Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

We Haven't Talked In Quite Some Time

You and Patrick are lying in bed, his hands underneath his head and your head on his chest, your hand resting on his bare stomach. Zach is sound asleep in his crib.

"Can you believe it?" You murmur, staring at the television across from the bed, the eleven o'clock local news on.

"What, that the band is seriously breaking up or that your friend and her husband are getting a divorce?" He retorts.

"Bo-...Wait, the band's breaking up?" You look up at him, this news completely unheard of to you.

He sighs, "Yeah."

"Oh, Patrick..." You sit up and pivot your torso so that you're still facing him, "I'm so sorry."

He shrugs his shoulders, "It was bound to happen. None of us were happy anymore. At least, that's the reason we agreed on."

You sit there for a little before inquiring, "When are you going to make the announcement?"

"Tomorrow."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," He turns on his side, away from you, "I don't really want to think about it."

You frown and lie back down, this time on your back with your hands folded on top of your stomach.

A moment or two passes before Patrick asks, "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what's going on with you," He looks back over his shoulder at you.

"Patrick, I already told you, I've just been having a rough few days."

"Bullshit!" He argues, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his back hunched over. "You want to know why we're always fighting?" He mutters, tears wavering in his eyes, "It's because we never talk. We always keep things to ourselves. I can't even count how many times we've stormed out on each other."

He sniffles and continues, "(Y/N), I love you, and you know that, but it's getting harder and harder to keep doing this when we're not honest with each other." He glances back at you, "You're a horrible liar and I'm sick and tired of all the 'I'm fine's and 'Nothing's wrong's. So tell me, (Y/N), tell me what's going on because I don't want to end up like your friend and her husband. And don't tell me that that won't happen to us because we've been driving on that road for a long time, and I want us to get off that road. But we can't when you continue to keep things from me. We've been together for more than twenty years, (Y/N). Twenty years. And you still don't feel like you can talk to me? Confide in me?"

You swallow hard, "Patrick, that's not it..."

"Then what is it?" He snaps, standing up and turning to face you, "What is it, (Y/N)? Tell me!"

"I-I don't know," You stammer, hanging your head.

He shakes his head, "You know, I don't know a lot of things either, like what I'm going to do without the band or how I'm going to make it up to Ethan and Gabby, but what I do know is that you're lying to yourself. And if you don't come to terms with...with whatever's going on with you, you and I are going to end up just like your friend and her husband. Divorced. And goddammit, (Y/N), I don't want a divorce."

"I don't either."

"Then talk to me!" He cries, waving his hands in the air out of frustration, "Please! Tell me what's wrong!"

You look up at him, "Patrick, I would, but I-"

"But you what?"

"But I really don't know what's wrong!"

He smacks his forehead and turns away from you, starting to pace. You pull your knees into your chest and rest your chin on them.

"Maybe you just need to take a little break," He suggests, his voice timid. He leans against the wall and runs a hand through his hair, "You know?"

"A little break?"

"Yeah. I could send you somewhere real nice," He walks over and sits down in bed again, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and looking into your eyes, "Any place you want. You name it, I'll make it happen. You can take as much time as you need there. A week, a month, I don't care. As long as you're happy."

Your eyebrows furrow together, "What are you saying?"

"You can do whatever you want there too," He continues, avoiding answering your question, "You've been so busy lately, I can't remember the last time you did something relaxing."

You gasp, putting the pieces together, "You want to send me to a mental institution, don't you!" You push him away from you.

"(Y/N), not a mental institution, just some place where you can recollect your thoughts, figure things out."

"You think I'm crazy!" You scream, forgetting that your baby boy is in the same room.

"No! No, I don't think you're crazy! But I do think there's something wrong with you," He stands back up, "Hon, you've got to admit, you haven't been yourself lately."

You shake your head and turn away from him, hugging yourself. He carefully approaches you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

"I just care about you, (Y/N), that's all. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy again."

"Don't send me away, then," You murmur, stepping out his arms and turning around, "And stop telling me that I 'haven't been myself' or that 'something's wrong' with me. I know me, Patrick, and I'd know if something's wrong." And with that, you brush past him and lie down in bed, curling up in the sheets.

"(Y/N)..." He groans, sliding into bed behind you and spooning you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling him close to you. "Come on, don't be like that." You close your eyes, tears spilling from them. He frowns and kisses the back of your head, holding you tightly. "You know I love you and I just want what's best for you."

"Shut up, Patrick," You murmur, sniffling, "I don't want to hear it."

"(Y/N)-"

"What part of shut don't you understand? The shut or the up?"

He sighs and presses his forehead against the back of your neck, mumbling, "I'm sorry." You can feel his breath against your skin.

"I said shut up," You mutter before closing your eyes, tears silent spilling from them and rolling down your cheeks.