Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Meet And Greet

Patrick's sitting on the tour bus with Andy, his head resting in his hand and  his gaze locked  on the opened box of Cheez-Its on the table in front of him.  You and Patrick just had an argument over the phone that lasted over an  hour  and you just hung up on him, the argument leaving both of you in  bad  moods.

Pete emerges from the back and shouts excitedly, "WOO! WHO'S READY FOR THE LAST MEET AND GREET OF THE TOUR?"

The singer unconsciously glares over at the bassist, the thought of another meet and greet appalling to him. All the singer wants to do is play this  show and go home. It's been a long four, almost five months of being on the road, away from you, and he's ready to call it quits. He has been since the  beginning of the third month.

Pete plops down across from Patrick next to Andy and grins, "Are you ready, Patrick?" Just as he asks that question, Joe  enters the bus from the front (having been hanging out in one of the opening band's tour buses).

"Yeah," He grumbles, standing up, "Ready to get this over with." He walks off of the tour bus, the other three band members in tow.

*****

The four of them are standing in front of the backdrop their crew had set up a couple of hours earlier, the fans standing  in a line to the side, bursting at the seams with excitement as they waited to meet the band. Patrick scans  the group of VIPs, preparing himself for the next hour or so of his life.

The  first fan walks up and the singer forces a smile on his face, the lights  set up for the picture already starting to make him sweat and his thoughts everywhere but there. He wonders what's going to happen after the concert. When he gets home, when he has to make up his mind on something he's been thinking about for a while, when he has to tell his friends about that decision, how they're going to respond, how the fans are going to  respond, how-

"What's your name?" Pete asks her, the corners of his lips curled up, snapping Patrick out of the daze he's fallen into.

The fan tells the band her name and they all say hi, thanking her for coming. She gives a sentence or two about herself, telling them that she's been a fan for a long time and she's been dying to meet the four of them for a while now. The photographer informs them it's time to take the picture and they all pose. The camera flashes and the fan away is sent away, the next one invited in.

The same thing happened again with this fan.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

Until all the fans who had paid extra for an advanced ticket had all gotten their chance to  tell their idols their name and have the photographer snap a picture of  them.

It's routine, really. A fan comes up, tells them their name, the guys and the fan talk a little (for about half a minute), their picture's taken, and they move  on to  the next one. It's not like they guys are actually meeting any of the fans. They really don't get to know anything except their name, which they don't typically retain after the concert's over with. 

However, this doesn't really bother Patrick all that much. Sure, he feels a bad admitting it, but all he wants to do, all he's ever wanted to do, is make  music.  The lifestyle that came with it - the fame, the fortune - it was never something he wanted. It never intrigued him and he never really got used to it.

*****

The guys are leaving the concert venue for their tour bus. Pete's feeling the after-show-buzz he still gets after all these years. Joe's ranting about how he thought that this crowd was the best one of the whole tour (though he generally said that about every crowed). Andy's tapping his last set of drumsticks on any surface he can. And Patrick's sulking behind them, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head hung low, sweat dripping from his air  and falling on the tops of his shoes.

Tonight was hard for Patrick. During the meet and greet, the smile he tried his best to keep kept fading away, and his usually positive reactions to what the fans had to say came off as inconsiderate, uncaring, indifferent. During the performance, he was distracted. If there was a clock in his view, there's no doubt that he would've been staring at it the whole time,  counting down the time until he could get leave, until he was done, like a kid taking a final exam would. He just couldn't put his problems aside and enjoy himself like he should've.

Guilt weighs down on him, knowing that his unusual behavior more than likely had an effect on someone else, but there's nothing he can do now to change it. He can't go back in time. He can only go forward.

He boards the tour bus and goes straight to his bunk, pulling out his phone from underneath his pillow and dialing a number. He puts the phone up to his ear and closes the door to the back, leaning against it to keep anyone who wants to  come back there out.

The phone rings and rings until it finally goes to voicemail.

Patrick closes his eyes and puts his head to his forehead, listening to the automated female voice instructing him on what to do. The beep sounds and he drops his hand to his side, "(Y/N), look, I know you're mad at me right now, but we really need to talk when I get home. I-I've made up my mind."

And with that short, simple, vague to anyone who doesn't know what's going on message, he ends the call and takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he slide down the door to the not-so-clean floor of the narrow hallway.

He frowns as he looks at his phone's lock screen, a picture of him and the guys.

"For real, this time."