Fall Out Boy Imagines and Preferences

Preference #19 Crying

***Warning! Trigger warning! If you're sensitive to self-harm and suicide/depression please don't read this preference!***

Pete:
You stood at the bathroom sink, a blade from one of Pete's razors in your hands. You fingered the cold metal, twirling it in your fingers. You let out a deep breath, and dragged the sharp edge across your wrist.

Blood rose up from the freshly opened wound, and allowed the crimson liquid to drip into the porcelain bowl. Tears stung your eyes, and you didn't bother to hold them back, since you were the only one home. You stupid bitch you thought to yourself, making another cut on your wrist. You're so fat and ugly. You don't deserve to cry, and you don't deserve Pete, and most importantly, you don't deserve to live.

"I'm home!" You heard the voice that you loved so much call out, and the front door slamming. Pete was home earlier than usual.

You made sure that the door was locked, and held the blade to your throat, ignoring your boyfriend's frantic calls. You could end it now, if you wanted to, and you honestly did.

"(Y/N), open up!" Pete banged on the door, causing the whole room to rattle.

"Go away," you whispered, your voice raw from crying.

"If you don't open the door, I'm going to break it down."

"Please," you begged, sobbing even harder. "I don't want this. Leave me alone."

The sound of your boyfriend's body slamming against the door rang out, until it finally fell the the floor. He grabbed the razor out of your hand, and flushed it down the toilet. Next, he grabbed your wrists, and proceeded to clean your wounds. After they were bandaged, he dragged you to the edge of the tub, and sat you down.

"Why?" He asked with hurt-filled eyes.

"Because I'm worthless," you murmured, turning away so you didn't have to look at them.

"(Y/N), we both know that's not true. You mean so much to so many people. Bronx and Saint look up to you, and the guys love spending time with you. (Y/N), I love you more than anything else in this world. Without you, I'd be lost. Please don't hurt yourself anymore."

"I'll try," you sighed. "It's hard."

"I know it is. We'll get through it together, yeah?"

"Yeah," you agreed, allowing him to wrap you in a hug.

"I love you," he whispered in your ear. "Always remember that." And from that moment on, you did.

Patrick:
"Patty-Cakes!" You shouted, dragging out the a's in his nickname. Multiple shopping bags were slung on your arms.

Patrick had been feeling down lately, and you had no idea why. You assumed he was sick, since he hadn't been eating. You bought him chicken noodle soup and some tea if that was the case, but if it wasn't you bough him his favorite sandwich from Subway. Also, you rented his favorite movies, and bought him a fuzzy Doctor Who blanket.

"In here," he called back weakly, and you followed the sound of his voice to the bedroom. 

"I got you presents!" You cheered, sitting down next to him on the bed. "Here," you handed him the Subway bag, and he hesitantly opened it.

"I can't eat this!" He held up the sub in disgust.

"I got you some soup too," you held up the bowl proudly.

"No, you don't understand. I can't eat anything! Don't you read what they say about me?" He burst into tears, and you rubbed his back soothingly.

"Sweetheart?" You asked once he had calmed down a bit. "What who says about you?"