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

Part 4

It's later that night and the air between you and Gabby has been cleared. That's the thing with you and her - you can never stay mad at each other for too long. It just isn't possible, not when you're the only two people you know you'll always have.

"Goodnight, Gabby," You coo, closing the book you've just finished reading and leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Mommy," She murmurs back, her eyelids falling as she slips farther underneath the covers and turns on her side, away from you. You set the book down on the nightstand and carefully get out of her bed, turning the light on her nightstand off and making your way out of her bedroom. You leave the door open a crack and retreat to your bedroom, where you walk in on Patrick sitting on the bed with his head tilted back and his hand down his pants. Your hand comes up to your mouth to hide the small grin that appears and fails to filter the giggle that slips past your lips. Patrick's eyes pop open and he sees you.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)!" Patrick shouts out of shock, ripping his hand out of his pants and scrambling to his feet. You turn around and cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head down and biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing or saying something that would make the situation worse than it already was. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't think you'd be...done putting her to bed so soon. I thought it would take longer."

"Is it safe to turn around?" You ask.

"Yeah." You peek over your shoulder to see him standing behind you, his hands shoved in the pockets and a redness to his face. "Haven't you heard of knocking?" He questions, a bitter tone lacing his voice, as if it was your fault for walking in on him.

"Well I haven't had to knock on my own bedroom door in over a year," You remind him, chuckling a bit, "So I'm sorry for not knocking. I didn't see the 'do not disturb' sign on the door." That's the thing, you're not upset, or even disgusted. You just find it funny, due to the slight amount of immaturity you've clung to as you grew up. Patrick - on the other hand - remains silent, hanging his head in shame. You sigh and pout, still not taking the situation seriously. "I just cleaned those sheets too..."

"Can we just not talk about it?" He begs, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"How can we just not talk about it?" You retort, breaking into an awkward smile, "I just walked in on you jacking off, all while our daughter is in the room next door! That's just..." Your voice trails off as you find it hard to finish your thought, so instead you just shake your head and say, "It's ironic, I guess."

"Ironic? Why is it ironic?"

"Well I mean, you're not alone like you were in California, Patrick."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm not used to having little kids around..." He tries to justify himself, "...or really anyone."

"No, Patrick, I mean...you've got me," You clarify, your cheeks burning up in embarrassment, "I can't even remember the last time we...you know." You cross your arms uneasily over your chest.

"Oh," He murmurs, holding out the vowel. "I see," He says, catching on to what you're getting at and starting to approach you. He grabs you by the shirt and pulls you closer to him, your lips inches apart. "Did someone miss me?"

"Maybe..." You admit, forgetting about the conversation you had with Pete at the dance studio.

"Maybe?" He repeats, sliding his hands down your sides and placing them on your hips, his fingertips sending a sensation throughout your entire body, "Just maybe?"

You nod your head, the corners of your lips curling up into a small grin. You can't deny that you missed him. Sure, you weren't as heartbroken as a devoted girlfriend and mother of his child should be, but having him here, with you, with Gabby, you realize how much you enjoy having him around.

But Pete was right. What was said and what happened in Los Angeles can't be forgotten about.

When you met up with Patrick in Los Angeles, you met a completely different man. Patrick wasn't Patrick anymore, something had changed in him. He wasn't the man you fell in love with, the man you had a child with, and he definitely wasn't the man everyone knew as Patrick Stump. He was someone else, someone obsessed with fame, craving it as if it were a drug. Because once he lost it, he wanted it back, and he wanted it more badly than ever before. That was why he left for Los Angeles, abandoning you and Gabby.

"Well..." Patrick tilts his head to the side, smirking at you. "I missed you a lot." He closes the gap between the two of you and connects his lips with yours. You melt into the kiss as his hands slip around to your back, yours finding their way to his shoulders. After a moment or two, he pulls away and murmurs, "I missed your eyes." He leans in and plants another kiss on your lips. "I missed your smile." Another kiss, this one more on your cheek. "I missed everything about you." A kiss on your neck. "But I think most of all...I missed this." Patrick walks forward and you mirror him, walking back until the two of you slam into the bedroom door, the kiss becoming more intense as your bodies press against one another, quiet moans filling the air.

The room around you warms up as this new passion he seems to have fuels the moment, your clothes being torn off and thrown to the side before the two of you make your way over to the bed, where you slip underneath the covers and have sex for the first time in a while.

As he hovers over you, you can't help but think about the relationship the two of you have, as well as this new personality Patrick's taken on. There's something off about him, something you just can't put your finger on.

His words from over a year ago play over and over in your head, distracting you from living in the moment.

You want to love him, and you want to be with him. He's the man you've loved for over six years, the man you envisioned yourself growing old with some day, but you're not sure he feels that way. It's hard to believe he does when he doesn't fight to stay home, or when he brags about the party scene he's suddenly become a part of. He says he wants you to be a part of it with him, to move to L.A. and live with him, but despite how tempting his offer is, you know he doesn't mean it.

Raising Gabby on your own has been tough, but when Patrick's around - which isn't very often, you estimate that he's been around for only twelve months of your daughter's almost forty-eight month life - it's easy; it feels right, as if the two of you were meant to be together, to be parents.

However, as the days go on, the farther you and he grow apart, the more you hear about how much he loves Los Angeles and how he never wants to leave, and the more the theory that you and him were meant for each other starts to become flawed, proven wrong. It's quite a simple fix - move to L.A. and the three of you can be the family you always pictured being. But your picture wasn't set in L.A. It was set here, in Chicago.

Patrick falls beside you, the covers wrapped around your bare bodies. Your chests rise up and down as you try to bring oxygen back into your lungs. You stare at the ceiling, your mind everywhere but in the room, in bed.

"I love you, (Y/N)," He says, taking your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, and bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss it.

You look over at him with a blank expression on your face and feign a grin, replying unconsciously, "I love you too."