There's No Coldness In California (Patrick Stump/FOB Imagine Short Story)

Part 1

Patrick's driving down the almost deserted highway, the music coming from the speakers near deafening and racing thoughts clouding his mind.

This isn't what he wanted to do, but he had no other choice. With nowhere to live, no one he could lean on, and nothing to his name but a good amount of shame, he had to come home.

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he cruises down the long, black strip of pavement that seems to go on forever and ever, providing a seemingly endless journey that gives him time to reflect on everything that's happened, and think about everything that's going to happen.

The singer glances at himself in the rear-view mirror, anxious as to what reception he's going to get when he knocks on the red door, and when said door is swung open to reveal his new appearance. Will it be welcomed warmly or will it be rejected coldly? Will the person answering the door even recognize him or think he's a completely different person? He's been away for so long without barely any contact, what if he's not the only who's changed? What if the person who opens that door isn't the person he left behind?

He shifts his attention back to the road and heaves a sigh, running a single hand through his hair and hoping for the best.

*****

"Gabby, come on!" You scream as you throw a scarf around your neck. It's the middle of December and your daughter, Gabby, has a dance class. "We're going to be late!"

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" The three-and-a-half, almost four year old shouts back, bursting out of her bedroom and running down the stairs to you. You see her dressed in her leotard and brand new tutu, with nothing else on but the white tights and ballet shoes she managed to get on herself. "Okay, I'm ready to go now."

You groan. "Gabby, you can't go out like that. It's cold out and there's snow on the ground! Plus, that tutu doesn't even fit you."

"But I want Uncle Andy, Uncle Pete, and Uncle Joe to see it," She explains, pulling the article of clothing that's too big for up, "Don't you want them to see my new tutu? It's pink! And Uncle Andy told me his favorite color was pink!"

"Oh did he?"

She smiles widely. "He did."

You heave a sigh and snatch her puffy winter coat off of the rack. "Fine, Gabby, whatever. But don't complain when you're tripping over your tutu in class, because you chose to wear it, I didn't." She nods her head in understanding and you bend down, fixing the coat onto her and zipping it up.

"Besides," She says as you glance over at the messy pile of shoes, searching for a pair of boots to get her in, "I have to wear my new tutu, Mommy. My new tutu is going to kick Bethany's tutu in the ass!"

You chuckle and return your attention to your daughter, grinning. "Hey, what did I tell you about using that word?"

"That I shouldn't be using it..." She mumbles, crossing her arms and pouting.

"Exactly. So why did you use it?"

"Because you and Uncle Pete and Uncle Joe use it all the time!"

"Just because we do something doesn't mean you have to." She sighs. "But it's fine, Gabby, you can wear your tutu, only because it's going to kick Bethany's tutu in the ass." You wink at her and she giggles.

Just as you're about to tell her that, since she's keeping the tutu on, she'll need to switch her shoes out for boots, a knock sounds on the door behind you. You look back over your shoulder, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. You have no idea who it can be, not expecting any visitors today.

"Aren't you gonna answer that, Mommy?" Your daughter asks, pivoting her small torso back and forth and making her new, two-sizes-too-big, pink tutu sway side to side, down her legs and to the floor. She gasps and pulls it back up, holding onto it tightly.

"Yeah..." You murmur, slowly rising to your feet and approaching the door. You wrap your hand around the doorknob and turn it, pulling the door in - a gust of wind hitting you and Gabby almost instantaneously, though it doesn't bother you since you're used to it - and seeing someone standing on your doorstep, someone you thought you'd never see again. "Patrick?"

"(Y-Y-Y-Y/N)," He stutters, his teeth chattering against each other and his arms wrapped tightly around his shaking body. He - unlike you and your daughter - isn't used to this bitter coldness, despite having grown up in it. Over the past year or so, having been in Los Angeles, he became accustomed to the constant sunshine and warm weather, forgetting how harsh the winters in Chicago can be.

"W-What are you doing here?" You stammer in disbelief.

"I can't come home and s-s-see my family?" Your boyfriend of a little more than six years chuckles.

"No, I just...now's kind of a bad time. We were just headed out," You tell him, pointing back over your shoulder at Gabby who's actually hiding behind your legs, staring at the man standing outside with wide eyes.

"Oh," He mutters, a touch of disappointment to his voice, tilting his head down and hugging himself even tighter, "Sorry I came at such a bad time." There's an obvious disconnect between the two of you.

"You can come in, though," You reply out of pity, "In fact, I want you to." You extend your hand out and pull him inside, picking up the bags he had sitting by his feet and bringing them in as well. You close the door behind him and brush the snow off of the suitcases as Patrick shivers from the cold, the cozy house taking its time to warm him up. He gazes around the foyer, noticing the subtle changes you've made.

"I like what you've d-d-d-done with the place," He comments, meeting your gaze.

"Thanks, I had Andy help me with most of it. But, Patrick, I really can't stay and chat right now. I've got to get Gabby to her dance class. We're already running late and-"

He shakes his head. "I-It's okay, (Y/N). I-I-I understand."

"Thank you," You murmur gratefully, stepping towards him and giving him a kiss on the cheek, your warm lips touching his cold skin for the first time in months. You slowly pull away and gaze into his eyes that are locked on yours. "I-I'll see you soon," You tell him, hesitantly stepping away from him. "Come on, Gabby," You say, putting your hand on her back and gently pushing her toward the front door, "We've got to get going."

She nods her head frantically before yanking the door open and bringing another round of cold air and snow flakes inside. She rushes outside and you heave a sigh, looking back at Patrick. You give him a small grin before following Gabby out there, leaving Patrick alone in the foyer of his home that he can't help but feel like a stranger in.