Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Writing A Different Song - Part One

Author's Note: Hey guys! I know this is a little late, but Happy New Year! Hopefully this year will be better than the last, because I don't think I can deal with a repeat of last year, I really can't. Anyways, here's yet another one of my failed stories that I've decided to turn into an imagine because I'm not doing anything else with it. I hope you like it and thanks for reading! -Rachael

Patrick is standing in the shower, steam billowing in the air and fogging up the glass door separating him from the rest of the bathroom as well as the mirror that's hanging above the pedestal sink. His hands are pressed up against the back wall, his head hung low and water droplets falling from the pieces of hair that hung in front of his face.

The water coming from the shower head perfectly hides the tears that are streaming down his cheeks, perfectly muffles the sobs that wrack his body and make it difficult to breathe. This happens almost every night. He'll take a long shower and let all of the emotions he's pent up over the course of the day out. His wife doesn't know, his son doesn't know, his band mates don't know. No one knows but him.

He hates feeling like this. He hates having the thoughts that he does. But they just don't stop, no matter how much he wants them to or how much he tries.

Everything these days seems to be nothing but a joke. Every word that slips past his lips holds no meaning. Every laugh that comes from his throat is forced, unnatural, done because it's expected of him. Every string plucked and every note sung is automatic, thoughtless, without reason. There isn't anything genuine about him anymore.

To say the least, he isn't happy. He can't tell you what had changed in him to make him feel this way, but he just isn't happy. Nothing he has, nothing he does is significant. It makes no change, no difference. They're just things he has and does because he's supposed to.

He wants to do something different.

He wants to change.

He wants to leave, and it's all just a matter of packing his things and going. He's more than capable of doing it. If he packs a few outfits, stuffs some cash in his pocket, and grabs my keys and car, he can easily ditch town. But it isn't that easy because of the things he has and the things he has to do.

It'd be wrong of him to abandon his family, abandon his friends and the band, and abandon the life that thousands of people would kill to live. But he just doesn't see the point anymore. He's done everything he's wanted to do. He has everything he ever wanted, what else is there for him?

Nothing. Not here, at least.

"Patrick?" Elisa's voice sounds from outside the door.

"Yeah?" He mutters, just loud enough for her to hear him.

"Are you coming to bed soon?"

The singer sniffles and drops his arms down to his sides, turning around and shutting the scolding hot water off. "Yeah, just give me a sec to dry off." He snatches the towel that's slung over the glass door and uses it to dry his hair a little bit before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out.

Patrick steps up to the sink and uses his wrist to clear the mirror on the wall of the steam that covered it, the reflective glass showing him the disheveled mess of hair on top of his head, the frown his lips have curled down into, the sad look in his eyes. He can't keep living like this anymore.

He needs to do something different.

He needs to change.

He needs to leave.