Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Friendzoned

"'Not Mommy'," You laugh sadly, "I don't even know what the fuck that means!"

"She's only five, (Y/N)," The person you're with responds, "Kids at that age say crazy things all the time, things they don't mean."

"But she did mean it, Pete," You shake your head and bite your quivering lip, "I know it."

You went to his house later that day because you needed someone to talk to.

You already talked to your mom, and it's not that you can't talk to her again, but she's going to New York City and you don't want to ruin her trip with your problems.

And Patrick's out of the question too, despite his pleas for you to open up to him. Since that argument, the two of you haven't really talked. It's only been basic questions and answers, like "Did you run the dishwasher?" and "No." In fact, you didn't even tell him that you were leaving the house. You just...left.

So you've gone to Pete. Even though he and Patrick are on bad terms, and you kind of left him on bad terms too, he still loves you. And if you're being honest with yourself, you love him too...just not to the extent he does.

Pete rubs your back comfortingly as you break down in tears for what seems like the thousandth time since Zach's been born.

"What's wrong with me, Pete?" You sob, "My kids think I'm not myself, my husband wants to send me away, and my baby doesn't want to spend time with me. That's why I don't take him anywhere, because all he does is scream and cry and want his dad!"

"Hey, calm down, (Y/N), nothing's wrong with you," He retorts, his voice soft and reassuring, two things you desperately need, "You're perfect just the way you are and if your family can't realize that, then it's their loss."

You slowly look up at Pete, your eyes red and puffy, "Y-You really think there's n-n-nothing wrong with me?"

He nods his head yes, the corner of his lip curling upward into a smirk. You break into a smile too and lunge at your husband's ex-friend, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so glad to have you as a friend, Pete, really," You murmur gratefully into his ear.

He hugs you back, the smirk on his face fading away as he replies softly, "I'm glad to have you as a friend too."

You sit back and smile at him. He forces the smile back on his face to return the gesture and brings his hand up to your cheek, swiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He notices they're not as full as they used to be. "Have you been losing weight?" He asks out of the blue, not intentionally trying to sound insensitive or come off rude, but with how you are these days, you take everything to offense.

"What do you mean?" You inquire, your eyebrows furrowing together as you move farther away from him.

"I didn't mean anything, your cheeks just look more sunken in, that's all," He tries to save himself, though it doesn't really make the situation any better.

However, it doesn't make it any worse either, and you confess, "Maybe it's because I really haven't been eating lately...I just don't have an appetite for anything."

"You haven't been eating?" He asks, concerned.

You shrug your shoulders, "I mean, I eat small things here and there, but that's about it."

Pete stands up. "Well then come on," He extends his hand out to you, "You and I are going out."

You chuckle, a blush reddening your cheeks, "Pete, I'm married."

"Yes, I'm well aware that you're unhappily married. But I'm just taking you to get something to eat, it's not like I'm taking you on a date or anything."

You stare at his hand for the longest time before heaving a sigh of defeat and placing your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up from the couch the two of you had been sitting on. He smiles that classic toothy grin of his before leading you to the front door, quickly shouting back to Bronx that he's leaving and that he needs to watch Saint for him while he's out.

Pete doesn't get a response and groans, telling you he'll be right back. You stay in the foyer as he escapes upstairs. You hear some yelling, followed by a door slam, before Pete comes back downstairs.

He shakes his head and mutters, "Kids these days, am I right?" He brushes past you and pulls open the door, "They never want to do anything."

"Tell me about it," You agree, turning around to face him.

He smirks, "Well, let's not worry about them." He pokes you playfully in the stomach. "We've got to get you something to eat."