Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Another Lonely Drinking Session

You're sitting on your couch, a bottle of vodka in your hands. The burning sensation of the beverage you get when it rolls down your throat doesn't even bother you anymore, for you've grown tolerant to it. Tears stain your cheeks as you stare at the television, images flashing on the screen.

This has been one of the worst nights you've had in a long time, and it's almost unbearable to deal with since you're all alone.

You bring the nearly empty bottle to your lips just as a rock hits the window behind you. You jump, startled a bit, before setting the glass bottle down on the coffee table and turning around, parting your blinds and looking down.

"Patrick," You mutter under your breath, making your way to the door and snatching a jacket.

You push your way out into the hallway and run down the flight of stairs, pulling your jacket on before you break outside. The bitter coldness hits you like a wall as  you step out into the snow, trudging over to where he stands, shivering. "What the hell are you doing here?" You ask him, pulling the two sides of your jacket together in a sad attempt to keep yourself  warm.

"I made a mistake, (Y/N)," He confesses to you, shaking his head, "And you're the only person I thought to come to."

"Why me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "You're the only person who doesn't seem to hate me right now."

You can't argue with him on that and invite him to come inside. He nods his head in agreement, his teeth chattering together. You trail back up the stairs you raced down seconds ago, Patrick following closely behind you. You lead him to your warm apartment and close the door behind him once he enters.

"You've been drinking  again?" He inquires, noticing the empty alcoholic beverages scattered about your living room as he slips out of his soggy shoes.

You rub behind your neck, you cheeks burning up in embarrassment, "Yeah..."

"You got any more?" He questions, walking into your kitchen and opening the fridge, scanning the shelves for himself.

"I thought you weren't drinking now that you're dating Elisa," You comment, slowly making your way into the kitchen as well.

He'd started dating Elisa about six months ago. You don't hate her, but you don't like her either.

You and Patrick have been long time friends and you feel like Elisa's changing Patrick. Trying to smooth out his rough edges, trying to correct his imperfections, though you don't see how that's even possible when he has no imperfections. In your eyes, Patrick is perfect just the way he is. You love everything about him.

"She doesn't need to know," He looks up at you over the refrigerator door with a smirk. The corner of your lip perks up as he stands up, a can of beer in his hand, and closes the fridge. "Did I interrupt something?" He inquires, peering behind you.

"No," You respond, heaving a sigh, "Just another lonely drinking session."

"Oh, those are no fun,"  He mutters, brushing past you and plopping down on the couch, propping  his feet up on the table and leaning back. "Care if I join you in the no-fun-ness?"

You blush, "No, not at all."

"Awesome," He retorts, popping open the beer can and taking a sip of it, nearly drinking the entire can in one sip.

You walk over and sit down beside him, picking up the bottle of vodka and heaving a sigh.

"How crazy would it be  if I told you I wish I could just break up with Elisa and be with you?" Patrick thinks aloud, tilting his head so he's looking at you.

You giggle, avoiding his gaze, "It'd be fucking crazy."

"Would it be, though?" He questions, "I mean, you and I have been friends since forever. And you know me better than any person does. Better than Pete, and that's saying something." You shake your head, taking a sip of the alcohol that has no effect on you. You don't even know why you still bother drinking  it. "Why have you never asked me out, (Y/N)?"

You look up at him, "What?"

"I see the way you look  at me when you think I'm not looking," He tells you, "I saw the way you got when I told everyone I was dating Elisa. You like me, don't you?"

"Well, yeah I like you. If I didn't, I would've left you outside to freeze."

He sits up and turns towards you, "Then why haven't you asked me out?"

You look into his bluish-green eyes and sigh, "Because all you see me as is a friend. The girl you can go to the bar with, have a drink with, and be your wingwoman."

He scooches closer to you on the couch and rests his arm on the back, "You think that's all I see you as? A wingwoman?"

You shrug your shoulders.

He laughs and sets his beer down on the coffee table, "Wow."

"What?"

"You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Well what else would I be? I'm good for nothing better...hell, I don't even deserve to be your friend."

He sighs.

"I mean, there are so many better people out there than-"

He turns towards you and  grabs your face, pulling you in and crashing his lips against yours. You drop the vodka bottle in shock before moving your hand to Patrick's side. The bottle shatters on the floor, what little liquid it had left in it soaking into the carpet.

Patrick pulls out of the kiss to catch his breath and looks deeply into your eyes, tucking a piece of your hair tenderly behind your ear.

"What was that?" You ask him, your heart pounding against your chest and your voice barely above a whisper.

"Just my way to let you know you're not just some girl I can go to the bar with and have a drink  with," He retorts, the corner of his lip perking up. "You've always been more than that to me." You blush. "How crazy does it sounds now? Me leaving Elisa for you?"

"A little less fucking crazy," You retort, failing to hide the smile creeping up on your face.

He shakes his head before leaning in again, kissing you passionately as the two of you fall backwards.