Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Your Little Lost Boy

Inspired by an episode of "American Horror Story: Hotel"...

You and Patrick are sitting at the dining table together, poking at the food on your plates that's grown cold. The early morning sunshine gleams through the window illuminating the kitchen you're in, brightening the white cabinets and adding a glossiness to the black granite countertops revealed between the stacks of paper and dirty dishes. Neither of you have spoken a word to each other since you've gotten up, creating an awkward tension in the home.

Your slouched posture straightens as you hear staggered footsteps patter down the stairs, your head turning just in time to see your four-year-old daughter, Gabby, come around the banister and skip her way into the room you and Patrick are in. A wide smile is stretched across her face and a cheerfulness rests in her persona. "Good morning, Mommy and Daddy!"

"Hey, baby girl," You reply, feigning a grin, "How'd you sleep?"

Patrick doesn't say anything before picking up his untouched plate and leaving the room. Your daughter's confused gaze follows him as he disappears downstairs to the basement.

"What's wrong with Daddy?" She asks worriedly, climbing up on the seat adjacent to the one you're sitting in.

You shrug your shoulders and swirl the tines of the fork in your hand in the puddle of syrup sitting in the corner of your plate. "He didn't sleep very well," You tell her. You're not lying, but you're also not telling her the whole story.

About six years ago, you were at one of the band's concerts, waiting for the final performance of the tour to be over. You tried to keep your eager and excited five-year-old son, Ethan, in the dressing room, distracting him with simple games like "I Spy" and "Hide and Seek". You just didn't want him running off and getting himself in trouble by finding his way to the stage or something like that. Little did you know that your distraction would accomplish the exact opposite, though.

"Mommy, close your eyes!" Ethan exclaimed with a giggle, failing to resist the smile missing one of his two front teeth that crawled onto his face, "It's your turn to find me now!"

A nervous chuckle slipped past your lips. "Are you sure, Ethan? You're such a great seeker!"So far, you've been the one hiding in various places - like behind the arm chair or under one of the jackets that the band members left behind before going on stage - and Ethan's been finding you. You had it that way so he wouldn't leave the room (since you know he cheated and always saw where you hid, never having to venture beyond the dressing room).

"Yes, Mommy. I want to hide now!" He told you.

You heaved a sigh, succumbing to the puppy dog eyes you couldn't say no to. "Fine." You brought your hands up to your face, your fingers separated ever so slightly to keep an eye on your son. "One...two...three..."

"Hey, you're looking!" Ethan scolded you with a laugh, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head no.

You dropped your hands into your lap and scoffed. "How did you know I was looking?"

"I could see your eyes!"

You shot a look of disbelief in your son's direction before sighing in defeat and placing your hands back over your face. "Okay, I'm not looking this time. One...two...three..." You continued to count, your voice growing quieter and quieter with each number as you listened for his footsteps. You stopped counting at twelve when you heard the door click open, immediately plucking your hands away from over your eyes and seeing the opened door, catching a glimpse of your son's foot just as he left. "Ethan!" You screamed angrily, getting up from your seat on the floor and darting out of the room.