiding things with me. Especially arguments. Why?"

"Because I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't either, but it has to happen!" You cross you arms and shake your head, "We've always just buried the problems we have. And look where it got us. We're seeing a fucking marriage counselor and we're not even married!"

He remains silent.

You cover your face with your hands and exhale loudly, dragging your hands down your face and dropping them into your lap. "Patrick."

"(Y/N)."

"Why are we even bothering with this?"

"What do you mean?"

Before you can respond, a car horn sounds behind you. You look up and see that the light's turned green. Patrick realizes this as well and pushes down on the gas pedal, sending the two of you forward.

You never answer his question.