Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Two Swans - Part Six

"You what!?!"

"Look," Brendon says, glancing back over at you, "I've been watching you and Patrick for a while. I mean, who hasn't?" He stands up from the couch and turns toward you. "You guys are every dancer's idols. Your dances are flawless, complete and utter perfection. But lately, they haven't been." He crushes his beer can and tosses it to the side, making his way around the couch and over to you.

"What do you mean?" You ask him, a sudden uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the distance between you and your new dance partner grew smaller.

"Everyone could tell that something was wrong," He elucidates, trailing his fingers up your arms before gripping your shoulders and saying, "Something just wasn't right."

"That something was Patrick being sick," You grumble, pulling yourself out of his hold and glaring at him.

"No, I'm not talking about Patrick's health. I'm talking about how that...that chemistry you guys have wasn't here." He brings one hand up and cups your cheek in his hand. You scoff in disgust and push him away from you. "Something needed to happen!" He exclaims, trying to explain to you his doing in all of this, "I...I couldn't let you guys...fall apart!"

You fold your arms over your chest. "What are you talking about, Brendon?"

He heaves a sigh and pushes his fingers through his almost-always perfect hair. "I'm talking about how I wanted you to guys to remember why you two started dancing in the first place. Had I not, I don't think you'd be dancing much longer, and I couldn't let you guys do that. To yourselves or the dancing community."

You shake your head and point to the door. "Get out, Brendon."

"But (Y/N)-"

"I SAID GET OUT!" You scream, scaring your dance partner into leaving. The door slams behind him and leaves you in silence. You sigh and drag yourself around your couch, plopping down on the middle cushion and leaning back as far as you can.

You sit there for a while, just looking around the room, when your eyes fall upon a picture you have sitting on your mantle. Your eyebrows knit together and you slowly rise back up to your feet, being drawn to the photograph. You snatch the frame up from the shelf it's sitting on and bring it closer to your face. It's a picture of you and Patrick from when the two of you first started dancing together. You can't help but notice the youthfulness in your guys' statures, or the genuine happiness in the smiles stretched across your faces as you two shared a laugh over who knows what. 

You remember back then, when the word chemistry didn't mean anything to the two of you; when you were practically strangers; when dancing was something you used to do for fun; when Patrick wasn't in pain.

Tears begin to waver in your eyes and you quickly set the frame back down on the mantle, rushing out the door. You need to make things right.

*****

You swing your car into the open spot beside the curb, shutting the ignition off and kicking your car door open. You get out and slam the door behind you, running around your car and into the apartment complex that was on the other side of town from yours. You storm up the steps to the sixth floor, up the same staircase Patrick had trouble climbing every day, and down the hallway Patrick trudged down every night, falling to his knees halfway down and screaming for Pete to help him.

You skid to a stop in front of the door with 27 printed on it. You raise your hand and pound it against the wood whose paint has been slowly peeling over the years. You knock until the door opens, revealing the person you didn't want to see - Pete. His eyes instantly narrow.

"(Y/N)," He greets coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Pete, I-I need to talk to Patrick," You stutter, "Please."

"Well he's not here, so..." The black-haired, tattooed man who calls himself Patrick's friend informs you.

"What do you mean he's not here?"

"(Y/N)?"

You turn your head and see Patrick standing at the top of the staircase you trekked up no longer than a minute or two ago. His hair is a mess and his cheeks are a bright shade of red. His chest is rising up and down as he tries to catch his breath, the stairs still giving him a hard time.

"Patrick," You breathe, rushing toward him and attacking him with a tight hug.

He grunts from the impact, but in almost the same moment, relaxes and hugs you back. "W-What are you doing here?" He asks you, breaking into a smile you can't see.

"I'm sorry," You apologize, holding him tightly and refusing to let him go.

"For what?"

"Everything." You bury your face into his shoulder, your grip on him growing a little tighter. "I'm a horrible person, Patrick, and...and I'm sorry. I...I just want things to go back to the way they were."

A bit confused and trying to process everything, he replies, "What do you mean?"

You sniffle and lift your head up, meeting his bluish green eyes that looked just like they did the first time you saw them. "Do you remember when we first danced?"

Patrick laughs. "Yeah. We were paired up at that audition because we were the youngest out of the group. But even so, we had everyone's eyes on us and all of the older kids were surprised when we didn't get it. I remember like it was yesterday. Why?"

"Do you remember why we kept dancing?"

"Because we wanted to prove that we were good?" He guesses.

"No, Patrick, we did it because it made us feel good," You correct him, "And...And the more we danced, the less that became our reason. It became about getting the applause, getting the recognition. At least for me. You weren't the one who wanted that, I was. And I dragged you down with me, making you nearly kill yourself." He opens his mouth to interject, but you aren't done. "Patrick, I...I want to feel good again. I want us to feel good again." You grab him by the upper arms and give him a slight shake. "I need us to feel good again, because we're not the same people we used to be."

Your dance partner heaves a sigh, keeping his head tilted down. "Well of course. We're older now, (Y/N)."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm trying to get at, Patrick," You reply, sliding your hands down his arms and entangling your fingers with his, "I-I'm talking about how I've been someone I'm not lately, and-"

"Hey," He cut you off, leaning in and whispering, "Is this because of...you know...what we did today? Because (Y/N)-"

You take in a deep breath. It's time to come clean. "No, Patrick, it's just...I'm the reason you got so sick, and...and if I just told you that you were good - no, that you were perfect - you wouldn't have almost died." Again, Patrick tries to say something, but you're not finished. "I just...I want us to be dance partners, but unless something changes - which...I don't even know where to start - I just...I-I don't think that can happen."

He stares at you for a little while before asking. "What are you trying to say?"

"Can we have one last dance?" You plead, your vision starring to blur and your lip starting to quiver. You've never been so emotional before, or so vulnerable. Maybe you're starting to break down, or maybe you're just coming to terms with what's happened, and what needs to change. But either way, you need to let Patrick go.

He starts to match your appearance, his eyes glistening in the flickering florescent lights illuminating the barren hallway, occupied only by the two of you and Pete who's still standing in the doorway, listening carefully to the conversation and preparing himself to interfere if need be. "You just want one?"

"Just one," You assure him with a nod of your head, "Please?"

To be continued...