Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Die For Me

Based off of "American Horror Story: Murder House," credit goes to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk for the dialogue I've included/altered slightly...

"I hate you!" You scream at the man you thought loved you, scrambling down the sidewalk coming from your house. Not too far in front of him is the whore you caught him in the act with. Both of them are struggling to keep their clothes from falling down, the slut's dress straps hanging on her upper arms and your now ex-boyfriend's pants hanging by his knees. 

"So don't even think about coming back!" You tack on before slamming your front door shut and falling against it, letting out a frustrated sigh and sliding down to the floor.

"I don't get it," Someone else mutters, attracting your attention to the left and seeing the one person in your life who's proven to be different from the rest. He's leaning against the threshold between the foyer and your living room, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes narrowed. "Why do you keep bringing all these assholes into your life, knowing you have me and that I would never do that to you?"

"Because you're not real, Patrick," You answer him, rolling your eyes and looking the other way.

You listen to his footsteps as they travel across the old wooden floors, and feel his presence as he lowers himself on the ground beside you. "You know I don't like it when you say that. It's not true."

"And you know I don't like when you act like you're still around," You remind him, keeping your gaze on the vase on the mantle of the dining room to your right so you don't have to look into his eyes. His gaze is like kryptonite to you - it's your weakness. "You told me everything, remember?"

"I didn't want to lie to you anymore," He justifies his confession, his eyes locked on you, "I thought you understood."

You remain silent, biting your lip and twiddling your thumbs in your lap. 

Growing annoyed with the cold shoulder you're giving him, he brings his hands up and grabs your chin, demanding your attention as he turns your head towards him. "I'm not like them, (Y/N)," He tells you, "I can make you feel like none of them have ever made you feel before."

You shake your head, wrapping your hand around his and pouting your lips out ever so slightly. "You're right about one thing." The sympathetic expression on your face evolves into one of disgust and you throw his hand down into his lap, rising to your feet so that you're towering over him, "You're not like them. You're a murderer."

"I was helping them!" He exclaims angrily, jumping to his feet and following you into your kitchen where you pull open the fridge and extract a bottle of wine. 

"Sure, Patrick, whatever you want to say."

"It's a filthy world we live, (Y/N)," He continues to say, walking up to the other side of the counter and gripping onto the edge, "I helped to take them away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that run through the streets. I helped to take them to somewhere clean."

"You're insane," You mutter, spinning around and setting the bottle down on the island so forcefully it breaks, the wine flowing onto the counter and splattering over your shirt. You panic, retracting your hand from the glass neck still in the palm of your hand and stepping back from the counter, staring in shock at the mess you've made.

Patrick chuckles, the corner of his lip perking upward into a smirk. "Yes, I'm the insane one."

Your eyes flick upward, finally meeting his gaze after so long. There's a darkness in those bluish green orbs that prevents you from accepting the love he wants to give you, the love he promises will make you happy after having to deal with so much pain. "What do you want me to say, Patrick? There's documents proving it. There's newspaper articles, blogs about you on the internet. Your story's everywhere!"

"And?" He proposes, rounding the island and snatching the towel draped over the handle of the oven. He rejoins your side, causing you to take another step back away from him, and heaves a sigh. He drops the towel over crimson red puddle spreading on the marble countertop. "I'm not the same person as I was back then. I've changed. I've grown up."

"The only thing you've done is overstayed your welcome," You growl, leaving the room.

"YOU'RE LYING!" Patrick yells, running after you and pushing you into the foyer wall. You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, having no choice but to look into his eyes and listen as he says, much more calmly, "Something's changed in you, (Y/N). Towards me. You're distant, cold, and I don't know what I've done."

"Get your hands off of me, Patrick," You whisper, tears filling your eyes.

He follows your request, taking one step back from you. You peel yourself away from the wall, but stay in place, afraid if you try to leave he'll just catch you once more.

"Did I hurt you? Because I'd do anything for you, (Y/N), but I wouldn't hurt you," He mutters, matching your sad expression, "For fuck's sake, I brought you back from the dead. What former boy toy of yours can say that?"

"I didn't want to be brought back!" You snap, lunging forward and shoving him back. 

He stumbles over his feet, falling back into one of the French doors that you've never seen closed. 

"I wanted to be with you, Patrick," You admit, stalking towards him like he was your prey, "I loved you; I have ever since I moved into this goddamn house. And I was ready to stop falling for people who didn't feel the same way I felt about them. That's why I took those pills." You jab your finger into his chest. "But then you found me, right as I was about to die. You dragged me out of my room and into the bathroom, sticking your fingers in my mouth and-"

"I know what I did!" He cuts you short, swatting your finger away from his shirt. He lets out a shaky breath and hangs his head, mumbling, "You don't need to remind me." 

You back away from him and fold your arms over your chest. "I died for you, Patrick, just like you wanted me to."

"You're doing it wrong," Someone comments as you marvel over the red line spreading across your arm. You slowly look up in the mirror and see a stranger in the doorway, with messy blonde hair, pink lips curled up into a smirk, and arms hiding the words printed on his t-shirt. Frightened, you drop the razor blade in between your index finger and thumb and turn around to face him. "If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically. They can't stitch that up."

"How'd you get in here?" You ask, your heart pounding against your chest.

His bluish green eyes travel down to the cuts on your arms. "If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door."

"I never wanted you to kill yourself!" He cries angrily, shortening the distance between you and him and gripping your upper arms to give you a slight shake, "You were all I wanted. You were all I had."

Your vision blurs, making it hard to see him. "If you wanted me, why you'd bring me back?" You croak, "I was dead, like you. I could finally be with you, away from the filthy world you hate so much."

"But I never asked you to do that, (Y/N)."

You move your hands down to his, intertwining your fingers and smiling. "You didn't have to."