Patrick Stump Imagines for the Hopelessly Addicted

Dance, Dance [High School AU/FUTCT]

A/N: I'm not super fond of this one because I feel like it's kinda cliche and stuff, but it's the culmination of like four or five different ideas I had (some of which are based on prompts from Pinterest) and I couldn't stop writing it so.

I feel like everyone writes a Dance Dance fic but usually they write it about "nerd Patrick," like in the grey suit in the music video, but like, let's be real. Patrick is totally the kid who skipped his prom so he could play a gig. So that's what mine is.

FUTCT era but like they're in high school, idk.

y/c/n = your crush's name, but (kinda spoiler) be careful who you choose because you know you're gonna end up with Patrick!!

Word Count: 7533, I know it's kinda long but I don't feel like splitting it up so

Warnings: None, just not my best piece of writing, idk

"Tricky!" I practically screamed, tackling my best friend in the hallway.

He laughed awkwardly, clearly caught off guard, before reciprocating my hug.

"Hey y/n," he said. "What's up?"

I pulled away, gripping his arms tightly. "y/c/n asked me to the dance!" I informed him.

"Wow," he said. He was grinning, but something flashed through his eyes I couldn't put a name to. "That's great! I'm so happy for you."

He fixed his hat, which I'd knocked askew with my enthusiasm, and I walked with him to his locker, continuing to rant about my day.

This was our daily routine – well, not the part where my crush actually asks me to the dance, wow, that's crazy – but us meeting in the hallway after class, walking to each other's locker, then heading out to the parking lot where he would drive me home. Patrick Stumph (AKA Trick, AKA Tricky, AKA Pattycakes) was my next door neighbor and best friend since his family moved in when we were kids. We did everything together – we even had sleepovers still even though we were both seniors in high school. Both of us had always been kind of shy, not really liking the idea of talking to people, so we always just talked to each other, about anything and everything. He probably knew me better than I knew myself, and vice versa.

Which was why I'd noticed that he'd seemed kind of distant lately, like right now. As we were driving home, I watched his profile, blue-green eyes fixed on the road, fingers curved a little too tightly around the steering wheel of his ten-year-old car.

"Trick?"

"Hm?" he didn't take his eyes from the road, one arched eyebrow the only sign that he was listening.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just seem a little...off."

He didn't respond for a moment, flicking his blinker on to turn down our street.

"I've just been thinking about...you know, the band and stuff," he said finally. Patrick's pop punk band, Fall Out Boy, had recently been signed to a major label, and that had led to some tension between him and the bass player and now lyricist, Pete. He'd talked to me about this before, so it seemed credible, but...I didn't buy it.

We pulled into his driveway, and I gathered my book bag from the floor.

"My place or yours?" I asked, slipping out of the car.

"Mine," he said. "The guys are coming over for rehearsal later."

"Yeah, but they know to come over to my place if you're not home," I pointed out.