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

Second Chance

You're sitting in the office, on your laptop, scrolling through your Twitter feed which you haven't checked in weeks. Tweets flood your feed, all having to do with yours and Patrick's breakup which you hadn't realized had gone viral until you logged in.

Some of them are about how they can't believe you and Patrick had called it off and how they hope you get back together soon. Others hope that it's all just a sick joke someone decided to play on them.

You laugh, "Me too, me too..."

But a good amount of them are the exact opposite, saying they're glad you and him were no longer together. That you were a whore who didn't deserve him. That you only made his life worse and he would've been better off without ever meeting you.

You try to ignore those messages, but there are just so many. And slowly you start to believe that you are a whore who didn't deserve him.

You slam the laptop screen down in anger and pull your knees into your chest, wrapping your arms around them and burying your head as sobs begin to wrack your body.

You've expected this kind of criticism since you first started dating Patrick, with him being part of a band and all, but you never thought it would be this bad.

Of course, at the time, Fall Out Boy wasn't as big as it has grown to be and no one knew about your relationship with him. But when their first major record, From Under The Cork Tree, was released and their fan base started to grow, more information about Patrick's personal life surfaced (for example, who he was dating *cough cough* you), and he told you to prepare for the worse.

But back then, you didn't need to prepare for the worse - the fans loved you, they even "shipped" you and Patrick together. Now those fans have turned against you, hate you, and some even told you to go kill yourself. And unfortunately for you, Patrick isn't there to tell you to not take it personally, that it doesn't matter what they thought because he loves you and that's all that matters.

Just then, there's a knock on the front door.

"Go away," You moan, though the person at the door obviously can't hear you.

"Come on, (Y/N)." You hear. It's Patrick. "I know you're here. Your car is in the driveway."

You lift your head up and look over your shoulder, waiting for him to say or do something else so you know you're not just hearing things.

He does both, knocking the door again and adding, "(Y/N), please, open the door before I do it myself. And I don't have a key."

You spin the office chair around and stand up, running down the stairs and opening the door. Standing outside on the porch is Patrick, dressed in a tuxedo with a bouquet of roses in his hand. You hold onto the door shyly, half of your body hiding behind it.

He sees your red and puffy eyes and frowns, "Have you been crying?"

You blink away the tears about to stream down your cheeks, muttering, "No." Before he can ask you what's wrong, you go on to ask, "What do you want, Patrick?"

He swallows hard. "Um...well...god, what did I say?" He scratches behind his neck. "You know what? Fuck it." He walks past you and into the house, setting the flowers down on the small table you have in the foyer, "I don't know if you knew, but I've been staying with my mom these past few weeks."

"Oh really?" You turn around to face him.

"Yeah. And I was talking with her when she made me realize I made the biggest mistake of my life storming out on you like that."

You cross your arms.

"She told me to tell you exactly what I told her, but...it slipped my mind when I saw you." He stands there for a little before inquiring, "Why were you crying?"

"It's nothing, Patrick," You lie, "What are you for again? Did you forget something else?"

"No. I came here to ask you for another chance."

"Another chance?" You repeat.

"Yeah. These past few weeks have hell for me, (Y/N). I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't write a goddamn song for my life." He laughs and you let a little chuckle escape your mouth too. "I need you, (Y/N)."

You remain silent.

"I know I fucked up big time, but I promise I'll be better from here on out. We can talk about whatever you want to. Even problems that we're having And, and then if you want to, we can go to that marriage counselor again. Because she really helped us and..."

You heave a sigh and tap your foot, waiting for his rant to be done with.

"...and-and I'm really sorry (Y/N) and I want us to be together again. I don't like not having you there for me. By my side. And...what we did...giving up, sure, it was easy..." He quotes his mom (though you're unaware of it), "...but it wasn't the right thing to do."

"I agree."

"So you'll give me a second chance?"

"No."

"What?" He's baffled, "Why?"

You shake your head, remembering all those Twitter messages you received. "As much as I love you, Patrick, you deserve so much better than me."

He chuckles in disbelief, "Who told you that?"

"Everyone..." Tears begin to form in your eyes again.

"Well they're wrong." He takes a step towards you and slips his hands underneath your jawline, "If anyone deserves better, it's you." You look down at your feet in an attempt to avoid his gaze. "I've been a complete asshole to you this past year and there's no reason you should take me back. But I'm hoping you will anyways, because I know you love me just as much as I love you. And we can work things out, I know we can. I mean, eight years is along time, (Y/N). I know you and you know me." He smirks. "So please, give us another chance." He swipes his thumb across your wet cheeks. "Because I mean it when I say I need you in my life. I'm nothing without you."

You bite your lip, glancing up at him.