Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] It's Official <= START OF NEW IMAGINES

Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for putting up with me and my constant stream of updates. They're over with now, though, and here's a new imagine! Hope you like it! -Rachael

(H/N/F/Y) = His Nickname For You

You and Patrick have known one another nearly all your lives, due to your moms being best friends. Subsequently, the two of you are best friends. You guys have done everything together. Your first steps, your first day of school... You even were each other's first kiss (though the two of you immediately regretted it and agreed to never talk about it again).

It's the end of junior year now, though. You're sixteen and Patrick's seventeen. You're lying in the treehouse in your backyard, staring up at the ceiling that's deteriorated over the years, with holes and cracks that allow the moonlight to shine through. One hole's even big enough for you to see your favorite constellation in the dark blue, speckled white sky.

"Hey, (H/N/F/Y)?" Patrick breaks the comfortable silence that had blanketed over the small makeshift house.

"Yeah, Patrick?" You reply, turning your head to look at him.

He takes a second to respond, figuring out how he wants to word what he wants to say. When he finally decides, he turns his head and meets your gaze, asking in the most serious tone, "If, ten years from now, you and I are still here, will you go with me?"

You can't suppress the giggle that slips past your lips, "Are you asking me to marry you?"

He sits up and heaves a sigh, "No. I mean, not exactly. I'm just...what if ten years from now, we haven't gone anywhere...I don't want my life to go to waste, you know?"

"Patrick, we're only teenagers," You remind him, the corner of your lip curling up into a smirk.

"So?"

"So...you don't know what's going to happen in the next ten years. Ten years from now...I doubt we'll still be here. You've got your band..." He scoffs and shakes his head, looking out the small window cutout that had tree branches growing through it, "...and I've got..." Your voice trails off, realizing you don't know what you have. "I've got..."

He glances back at over you.

"I've got nothing," You mutter, hanging your head and twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

"Hey, you haven't got nothing," Patrick murmurs, "You've got me. And that's why I want to make this pact."

"It's a pact now?"

He smirks, "Stop making fun of me, (Y/N)."

You chuckle, "I'm not making fun of you."

Patrick heaves a sigh and pulls himself up, walking over to the other side of the tree house and looking back at you. "Got a pocket knife with you, by chance?"

"Yeah," You reply, extracting the pocket knife from your pocket and holding it out to him. He gives you a weird look. "What?"

"You just carry a pocket knife with you?"

"Well yeah...we do live in Chicago, you know," You stand up yourself and walk over to him, "Don't you?"

Patrick shakes his head and takes the knife into his possession, flipping it open and starting to etch something into the wall of the treehouse. He swipes away the shavings and smiles at his work. In the moonlight, you see his initials and today's date. He hands it back to you and asks you to add your initials, as if to sign a contract. You heave a sigh and put the blade to the wood, cutting your name under Patrick's.