A Series Of Patrick Stump Imagines

Eleven Thirty

I leaned against the door frame of Patrick's music studio in my pajamas, silently watching him scribble away in a composition notebook as he muttered things to himself. After a few minutes of this, I spoke. "It's eleven thirty, honey. You should really get to bed."

Patrick jumped at the sound of my voice, startled. "Is it really?"

"Sure is. C'mon, let's get to bed."

"I'm not tired."

"But it's late, and we need to rest."

Patrick pouted and shut his notebook, placing his pencil between the pages. "I'm really not tired."

I walked over to him and sat in his lap, my arms around his neck, my head on his chest. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. "I am, though. And I don't want to go to sleep without you."

"Why not, princess?"

"I sleep better when you're holding me."

"You do?"

I nodded. "It's comforting to feel your arms around me and to hear your heartbeat.

Patrick smiled and kissed my cheek. "I'm glad I can be of help. Let's go upstairs, okay?"

    "Okay. Maybe-"

    "No."

    I laughed. "C'mon, it's a good book," I said, standing up.

    "It's a really sad book and I don't want to be reminded of it."

     "It's so depressing that Gus died." (A/N: Sorry if I just spoiled it oOPS)

     "Don't remind me!" He cried out, running past me upstairs, making me laugh again.

     When I made it to our bedroom, he was lying down on his side of the bed. I climbed into bed next him, curling into his side. He slipped his arm around my waist and kissed me. "Night, baby girl. I love you."

    "Love you too, 'Trick."

A/N: Ew that was bad. I didn't even know what to name it shame on me