Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PETE] The Guy Next Door 2

It's the year 2003, six years before the morning you woke up to sirens and flashing lights. You've just graduated from the University of Chicago with a bachelor's degree and you've finally earned enough money at your slightly-above-minimum-wage job over the past four years to purchase your own house. You've grown to like the city of Chicago and decide to stay there, buying a small house you'd be living in by yourself.

You pull your car into the driveway and turn it off, smiling at the "sold" sign with the real estate company's logo on it stuck into the front lawn and the small house behind it. Your small house.

You push the car door open and get out, closing it behind you. You make your way up the sidewalk and pull out the key your realtor had given you, slipping into the lock and entering the house. There isn't any furniture, but it won't take you long to change that. You set the keys down on the kitchen counter and go back outside.

You walk around to the trunk of your car and pull it open, revealing all the boxes you had, boxes filled with all of your things from your old college dorm. You grab the first box you can pull out of the tight fit and nearly fall back, but luckily you catch yourself. You look around to see if anyone saw you  and, with just your luck, someone did. Two people did.

The older of the two guys, who are both fairly attractive and look to be in their late teens or early twenties, has slick black hair that sweeps across his forehead, almost long enough to hide his brown eyes that have a thin circle of black around them, as if he uses eyeliner. The younger one, on the other hand, has blonde hair and wore glasses.

You quickly flash them a smile and make a mad dash into your house, your cheeks growing a deep  shade of red as embarrassment bubbles up inside of you.

Oh great, it's only the first day I'm moving in and I've already managed to make a fool of myself in front of my neighbors, You think to yourself as you set the box down on the hardwood floors and  heave a sigh, contemplating whether or not you want to walk outside again and get the rest of your things.

But before you can make the decision, there's a knock on the door behind you. You glance back and see the black-haired guy standing in the opened doorway, his hands tucked in his pockets as he leans against the threshold.

"Looks like you could use some help," He blurts out, a smile crawling onto his face.

Your cheeks redden even more than they already are and you turn around to face him, nervously tucking a piece of hair that has fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear. "That would be great. Thanks."

"No problem," He replies before peeling away from the threshold and going towards your car. You  force yourself to follow him out there.

You find him closing your car trunk, having extracted all of your boxes and placed them on the driveway. You sigh and he meets your gaze. "Why do you have so many little things?"

You shrug your shoulders, shooting back with, "Why don't you have so many little things?"

"Because I only need the important things in life, and little things like this..." He sticks his hands in one of the boxes and pulls out a stuffed animal you received from an ex, your most recent ex to be specific, "...aren't important."

You walk up to him and snatch it out of his possession. "Of course this is important."

"Oh, really?" He presses, crossing his arms, "How so?"

"This was gift to me," You murmur, looking down at the stuffed animal, "It brings back memories  and that's what makes it important." You can't help but lose the smile on your face, remembering your breakup with him. You're still not over it, but you had every reason not be over it. He broke up with you on graduation day, which was just about a week and a half ago.

"Memories are up here." He points to his head. "Not there." He points to the stuffed animal.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Pete, you're blowing it!" The blonde guy shouts from the porch. You look over your shoulder and grin at him. The neighbor that's helping you smacks his forehead.

"Just go inside, Patrick! I know what I'm doing!" He yells back.

Who you now know is Patrick meets your gaze and calls out to you, "If he ever gets too much to deal with, just send him back home, okay?"

"You know what? Fuck you, man!" Your neighbor screams, grabbing the stuffed animal out of your hand and chucking it at his friend. It doesn't make it,  but Patrick does retreat inside. You return your attention to Patrick's friend and he sighs. "I'm sorry about that," He apologizes, "He thinks he knows everything now that he graduated high school. But he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Do you live with him?" You question out of curiosity.

"Oh god no. I couldn't live with him. I can barely deal with him when he comes over just to hang out for a few hours," He jokes. You giggle.

"Well, let's get these inside," Patrick's friend remarks, bending down and picking up a stack of your many boxes. "You don't plan on living outside, do you?"

You shake your head and pick up a stack as well, following him into your house with a smile stretched across your face.

I remember the first time we met each other's gaze. You were bringing in your boxes from college, first time living on your own, and you looked so happy. Like nothing could take the smile off of your face.