Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] You Tell Him You're Pregnant - Part Five

It's later that same evening and Win's been put to bed. You're sitting downstairs in the living room - your parents upstairs along with your daughter - with a bowl of popcorn in your lap. The TV across from you is on with an LMN movie stretched across the screen. Your eyes are glued to it, entranced by the cliche drama story, until your phone beside you starts to go off. You break your gaze away from the television and avert it down to the cushion next to yours, where you see your cell phone vibrating and lighting up. It's Patrick.

You set aside the half-empty bowl and wrap your hand around the device, pressing the answer button and bringing it up to your ear, whispering, "Hello?"

"(Y/N), hey! You're still up."

"Well yeah," You respond, "What are you still doing up?"

"I...I couldn't stop thinking about what happened today," He answers your question honestly.

"Oh," You reply, shifting awkwardly on the couch.

You're not going to lie and say you haven't been doing the same thing, but you're not ready to admit it either. Because, although no one asked you to, you had to prove that you were strong and independent; that you didn't need anyone to tell you what to do or to help you make decisions. That's why you decided to have and keep Win, and why you work your ass off to make sure she has a comfortable life.

"Yeah. And, um, I know this is incredibly late and you probably don't care, but...I'm sorry," He apologizes, "I really am. I was so stupid back then and it was the worst mistake of my life leaving you like that. I was young and I was young afraid that having a family with you wasn't something I wanted, but it is. It really is. And I can help out now too! The band's hit it off and I'm bringing in more money than I ever thought I'd be bringing in. I can buy us a place big enough for the three of us, and you can quit your job at McDonalds. You won't have to work at all! Doesn't that sound amazing?"

You rise to your feet and begin to pace back forth, one arm crossed over your chest and the other holding your phone up to your ear. "Look, Patrick, I know that what happened today was great, but I'm not looking for someone who only wants to be there when it's convenient for them." The words come out of your mouth like daggers, surprising even you. "And besides, you said it yourself, the band's hit it off. I can only imagine how many gigs you're going to get - concerts, TV appearances...say we do get back together, when are you going to find time to be home with Win and me?"

"I'll make it work, (Y/N), I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Patrick," You murmur dismally, failing to acknowledge your mother's presence on the stairwell leading to the second floor. She heard you talking and came down to see if everything's okay. From where she stands, the volume on your phone is loud enough for her to hear both sides of the exchange.

"I just want to make up for lost time," The singer confesses, "Because I fucked up, (Y/N), big time. Please, give me a second chance. I want to be there for you."

"Well it's a little late for that, don't you think?"

Your mother can't take it anymore and reveals herself, rushing up to you and snatching the phone out of your hands before you can say anything else. "What the hell?" You yell at her.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)?" She asks you, her hand over the phone's microphone and her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"I'm just talking to Patrick."

"Yeah, and passing up on the best offer you'll ever get."

You scoff, connecting the pieces and realizing that she was eavesdropping on you. "But, Mom, he abandoned me."

"He was only twenty years old, honey; no twenty year old wants to be a parent. Trust me." You tilt your head down, unable to disagree with her, for she was twenty when she had you and you know how hard it was for her to raise you, due to the stories she's told you, especially when you were pregnant yourself. That's when your relationship with your mother grew faster than it ever had before. "At least he's trying. Your father didn't. I had to beg him to come back."

You swallow the lump in your throat and extend your hand out, wordlessly asking her for the phone back. She places the device in your hand and tells you to remember what she said before retreating upstairs.

You bring the phone back up to your ear and say, "Patrick?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's get together tomorrow and talk about this then, okay?"

"Oh, okay. Yeah, sure. How does lunch sound?"

"Perfect. See you then." You hang up and heave a sigh, plopping back down on the couch and running your hands through your hair. You look down at your phone and open the photos app, scrolling down to get to the top of your collection, where pictures of Patrick and you sit.

You bite your lip and skim through the pictures of the two of you, tears welling in your eyes as the happy memories of your relationship before you found out you were pregnant flood back to your mind.

You miss Patrick, you honestly do. You miss the way he kissed you, like you actually meant something to him. You miss the way he'd hold you in his arms when the two of you would lie in bed together, giving you a sense of protection. You miss having someone there for you. Someone that isn't your parents, who isn't obligated to be there for you because you're related to them, and who willingly wants to be there for you. Up until you told him you were pregnant, Patrick was that person.

For over a year you tried convincing yourself that you were over him, that you didn't need him, and that he didn't deserve you or your daughter. But in reality, you were and still are hung up on him. You have been since the day you left him. That's why you haven't found someone else, because you've been waiting for this day, this moment.

You throw your phone to the side and lean forward, resting your elbows on the tops of your thighs and covering your face with your hands, letting out a shaky sigh.

You drag your fingers down your face and sit up, glancing over at the clock on the TV box. You sit there for a little before jumping to your feet and hurriedly making your way into the foyer, where you snatch a jacket off of the coat rack and slip into it. You then rip open the front door and rush outside, slamming the door behind you and heading for your car.

You can't wait until lunch tomorrow. You need to talk to him now.