Patrick Stump Imagines

Love, Selfish Love

A/N: Another series-starter! I've had this in my phone for a while now and couldn't think of anything to do with it so...

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You were reading a book when Patrick comes in your shared room, angrily slamming the door while raking his bleached hair. You put your book down and smiled at the boy.

"What's wrong, Patrick?" you said with a positive tone. He ignored you and shuffled through his duffle bag on the bed, getting his phone and angrily dialing a number. You figured that it might be important business, so you didn't bother asking again. You started reading again but was bothered by him shouting at his phone.

"No. It doesn't go like that! I told you, I'll deal with that myself, but since you think you're such a genius.... I wasn't! Don't you see how stressful this makes me? Ugh, fuck this. Bye." He threw his phone down on the bed along with himself, his hands covering his face in stress. "(Y/N), dear, do you mind getting me a glass of water?"

"Not at all," you replied. You stood up and walked to the kitchen where you got a glass, filled it up with water and made your way back to the kitchen. But on your journey back, you noticed something shiny on one of the steps of the staircase. You picked it up and looked closely, trying to analyze what it was.

Your wedding ring.

You looked at your left hand and saw that yours was still there, which meant that it belonged to none other than Patrick. You felt anger rush through your veins as you dropped the glass on the floor, the impact making it drop to the floor, scattering to a million pieces. It was a visual representation of how your heart was at that very moment.

You surged through the stairs and opened the door, seeing Patrick sleeping. You slapped him on the arm, making him jolt awake and rub his eyes.

"What?" he hissed. He saw the object in your hands and took it from you with an apologetic look on his face as he put it back on.

"Why did you take it off?" you inquired in the harshest tone you could gather up. He got up on a sitting position and looked at you in the eye.

He sighed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N). It must've slipped out of my hands when I was coming upstairs—"

"So you took it off?"

"I didn't!" he argued.

"Then why did it just slip out of your hands, huh? Last time I checked, the ring on your finger was a perfect fit. But it just 'slipped awa—"

"I TOOK IT OFF, ALRIGHT? YOU FUCKING GOT ME. I TOOK IT OFF BECAUSE I WAS STRESSED. BECAUSE YOU WERE STRESSING ME OUT. IS THAT THE ANSWER YOU WANT?!" he shouted. A horrified look sprawled on your face as tears started filling up, his words like venom making them spill out and stream down your cheeks. He looked ashamed as he stood and tried to hug you, but you pushed him away and threw his bag at him.

"Get out."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of it—"

"Get out." Your words were as tough as stone that hit him as hard. He sighed and started walking out of the door, one last glance at the love of his life.

To be continued...