imagines | p.s.

birthday present

It wasn't often that Patrick had to play a show with his band on his birthday, but there were a couple of instances where that would happen. Today, unfortunately, had been one of those dreadful occasions. Thankfully, it was the last show of the tour, but you just wanted him back home with you. Especially on his birthday.

You and Patrick had been on Skype with each other for a good portion of the morning, until he had to get ready for the show and meet and greets. You'd also shown him his present via Skype video call; a couple of records he still didn't own, which he promised he'd listen to with you whenever he got back home. Little did he know, though, you still had another present to give him.

After calling Pete and getting the OK, you'd decided to surprise Patrick after the concert and had traveled out to the location of the show. Of course, it was a secret, and Pete, Joe, and Andy made sure it would be. You imagined that seeing your husbands face after being surprised with seeing you in person would be priceless. Needless to say, you were excited enough to squeal.

You watched Patrick and the rest of the band perform from a seat far away enough for Patrick not to recognize you, which was rewarding enough in itself. Before the last song, you went outside to where a small crowd was gathered in; no doubt waiting for Fall Out Boy. You figured you'd get up to the front of the barricade and see Patrick there.

You twisted your shirt in between your fingers, biting your cheek to keep from grinning too widely. Finally, fans were starting to pour out of the front and back doors and gather around a small, narrow pathway; the concert was over. You checked your pocket for the little pass that Pete had given to you to show to the security guards- if you didn't have it, you wouldn't be able to get past the barricades, because the new guards probably wouldn't recognize you.

Cheers and screams began to vibrate in your ears a few minutes later. You had to stand on your tip toes to see above the big heads and tall bodies in front of you to see for sure, but there was no doubt that Patrick and the other guys were walking out.

You pushed your way past people, your heart beating in your ears. A good majority of the people pushed back or shouted "hey!" at you, but you really didn't care. It would be worth it to be able to see Patrick.

When you reached the spaced out line of guards, you could see Patrick taking photos with fans in between their large arms. You took a deep breath, and tapped one of them on the shoulder.

He turned around and looked down at you sternly, pushing a few rude fans back. "Yeah?" He said gruffly.

Your cheeks burned as you fumbled in your pocket for your pass. "I-I need to get through there," you stammered, pointing a finger toward the band.

The guard scoffed. "Yeah, sure, sweet cheeks. It's not like I haven't heard that one a billion times before."

Where was that damn pass? You checked your other pocket, clearing your throat. Your cheeks burned and your eyes stung with frustrated tears, multiple people shoving into you.

"L-look," you choked out, "I really need to get past the gate, if you would just-"

'Stan,' as his name tag read, shook his head at you. "Save it," he snapped. "I don't let just any crazy fan get past tons of other people dying to meet the band. Try your luck with the crowd, honey."

Your mouth fell open. "B-but I'm not a fan!" You protested. Finally, you felt the pass in your back left pocket and began to hold it up. "I have this-"

But Stan was already turning around and disregarding the card in your hand, blocking your way from exiting and getting to Patrick. "Sure, whatever," he laughed. "Nice try, sweetheart."