Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PETE] Got A Secret, Can You Keep It? - Part Two

You're sitting on the couch with five-year-old your son, Jagger. It's nearly midnight and Jagger's struggling to keep himself awake, curled up beside you with his head resting on your lap, his eyelids falling down and then quickly snapping back up over and over again.

You chuckle and run your fingers through the mess of curls on his head. "Jagger, why don't I take you up to bed?"

He turns his head so that he's looking up at you, his dark brown eyes glistening in the glow of the television. "Because Dad hasn't come home yet."

The smile on your face fades and you heave a sigh. "Jagger...Dad's not going to come home tonight."

The small boy's tired facial expression turns into one of concern and hurt. "What do you mean Dad's not coming home tonight?"

"He's...He's got a lot of work to do," You lie.

"When will he be back, then?"

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"You know, it's funny," Your husband, Alex Gaskarth, comments while watching your son run around the kindergarten's playground with two new friends he's already made - the three of you there for orientation, "The older Jagger gets, the more I can't tell who he looks like."

A nervous giggle slips past your lips. "What? C'mon. We've talked about this before. He looks like me."

"Yeah, but he looks nothing like me," He retorts, folding his arms over his chest.

"Don't worry about it, Alex," You tell him, your chest growing tight and your leg starting to shake anxiously. He takes note of this but decides to refrain from saying anything about it, but he doesn't stop thinking about it.

He wonders about how, whenever he brings up your guys' son, you become antsy and uncomfortable; how that's how it's always been, ever since he was born, and how, when you told him you were pregnant, it didn't make sense. He'd been away on tour with Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, Metro Station, and Hey Monday and only saw you once that entire stretch of shows. And when he saw you, he only saw you after the tour had ended. He didn't see you once during the after party you were supposed to be at with him.

The next he knew, when he came home, you told him you were pregnant. Overcome with elation, he didn't think twice about it. He was just glad you guys were finally taking that next step in your relationship. He didn't think about the fact that you guys hadn't actual slept together since before he went away, and that the date of Jagger's conception and the date of birth didn't add up, until today that is.

"So you want to tell me who you slept with?" Alex asks casually later that day, Jagger in bed and the two of you in the kitchen, you with a glass of wine in your hand and Alex with a bottle of beer. You slowly meet his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed together.

"What are you talking about?" You whisper in response, conscientious of the five year old asleep upstairs.

"Jagger's not mine, is he?" He mumbles, swirling the lager around in the amber-colored bottle.

"What? Alex! Why would you say that?"

"Because he's not mine." Alex finishes the beer - his fourth - and slams it down, walking around the island to where you're standing.

You chuckle and place your - second - wine glass down on the countertop. "Of course he's yours, Alex. Who else's would be he be?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" He crosses his arms and gives you a challenging look, his words and actions being influenced by the alcohol in his system. "Or why don't you let me guess because you're a fucking slut and sleep with every goddamn person you can behind my back!?!"

Your jaw drops. "Alex!"

"WHOSE IS HE?" He screams at you, raising his hands and shoving you back. You stumble back and lose your footing, inebriation weakening your balance and causing you to fall to the ground, looking up at Alex with frightened eyes.

"He...He's yours, Al."

"Stop lying to me!" He screams, tears wavering in his eyes and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. Both of your hearts pound against your chest and your breaths are rapid and uneven, his out of anger and yours out of fear. "I know he's not mine, (Y/N)," He says a bit more calmly, "So tell me. Whose is he?"

It's been five, almost six years that you've been able to keep this secret, and you wanted to keep it that way. "It doesn't matter whose he is, Alex. You're his dad!"

"No I'm not," He growls at you, a teardrop rolling down his cheek, "I never have been." And with that, he spins around and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

That night, you sleep alone. And the next day, you wake up alone. You take Jagger to school alone, and pick him up alone. You eat dinner alone, and you watch TV alone. No word from Alex.

"I don't know," You answer his question after a long pause, biting your lip.

Jagger stares at you blankly for a little before letting out a long yawn and rolling off of you onto the floor, falling onto your feet. "Can you tell Dad when he comes home that I went to bed? I'm tired."

You giggle - a wave of relief washing over you - and stand up, scooping your son that resembles his true father in your arms and taking him upstairs. "Sure thing, Jag."

Trying to distract yourself from the scene that keeps playing over and over in your head, you somehow manage to get the small boy to brush his teeth before you tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. You slip out of his bedroom and close the door behind you, heaving a sigh and resting your head against his bedroom door, trying to keep yourself from crying.

You push yourself away from the door moments later and stumble back into the wall across the hallway, falling against it and sliding down to the ground, your knees pulled into your chest. You slip your hand into your pocket and pull out your cellphone, opening your contacts and scrolling through them, stopping at the name of the person you wanted to talk to. You take a second, reluctant to do what you wanted to do, before pressing the call button and putting the phone up to your ear.

"Please pick up. Please pick up," You murmur, listening to ring after ring.

Suddenly, the ringing stops, and is replaced by a low, groggy, "(Y/N)?"