Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK/PETE] The Secret Life Of The Chicago Teenager

You're at home listening to your favorite album on vinyl at a deafening volume, lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling.

Right now, your mind is blank. You don't want to think. You're not even paying attention to the music spewing from the speakers you have connected to the record player. It's a miracle you hear the floors creak and look up to see Patrick, your older brother, standing in the doorway.

He slips his hands into pockets and flashes you a small grin, "Care to tell me what you're doing on the floor?"

You return your attention to the ceiling, not giving him a verbal response.

He peels himself away from the threshold he was leaning against and walks over to the record player, turning down the music just a bit before sitting down and lying beside you. He puts his hands on his stomach and lets out a sigh.

The two of you lie there in silence for a little before he says, "You know I know when something's wrong, right? And that I'm just waiting for you to tell me what's wrong, right?"

"Just go away, Patrick," You mumble, turning on your side. A tear falls from your eye and trails down your cheek, splashing on the floor.

He hears you sniffle and frowns. He hates to see you like this. He sits up and bites his lip, "You know, I was just about to go out. You want to come with me?"

"No, I want you to leave me alone." You don't mean that, but you say it anyways. And besides, it's not like he's going to leave you alone. That's not how he is.

"Okay," He grabs your shoulder and flips you back on your back, looking down at you, "What's up, sis? I haven't seen you this sad since Mom wouldn't let you go to that Blink-182 concert."

You take in a deep breath before replying, "They broke up with me."

His eyes grew wide.

"Yeah," You roll up and heave a sigh, "I'm not taking it too well."

"They weren't good enough for you, anyways," He tries to make you feel better as you play with the rips in your jeans. A blanket of silence falls over the two of you.

"Well?" You murmur.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me 'I told you so'?" You ask, looking up at him with tears wavering in your eyes.

He chuckles, "Why would I tell you that?"

"Because you told me when I first started dating them that we weren't going to last. That things weren't going to work out."

He places his hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eyes, "I might have said that, but that doesn't mean I'm going to shove it in your face that I was right and you were wrong." You can't help but laugh, seeing as he kind of just did. "Instead, I'm going to help you." He stands up and extends his hand out to you. You stare at it weirdly. "Come on, I'm going to take you somewhere."

"Patrick, I-"

"Will be dragged out of this house by your feet unless you take my hand," He threatens playfully (though he has done this before when you were younger).

You groan and slap your hand into his. He wraps his fingers around yours and pulls you up. He takes you outside and the two of you get in his car, him in the driver's seat and you in the passenger's seat. You buckle up and he looks over his shoulder, backing out of the driveway.

About a half hour later, Patrick parks the car and you get out. He's taken you to a bar.

"Really, Patrick? I can't go in there. I'm not old enough."

"Doesn't matter, you're a V.I.P.," He retorts, winking at you. You give him a bizarre look before following after him towards the door. He cuts the line and taps the bouncer on the shoulder. The bouncer looks down at him and your brother flashes him a charming grin.

"I'm not on the list, but I'm the singer of the band playing tonight."

Singer of the band playing tonight? You think to yourself, He's not in a band...

"Oh, and this is my awesome sister," He adds, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you uncomfortably close. You look up at the intimidating bouncer, hoping this will work.

The bouncer looks at you and Patrick for a little while before shrugging and letting you in. Patrick salutes the bouncer to show his appreciation and guides you inside the bar.

You laugh in disbelief, "I can't believe that worked!"

He looks down at you, his smile visible in the dim lighting of the bar, "Why?"

"I just...I didn't know you were such a good liar."

"I'm not a liar," He replies as someone approaches him and tells him they're waiting for him in the back. Whoever "they" are. He nods his head in understanding but puts his finger up in a give me one second matter. The person nods their head and walks away. Patrick turns to you and suggests to you, "Why don't you go find yourself a table?"

"Why?"

He smirks, "You'll see." And with that, he leaves your side.

"Wait, Patrick!" You exclaim, but he doesn't hear you, having been consumed by the crowd of drunk girls and guys trying to find someone to take back home tonight. You roll your eyes and find your way to the dark corner where there fortunately is an empty table. You sit down on the tall chair and heave a sigh, pulling out your phone and checking for any text messages. There are none. You frown.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

You look up and see a guy with ink black hair and semi-smudged eyeliner standing before you, holding four bottles of beer in his hands. The corner of his lip twitches up into a smirk.

"I-I guess," You stammer, a shy and nervous feeling washing over you.

"Thanks," He says, setting the beers down on the table and hopping up on the seat across from you. He offers you a beer - which you kindly decline - before telling you, "I'm supposed to be playing on stage right now, but I'm just not in the mood." He picks up one of the four bottles and takes a sip. "So I'm hiding, and the corner seem like the perfect place. What about you?"

"My brother dragged me here," You confess, adding a nervous laugh at the end.

"Who's your brother?"

"Patrick."

"Patrick?" He repeats. You nod your head, "There's this guy in my band called Patrick. He's the lead singer."

Wait...

You raise your eyebrow. "Really? Blonde hair? Bluish green eyes?"

"Mhmm," He puts the bottle to his lips, "Always wears a trucker hat, too." He tilts his head back, allowing the alcohol to run down his throat.

Oh my god.

"That's him! That's my brother!"

Patrick's in a band and he didn't tell me? Why didn't he tell me?

The guy sets the beer down on the table and smacks his lips together, "Are you (Y/N)?" You nod your head. "Patrick talks about you all the time. Most of the songs he writes are about you."

Maybe that's why. He was embarrassed and didn't want me to find out.

He laughs, "I actually thought you were his girlfriend for the longest time."

You gag, "Ew, no. Gross. Not in a million years."

He chuckles and sticks his hand out to you, "I'm Pete. I play bass."

"I'm...well, you already know my name. I play hard to get," You reply, placing your hand in his and shaking it.

Pete smirks.