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

Part 6

You walk through the front door of your house and quickly close it behind you, stripping yourself of your jacket and shaking the snow off of it before hanging it up on the rack. You turn around and sniffle, your nose running due to the weather.

"Hey, you're home." You look up and see Patrick standing at the top of the stairs. He's wearing some of his old clothes - a baggy pair of light blue jeans held up by a belt and an old t-shirt that's a size too big for him underneath his old jean jacket. You fail to suppress the grin that's crawled onto your face, amused by his appearance. "What?" He asks, noticing your reaction.

"Nothing, I just...I haven't seen you wear those in years," You respond, watching him as he makes his way down the stairwell to meet you. "They're a little big, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I know." He glances down at himself, grabbing onto the sides of his jacket and pulling them outward. "And outdated. I look like I'm from the 90s and didn't get the message the 00s had rolled in."

"I like it, though," You reply, the corner of your lip curling upward as you shorten the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around his neck, "It's more...you." He returns the smile and tilts his head, resting his forehead against yours, looking deep into your eyes.

The two of you go to lean in for a kiss when you hear a gasp, followed by "Mommy!" You gaze over Patrick's shoulder and see your daughter standing at the top of the stairs where Patrick had been no longer than a few minutes ago. In one hand she holds a Barbie doll and in the other, a matching pink Jeep. She drops the two items before racing down the stairs and clinging onto your legs. "You're home!"

You giggle and bend down, picking her up in your arms and kissing her on the cheek. "Good to see you too, Gabby."

"You should've seen the snowman Uncle Pete and I builded today!" She exclaims, "It was so big!"

"Was it?" You ask, brushing past Patrick and into the kitchen, where you see the mail sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Mhmm! It was like, taller than Uncle Pete!"

You chuckle, skimming through the collection of envelopes to see if there is anything aside from bills. "So not very tall at all."

"No, Mommy, it was huge!"

Patrick enters the room shortly after with his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against the wall. That's when you come across one letter that destroys your mood almost instantaneously, causing your smile to fade. You set Gabby down on the ground and pick up the envelope in both of your hands.

"Did Uncle Pete take any pictures?" You ask distractedly as your slip your finger underneath the lip of the envelope and tear it open.

"He took lots of them! He told me he'll show you them at the dance recital!"

You pull out the contents and unfold them, heaving a sigh as you skim over the details. It's a notice that, if you don't pay your mortgage, you'll be kicked out of your house. This shouldn't be a problem for you, especially since Patrick makes so much money, but for the past year or so, your bank has been sending you these letters. You haven't had time to go to the bank and ask them about it, having been busy with working your ass off to raise your daughter and making sure she lives a comfortable life, but had you gone in, you'd discover that Patrick's account has been wiped clean.

"That...That's great. I can't wait to see them," You finally reply, a dismal tone to your voice as you shake your head and throw the papers down on the counter, resting your elbows atop the granite and putting your head in your hands.

Patrick notices your sudden change of mood and asks Gabby to go back upstairs and play for a little. Being a little girl and not understanding the situation entirely, she doesn't hesitate to follow his request, running out of the room and back up to the staircase, picking up her toys at the top of the stairs and escaping to her room. Your boyfriend walks up beside you and picks up the letter, reading it for himself. His eyes grow wide.

"I don't understand," You mutter, lifting your head out of your hands and looking over at him, "We shouldn't be having this problem, Pat. For fuck's sake, you're a musician, a famous one. We don't spend your money like there's no tomorrow either. It just doesn't add up."

"Right," He agrees, swallowing the lump that's grown in his throat, " The bank probably just mixed us up with someone else or something."

"I-I don't know, but...I don't have time to deal with this," You confess, running your fingers through your hair, "I mean, I've got a full-time job and I pick up as many extra hours just so that I can keep the fridge full and the lights on. They're crazy if they think I'm gong to be able to pay back what they say we owe." Patrick frowns and pulls you into a hug. You bury your face into his shoulder, holding back the tears that want to spill from your eyes.

"We'll figure this out, (Y/N). I know we will."

You chuckle. "I sure hope so, because this has been happening for the past eight, nine, ten months and I don't think I can hold it off any longer." You step out of the embrace and meet his gaze. "Hey, maybe you can go in and ask them about it for me tomorrow. You don't have any plans, do you?"

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Well, um...I...I was..." His voice trails off, failing to come up with an excuse not to deal with the situation. He shrugs his shoulders. "You know what? Yeah, I can go in and asked them about it for you."

"Really?" You ask, relieved. He nods his head and you break into a smile, pulling him into another hug. "Oh my god, Patrick, thank you so much."

"That's what I'm here for, right?" He chuckles, hugging you back.