Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Nowhere Near Perfect

Part Two to "Why Do You Love Me?"

Overweight.

Ugly.

Unworthy.

Three words that Patrick  can't seem to get out of his mind. They're constantly there, like  whispers in his ears. No matter how much you tell him you love him and  that he's perfect the way he is, or no matter how successful you remind  him he is, he feels that he's a failure, he's overweight, he's ugly, and  he's unworthy of all he's got.

So one day while you're  out of the house, at work after being gone for a week (because Patrick  had been away on tour and you wanted to spend some time with him when he  returned home), he does the unspeakable.

He's all alone, so  there's no one to tell him no or to stop. And it doesn't help that  alcohol is involved. Patrick isn't a drinker normally, let alone a heavy  one, but he's been drinking all day. You have no idea about any of this  - you're at work.

He's back in front of  the mirror, this time in the bathroom rather than your bedroom, and he's  staring at himself. Disappointed. Ashamed.

"You don't deserve her.  You don't deserve anything," He mumbles to himself, bringing the bottle  of vodka to his lips and drinking straight from the bottle. He squeezes  his eyes shut and slams the bottle down on the counter, surprisingly the  bottle doesn't shatter to pieces. Tears start to fall from his eyes as  he picks up a razor he has out on the counter and puts it up to his  wrist.

He hesitates to actually make contact.

He's never cut before  but he's heard it helps. How? He hasn't the slightest clue. Supposedly  it makes the pain go away, and that's all he needs. But he knows that if  he does this, he won't be the only one disappointed and ashamed in him.

The tears continue to  stream down his face the more and more he thinks about it. At one point  it becomes too much and he becomes overwhelmed, making the first cut.

"Overweight," He growls under his breath.

He presses the blade  deeper into his skin and a bright red liquid begins to form around the  edge of the blade and stream down his wrist in trails.

"Ugly."

He applies more pressure and more blood begins to seep from the wound.

"Unwor-"

Just then, he hears some  movement from another part of the house. He throws the bloody blade  down into the sink and grabs a nearby towel, wrapping it around his  bleeding wrist to try and stop the bleeding, but it doesn't let up. He  begins to panic. "No no no no no," He mutters under his breath, slowly  starting to regret his decision.

"Patrick?" Your voice  echoes through the house. You've come home on your lunch break with some  McDonalds to see Patrick and eat with him.

"Shit!" He exclaims to  himself as his heart pounds against his chest. His visions begins to  blur and he feels like the room is starting to spin around him.

"Patrick?" He hears you again, though this time your voice is muffled.

Before he passes out due  to the loss of blood he's experiencing, he sees the bathroom door fly  open and you staring at him with wide eyes, covering your mouth with you  hands.

"Oh my god."

*****

His eyes flutter open to  a bright white light. He winces as the light begins to fade, revealing a  generic hospital room that he's lying in. Wires and thin tubes are  attached to his body, connected to a machine that's monitoring his  vitals. You're standing at the door, talking to one of the doctors.

He raises his hand and  sees the stitched up scar on his right wrist. He glances over at you and  sees you looking back at him, noticing he's awake. You turn to the  doctor and dismiss him, saying you want to speak to Patrick alone. The  doctor nods his head in understanding and leaves. You walk over to  Patrick and sit down on the edge of the bed. "Hey," You greet.

"Hi," He replies, his voice soft.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugs his shoulders and turns his head to look out the window at the gray sky outside.

"You scared me, Patrick. You really fucking scared me."

He remains silent.

"What if I didn't come  home and find you? You could've died and I would've come home and found  you lying on the floor dead with a puddle of blood surrounding you."

Still nothing.

"What the hell were you even thinking?" You inquire, your tone sad, angry, and confused all at once.

"I wanted to make the pain go away," He murmurs, not being able to look you in the eye, "I just wanted it to end."

"You could've said something to me."

"Could I? Could I  really?" He glances back at you, "You don't understand how I feel,  (Y/N). You don't realize that I don't see myself like you see me. I'm  not this perfect person that you think I am."

"Then who are you?"

He scoffs, "I don't  know...but I know I'm nowhere near perfect," He sits up so that he's  closer to you, "I'm a fucking mess and you shouldn't have to deal with  me. You don't deserve it."

"You're right," You  reply, "I shouldn't have to deal with you and I don't deserve it. But  you know what?" You interlock your fingers with the fingers of his left  hand, "I choose to. And you know why? Because I love you. And there's  nothing in this world that's going to change that."

"God, (Y/N)," He chuckles despite the seriousness of the situation, "Why do you have to be so perfect?" He smiles.

"Oh, honey, I'm nowhere near perfect," You admit, blushing ever so slightly.

"You're closer than I am."

"Oh shut up," You say  before grabbing him by the hospital gown and pulling him close, going to  kiss him. But before you do, you lean back and look him in the eyes,  "Promise me you'll never do something like this again, okay?" He tilts  his head down. "Patrick." You place your fingers underneath his chin and  make him look at you. "Promise me. Please."

"I promise," He mumbles so quietly that you almost don't hear him.

"Good," You smirk before finally connecting your lips with his.