Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Stupid Little Dream

Days and days pass where Patrick doesn't hear from you and you don't hear from him. It isn't until you decide to go back home about two weeks later to retrieve a few of your things that the two of you bump into one another.

You sneak your way in, using your key, and close the door quietly behind you. It's around noon during the week, so you know your kids won't be home. As for Patrick? Well, you're hoping he's out of the house too. You don't care what he's doing, you just don't want him there.

You venture upstairs and slip into what used to be yours and Patrick's bedroom, where you go over to the closet and pull out a duffel bag. You throw it on the bed and frantically begin taking shirts off of their hangers, pulling pants and underwear out from their drawers. You need to get your things and then get out.

Once the duffel bag is full (more or so overflowing), you zip it up and sling it over your shoulder, darting out of the room to make your great escape. But just as you're about to leave, right as you grasp the doorknob of the front door, you hear the floors creak behind you.

You close your eyes and tilt your head down in defeat, knowing exactly who it is. "Look, Patrick, I don't-"

"I have the papers," He interrupts you, cutting your explanation short. Your eyes pop open and you glance back over your shoulder at him. In his hands are the cursed papers.

"You're kidding me," You mutter.

"I wish I was," He mumbles, lowering his head and biting his starting-to-quiver lip, "But I'm not. I already signed. I was going to come by today, actually. I just need you to sign and then this will all be over with."

"What do you mean you already signed?" You ask angrily, dropping the bag full of your clothes to the floor and snatching the papers out of his possession, flipping through the pages until you come across the line that holds Patrick's autograph, written in ink. Your heart drops. "Oh my fucking god. You're serious."

"I told you, (Y/N), I'm not kidding anymore. This isn't a joke. If you don't want to be with me, you don't have to be with me. I'm not going to force you into a relationship you don't want to be in anymore."

"But what about the kids?" You inquire, meeting his gaze with glistening eyes.

"We can discuss that with the lawyer later," He answers, "But since you brought it up, I was thinking joint custody, with them staying with me primarily. You know, since you're with Pete now."

You shake your head, "No."

Patrick shoves his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans, "No you're not with him or no you don't want them staying with me."

"No I don't want them staying with you."

"Well like I said, we can discuss it with the lawyer later."

You chuckle sadly and run a hand through your hair, "So this is it? We're really getting a divorce?"

"It just seems like the only option," He replies sullenly, "Marriage counseling didn't work, a little time apart didn't work, another kid didn't work...(Y/N), I just...I don't know what else to do."

"You've given up," You mumble.

"What?"

"I said, you've given up," You look up into his eyes, "You're not fighting anymore."

He shrugs his shoulders, "Well yeah. (Y/N), I told you at Pete's and I'll tell you again, I'm done playing your game. I'm done trying to save something that isn't even there anymore. I'm done wasting my time and my effort into salvaging a stupid little dream."

You scoff, "A stupid little dream? Is that all we are? A stupid little dream?"

His cheeks grow a deep shade of red, "No, I didn't mean-"

"Let me guess, you didn't mean it?" You snap, crossing your arms, "You never mean anything, Patrick. You didn't mean it when you told me you'd be there with me through thick and thin, you didn't mean it when you told me you'd loved me till the end, and you didn't mean it when you said you never wanted to live in a world where I wasn't by your side."

He clenches his jaw, knowing that whatever he says is only going to make the situation worse.

"Did you even mean it when you told me you loved me?" You question, tears blurring your vision, "Or did you just say it because you were supposed to. Because it was the right thing to say."

"(Y/N), you know that's not true."

"THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE?" You shout, shoving the divorce papers back at him.

He exhales slowly, keeping his hands in his pockets, "Your way out." You raise an eyebrow. "Look, (Y/N), I'm never going to stop loving you. And I'm never going to forget the amazing times we've had together. And I mean that, I really do. But the past is the past and it's time we move on. I'm pretty sure you have, but I'm a hundred percent sure that I haven't."

A single tear rolls down your cheek, down your chin.

"And those papers..." He goes on to say, poking the forms in your hands, "...they're my way of moving on. You have yours, so please, let me have mine."

You hang your head and sniffle, murmuring, "Fine. Where's a pen?"

"Let me get you one," He retorts, turning his back to you and retreating to another part of the house. You abandon your bag by the door and trudge over to the stairs, where you sit at the bottom with the forms tightly in your hands.

"Patrick?" You wearily call back to him.

"Yeah?" His voice is distant.

"What are you going to do after we're not together anymore?"

He doesn't give you an immediate answer. He waits until he returns and sits down beside you, playing with the pen he retrieved in his hands, to say, "I'm not sure." He glances over and asks, "What about you?"

You remain silent.

"(Y/N)?"

"I'm going to keep thinking this is a dream," You whisper, tears flooding your eyes as you snatch the pen from his hands and flip to the right page, "A sick, twisted dream that I want to wake up from." You click the pen and hold it tightly in your hand, "But I know I can't."

You bring the pen closer to the paper when Patrick sticks his hand out, stopping you.

"Wait."