Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] I've Got A Song To Play For You Mrs. DJ

Ever since your sophomore year of high school, you've been involved with your school's radio club that broadcasts all over the Chicago area. Your school's radio club gives the other stations a run for their money, which is surprising for a non-profit school-run radio station. You're a senior now and one of eight student DJs, having a show to yourself, though occasionally you'll bring a friend on.

However, there's one person you've never brought on but has been there every show of yours. You don't really know his name, or even what he does when he sits in the media center the radio station branches off from. But he's there every time you go on (whether he's there only when you're on or if he's there for other DJs, you don't know), and you sometimes catch him looking at you. When he gets caught, his eyes grow wide and his cheeks turn a deep red and he usually tilts his head down, his trucker hat that teachers usually are quick to reprimand him for wearing hiding his bluish green eyes.

You've contemplated confronting him many times, but you haven't done it yet. You're unsure if it's because you're nervous and don't want to make the first move, since you've been conditioned to think if someone likes you they'll come to you first, or that it's because you're not even sure he likes you and you don't want to make a fool of yourself.

One day, though, your uncertainty is made certain when, while you're playing music and not on air, there's a knock on the closed station door.

You look up and see Media Center Guy (as you've officially dubbed him) standing outside the door. He smiles kindly and waves to you. You jump down from the seat you're sitting in and walk over to the door, opening it.

"Hey," You greet.

"H-Hi," He stammers, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Can I help you?" You ask, the corner of your lip curling up.

"Um, y-yeah. I-I was, uh, well first I want to say that you have a really good taste in music. I listen to the station all the time and your show's probably my favorite out of all the DJs," He rambles, so quickly you almost don't understand what he said. You smile.

He clears his throat and shakes the CD case he has in his hand, "And, um, secondly...you don't have to, but um, I'm in this band and I was wondering if you could maybe...maybe play one of our songs from our demo. We're having a show in a couple of weeks and we kind of want to let people know, you know?"

He holds the CD out to you and you take it into your possession, flipping it over and looking at the song list he has taped to the back.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," He goes on to say, slipping his shaking hands into his pockets, "I totally understand, but I thought I might as well ask. Well, my mom did." He chuckles nervously.

You grin, "I would love to. Thanks."

He nods his head and fidgets a little before turning around and escaping to the media center, snatching his backpack and dashing out, though he runs into the door and stumbles back.

You gasp, "Oh my god, are you okay?"

He looks over at you with a worried expression and chuckles anxiously, never giving you an answer before pushing the door back and leaving the room.

You glance down at the CD and bite your bottom lip.

"Show in a couple of weeks, huh?"

*****

You're lying across your bed with your headphones over your ears, attached to your portable CD player that contains the CD Media Center Guy gave you.

Your head's bopping slightly as you tap your pencil against your opened textbook you're supposed to be extracting answers from to answer the questions your teacher's assigned. But your homework doesn't even matter at this moment, seeing as you're entranced by the music flowing from your headphones into your ears. It's a little rough, you're not going to lie, but there's something about it that you just love about it.

*****

You press the button on the control board that enables the microphone and stops the music. You smile, "Welcome back to Glenbrook South's Titans Radio Club. I'm (Y/N), your favorite DJ," You chuckle, "Just kidding. But, uh, today I'm going to shake things up a bit."

You look over and pick up the CD case you've brought with you, "There's this friend of mine..." You address Media Center Guy as, "...who's in a band called...Fall Out Boy...and they're having a show this weekend. They're just starting out, guys, but their music...it's amazing." You find yourself gushing about this person and his band you don't even know, "I'm going to play a couple song of theirs for you that I really like, and I'd like to get your feedback on it, you know what to do. Call in, send me an email, whatever you prefer. The first one's called Pretty In Punk and I hope you like it as much as I do."

You switch things over and drape the headphones around your neck, sitting back in your chair and listening as the song you listened to at least a hundred times since your last show (when he handed you the CD) fills the small room you're in.

You look out into the media center and see Media Center Guy standing in the doorway. You light up and get down for the chair, rushing out to him. But he abandons the room as soon as you enter.

"Hey!" You exclaim, running out and watching him speed-walk down the hallway, "Wait!"

He stops in his tracks and looks back at you. You jog up to him and exhale, your breathing a little faster, "Hey. I don't know what you heard or not, but that CD...it was fucking awesome."

He rubs behind his neck, "You really think so?"

You nod your head, "Definitely, and you can count on me coming to that show this weekend."

"Th-Thanks," He stutters, smiling.

The two of you stand there awkwardly for a little before you stick your hand out, introducing yourself, "I'm (Y/N), by the way, if you didn't already know."

"Patrick," He replies shyly, placing his hand in yours and grinning.