Emo Trinity x Reader

Patrick Stump x Reader - 4am Anxiety

There it was again, the endless circle of thoughts that drove you crazy at night and stopped you from sleeping. You turned around in your bunk bed, glancing at the clock. 4:07 am. You really should try to sleep. In an attempt to make the thoughts stop, you turned onto your belly and buried your nose in the pillow. But it was no use. The thoughts were just as wild as ever. What if this was not the right job for you? What if you stopped enjoying touring with bands? What if you stopped enjoying photography? What if you never got over your feelings for Patrick? This way you would never be able to fall in love, lead a proper relationship, maybe get married one day and have kids. You were almost thirty soon. You knew you were still young but you could not help but feel as if time was running out. Your mother had been twenty-seven when she got you. You were twenty-eight now. You would probably die a single, bitter, unhappy person who had never experienced what it meant to be loved the same way you love.

That was it, you had enough. You rolled out of your bunk bed and tip toed from the section with the beds into the small lounge of the tour bus, careful to close the thick curtain that separated the areas again before you switched on a small lamp over the sofa. You pushed a couple of sweaters aside, they both belonged to Pete or to Patrick, and sat down on the couch. You knew that your thoughts would not stop soon and feeling anxious sitting on a couch was better than feeling anxious sitting in your bed.

You tried to distract yourself by figuring out where the bus was at the moment, which was impossible since it was pitch black outside and the bus was not driving. You assumed the driver was taking a break to catch some sleep himself. So you had to be somewhere on road between Cleveland and Auburn Hills. You shivered slightly. The bus was cold since it was early fall, and you were tired.

You pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to focus on what you heard. There was wind howling outside and the buzzing of the lamp next to your ear, mixing with the slight snoring of one of the guys, you assumed Joe. When your mind started spinning again you counted the drawers in the tiny bus kitchen. Twelve. And a total of seven different magazines laying around in the lounge.

You sighed and tried to look out of the tinted glass over your shoulder but the light from inside the bus reflected on the window and it was dark outside so there was really nothing to see but your tired reflection. So you got up and started counting how many cups there were in the kitchen. And how many knives, forks, and spoons. You noticed that there was one cereal bowl less than last week and remembered how Pete had accidently broken it. Then you grabbed pen and paper, and checked the fridge. You were almost out of food so you started writing a shopping list. You needed toast and some jam, a cucumber, some fresh tomatoes and apples. But not the sweet ones, the sour ones. You liked those better. And you also wanted to get some of the amazing sandwich spread with curry and papaya that Andy had introduced you to a few days ago.

And again you had run out of things to do. You felt the thoughts seep back into your mind and you were desperately searching for something, anything to distract you, when the curtain to the beds moved and a sleepy Patrick emerged. He was wearing a blue shirt and some black sweatpants with many little Batman symbols on them. His hair was disheveled and he pushed his glasses on his nose, looking at you with squinted eyes.

"You've been out of bed for exactly twenty-seven minutes and thirty-two seconds," he told you, "why are you up?"

"Couldn't sleep," you told him, ignoring the painful fluttering in your stomach at his sight.

"Why not? Are you getting sick?" Worriedly he knelt down in front of you and pressed his warm, soft hand against your forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever. Do you want me to make you hot milk with honey?"

You smiled thankfully at him, loving how he always seemed to worry about you.

"I'm fine," you told him. "It's just bad thoughts."