Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] PAX DAMN Days

You watch intently as Patrick pours you and him another shot. This was, if you recall correctly, your eighth.

The two of you are at home, in the kitchen, both drinking the shitty days you had away with a little game you and Patrick made up.

It's nearly four in the morning and you returned home only an hour and a half ago (Patrick returned home about three). He was out all day at the studio with the guys, doing some last planning with their manager for this EP they're supposedly recording tomorrow. And you? You work at the local hospital in the ER department, so you're gone all evening into the early morning. The two different occupations you both have somehow manage to make your relationship work, though you'll admit it gets lonely sometimes during the day when you're not sleeping.

Patrick sets the bottle down on the counter and picks up the two shot glasses, handing one to you. "To the random person on the street who told me they hated our newest album," He slurs, holding his shot glass up.

You clink yours against his, repeating, "To the random person on the street."

The two of you put the small glasses up to your lips and tilt your heads back, downing the alcohol whose burn you've become numb to. In unison, you both slam your shot glasses down and Patrick picks up the bottle again.

"Wait," You say, sticking your hands out, "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

He chuckles, flipping the bottle and filling your glasses as evenly as he can with what little alcohol is remaining, "No, why?"

"Don't you have that recording tomorrow?" You inquire, the room starting to spin. You grip onto the counter as tightly as you can.

He shrugs his shoulders, "Yeah, but...I'll be fine. Anyways, I'm not tired and I didn't see you all day. I missed you."

"Aww," You blush.

"Baby you were my picket fence, I miss missing you now and then..." He sings loudly before handing you the shot with a smile, "Your turn, babe. What are we cheering to this time?"

You heave a sigh and look down at the clear drink in your hands, "I guess we'll cheer to...to the little kid who pulled the fire alarm and made us all evacuate the hospital - patients included. You don't even want to know how long it took us to realize it was a false alarm, even longer to get everyone back in."

"Wow. To the little kid who pulled the fire alarm," He mutters before downing his shot. You do the same. He shakes his head and goes to pour yet another shot, only to discover that the bottle is empty. He frowns in disappointment and turns around, adding the shot glass and empty bottle to the pile of dishes that's been sitting there for three days.

Patrick looks back at you before approaching you and snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you close and crashing his lips into yours. You can taste the alcohol on his lips as you grin into the kiss.

You pull away for air and glance up at him, a smirk on your face as you play with the buttons on his shirt, "Why don't we take this upstairs?"

He nods his head in agreement, a wide smile stretched across his face. You interlock your fingers with him and lead him out of the kitchen, the two of you a laughing and drunk mess.

*****

Your eyes flutter open and the light flooding through your window instantly gives you a headache. You groan and turn on your side, the room fading into focus as your eyes adjust. You see Patrick hopping around, trying to pull his pants on with one hand while he holds a beer in the other.

You bring your hands up to your face and rub your eyes, groggily asking, "What time is it?"

"Nine twenty," He answers, putting the beer bottle up to his lips and biting the rim so he can use both hands to buckle his belt.

You drop your hands to the mattress and ask, "Nine twenty? And you're still drinking?"

"Don't judge me," He snaps, grabbing the bottle and setting it down on the dresser covered in clothes that are draped over photographs of you and Patrick and your families. "I'm running late and I've got a really bad hangover. What better way to cure a hangover than to drink more?"

"A lot of other ways. Come back to bed," You murmur, making grabby hands like a baby.

"I can't, (Y/N), I've got to get to the recording studio." You roll your eyes as he looks around the room for something, muttering to his breath, "Damn, this is not going to go well. The guys are going to kill me."

"Well whose fault is that?" You retort, sitting up.

"Yours for not stopping me." He picks up a pair of your stockings on dresser top to reveal a pair of sunglasses. He smiles and snatches the accessory up, slipping them on his face. You roll yours eyes. He then acquires his fedora that's hanging from the corner of the mirror attached to the back of the dresser and fits it on his head. He walks over to you and gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, "I'll be home by dinner. We can either go out or eat in, up to you."

"Okay," You agree, looking up at him.

He grins and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, "I love you."

"Love you too."

He gives you one more kiss before turning around and walking out of the room. "Wish me luck!"

You heave a sigh and fall back on the bed, closing your eyes.