Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] I Give Up

You're sitting on the floor of the small apartment you share with one other person. In a half-circle around you are all your college textbooks, opened to different pages, and scattered everywhere are pages with notes scribbled on them.

You groan in frustration and pick one of the books up, throwing it to the side and covering your face with your hands as you begin to cry.

This is your third year being in college and you're miserable. You're taking all these classes you couldn't care less for and they're stressing you out beyond belief.

Nothing you're doing, nothing you've been doing, is what you want. Deep down, you know what you want to do, but what you want to do isn't what everyone else wants you to do. They tell you it's stupid, they tell you it's not worth it, they tell you it's a waste of your time. But to you, what you're doing right now is a waste of your time.

You hate everything. You hate your classes, you hate your teachers, you hate your friends and family, you're even starting to hate your roommate. And you hate to admit that because he's done nothing but cheer you up when you're down and even go out with you late at night for something crazy like a two-in-the-morning expedition to Taco Bell. He's the best roommate you could ever ask for, but lately, you've been in this seemingly never-ending bad mood and you're starting to resent him.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" He calls, rushing down the stairs with only a towel wrapped around his waist and another wrapped around his hair. He stops halfway down and leans over the railing. "I'm running late, do you think you can call my friend, Pete, and tell him I'll be there in thirty minutes tops?"

"No, no I can't," You mumble through the tears, "I can't seem to do anything these days."

"What's wrong?" He asks, making his way down the rest of the stairs and walking over to where you are - water dripping off of his bare body and falling on the floor, getting on one of your textbooks.

"I don't want to talk about it, Patrick. Just leave me alone right now, I'll call your best friend in a little bit, okay?" You mutter, keeping your head in your hands.

"No," He defies your request and sits down on the couch behind you, looking at all of the textbooks and thinking to himself how grateful he is that he never had to go to college. "What's wrong, (Y/N)?"

You heave a sigh and drop your hands into your lap, still not making eye contact with him. "It's just...I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what anymore?"

"This," You motion to the textbooks and papers, "College. Everything. I hate it all."

"Then why did you do it in the first place?"

"Because it's what everyone else wanted me to do and I didn't want to let them down," You confess.

"So let me get this straight," He says before slipping off of the couch and pushing a textbook out of the way so that he can sit down beside you, "You put yourself through nearly three years of college, just because everyone else wanted you to?"

You nod your head, avoiding his gaze you could feel.

"Well what about what you want to do?"

"What I want to do is stupid..." You murmur, tilting your head down and playing with your hands.

"What do you want to do?" He asked, wrapping a wet arm around you and pulling you close. You glare at him. He smiles, "Hmm?"

"Patrick, it's stupid," You tell him, pushing him away from you and standing up, going into the kitchen where you pull open the fridge and start to scan the shelves for a beer.

He rises to his feet and joins you, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, "I doubt it's stupid."

You laugh, "Um, yeah it is." You find a beer (six, actually) and pull the whole pack out, slamming the fridge shut and picking out a can, popping the tab.

"What? Do you want to be a drug-dealing stripper? Is that what you want to do?"

You scoff and put the chilled can to your lips, "No. I'm not that desperate."

"Then what is it?"

You tilt your head back and drink the entire can in one sip, slamming it down on the counter once you were done, "You know what I want to do? I want to be like you. I want to be in a band, making music with my friends and traveling around the country with them, having the time of my life. That's what I want to do. But it's never going to happen because I have no musical talent and I've already put too much time, effort, and money into doing what I'm doing now." You run a shaky hand through your hair, having gotten worked up in those few seconds. "It's just gotten to the point where I just want to give up. Because I don't know how much longer I can do this. I hate it, I absolutely hate it, and if I have to deal with this for one more day, I don't know what's going to happen."

He smirks, "You want to be like me?"

Your cheeks grow red in embarrassment as you hang your head and start placing with the strings on your soft pajama shorts, "Yeah. But like I said, no musical talent."

"I can help you with that," He offers.

"How? By rubbing some of your talent on me?" You retort sarcastically, meeting his gaze for the first time that night.

"No, but I can teach you how to play guitar. If that's really what you want to do, (Y/N), you should screw school and go learn to play music. Do what makes you happy. Because I'm here for you, and I fully support you."

"But what about everyone else? What are they going to think?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Who cares what they think? It's your life, (Y/N). I don't know what else to tell you. It's obvious you want to do something else from what you're doing now, so if you want to do it, do it. But I'm not going to control your life because it's yours, not mine. I can only support you, so whatever you choose to do, go for it. I can't stop you."

And with that, he turns around, retreating back upstairs to put some clothes on.

You bite your lip and look down at the floor, Patrick's words ringing in your ears.

Do what makes you happy.