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

Part 8

It's later that night and you and Patrick are lying in bed together. You can barely keep your eyes open as the two of you watch a movie on the TV set up across from your bed. As for Patrick, he can't focus on the movie either, though his reason is completely different.

He looks down at you and bites his lip, the dilemma the two of you are having keeping him from seeing what's right in front of him. It doesn't matter that you've been his devoted girlfriend for nearly six years. It doesn't matter that he has a child with you. It doesn't matter that he was going to ask you to be his wife. Because all of that was thrown away when he chose to leave for California, the decision that seemed to doom your guys' relationship without you even knowing.

He steps into the recording studio and smiles brightly, his backpack filled with the notebooks and loose pieces of paper (as well as a few napkins) that carried all of his future songs slung over his shoulder. Your boyfriend approaches the receptionist and he tells him which studio he'll be in that day. Patrick tips the hat he's recently adorned himself in appreciation and walks down the hallway to the place he's been directed. He pushes the door in and sees a woman standing over a soundboard, yelling into the microphone at the person in the sound booth.

"How many times are we going to have to do this?" She shouts, grunting in anger before throwing the microphone down and looking down at the tech working the board, "I give up on her. She's fucking hopeless."

Patrick clears his throat and attracts the attention of the infuriated woman, the scowl on her flawless face fading away as her eyes lay upon the man you let go to follow his dream. She straightens her posture and tugs at her button-down shirt, the neckline deepening. "You just be Patrick."

He nods his head, his grip on the backpack strap growing tighter. "How do you do?"

"Better now that you're here," She replies with a smirk before turning around and grabbing the microphone, speaking harshly into it as she tells the female singer to "get the fuck out and have fun trying to find herself a new recording studio, because [she] sure as hell wasn't welcome back [there]". The girl bursts into tears and rushes out of the sound booth, pushing past the singer and running down the hallway.

Your boyfriend chuckles to alleviate the tension that's hanging in the air. "Was she really that bad?"

"Oh, she was the worst," The woman mutters, turning around to face Patrick and folding her arms, accentuating her chest and cleavage. "I only agreed to help record her album because her dad is some big name in the business. But it's not my fault his daughter can't sing for shit." Before he can respond, she continues, "Lucky for you, though, you can." The woman stalks toward Patrick and drapes her arms around his neck, shortening the distance between the two of them - their bodies clashing together. "You don't know how excited I was to hear that you were looking for someone to record your solo album. I loved the EP and I can't wait to hear what you've got for the LP."

And that's when it all started. Days spent in the studio's sound booth and lounges turned into days spent in the woman's office. The woman was Jessica, the executive producer of Island Records. Having been a fan of Fall Out Boy since they started (when she was a teenager), and especially a fan of Patrick, it was easy for her to give him the deal.

"Everyone wins," She explained it to her close friends, "He gets his stupid solo album put out and I get to fulfill my teenage fantasy." She didn't care to think about you or your daughter, not knowing you even existed since the singer's very private when it comes to things like that. And foolishly, Patrick didn't think much of it either.

For the longest time, things were going great for Patrick in Los Angeles. He was recording his promising album, he was befriending almost every person he met, and he was sleeping with one of the most powerful women in the music industry. His life back in Chicago with you became a distant memory for him. He was having the time of his life.

But then it happened.

The front door to Patrick's lavish apartment is violently thrown open, the singer and the producer stumbling in, locked at the lips. They're coming from the release party for the new album, Soul Punk, where they shared several drinks - as well as kisses. Their clothes are torn, the strap of Jessica's dress hanging off of her shoulder and Patrick's shirt ripped open, missing two buttons.

Tripping over their feet, the pair fall back on the sofa, Jessica on top of Patrick. The producer sits up and looks down at the man of her dreams, a glint of lust in her eyes as she rips the rest of his shirt open. "God, you're so hot," She comments, her voice slurred as she dives back in for another sloppy kiss. He returns the gesture for a while before pushing her away from him a little bit, a thought crossing his mind.

"Holy smokes, I forgot to tell her," He says.

"Tell who what?" Jessica questions, not really looking for an answer and swooping back in, placing kisses on Patrick's bare chest, about to trail them down his stomach to his waist line when she hears the singer's response.

"(Y/N), I forgot to tell (Y/N)."

The producer's eyes widen as she freezes in her place, tilting her head up to meet the Patrick's gaze. "Who's (Y/N)?"

"My girlfriend," He discloses shamelessly, pulling his legs out from underneath his seducer and hanging them over the edge of the couch. He shoves his hand into his pocket and extracts his phone. Jessica's eyebrows knit together and she slaps the device out of his hands. "Hey, what was that for?" He glances over at her with hazy eyes, not seeing the wrong in his action.

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend, Patrick."

"I...I didn't think I needed to."

The producer scoffs and stands up, fixing the strap of her dress whose bottom had been rolled up and slowly backing away from him, toward the door. "You know what, Patrick? You're a bastard, a sick, twisted bastard!" She wraps her hand around the doorknob and yanks the door open, going to leave when Patrick springs to his feet and shoots his hand out.

"WAIT!"

"What, Patrick?" She sneers, shooting a glare in his direction, "What can you possibly say to make me stay?"

He stares at her for a moment or two before replying with an uncertain, "I love you?"

Jessica rolls her eyes and mutters an angry and disgusted, "Go to hell, Patrick." And with that, she slips outside, slamming the door behind her and leaving Patrick in the dust.

"Hey, uh, (Y/N)?" Patrick murmurs, breaking the silence that's fallen over the two of you. You grumble something he can't understand, cuddling up beside him, exhaustion winning the battle you've been fighting. "(Y/N), stay awake. Please. I...I need to talk to you."

"Talk to me in the morning, Pat," You whisper, bringing your hand up and placing it on his chest.

He sighs and wraps his hand around yours, your hand fitting perfectly inside his. "But it's kind of important. Please, (Y/N)."

"If it's as important as you say it is, it can wait till...till..." Your eyelids grow heavy and you fall asleep, curled up beside your boyfriend. He frowns and returns his attention to the television, watching a couple of more minutes of the movie he can't get into before grabbing the remote and turning it off.