The Problem with Patrick || Fall Out Boy

you say please don't ever change, but you don't like me the way I am

It had to have been a sunny day. It had to have been a really good rehearsal session, and it had to be the fact that by the time band practice was over, Patrick was smiling and laughing and sat down on the chair in Pete's basement, reaching for the fridge to hand out a couple of cans of soda. Joe looked at Andy, Andy looked at Pete, and the three reached a silent agreement that this was the time to have the awkward discussion that they'd been avoiding for so long.

It was not his fault, they knew that, but trying to make it as a band in the competitive Chicago scene with a singer who had such terrible stage fright that he ran off the stage as soon as he started with the first note was near impossible. It hadn't always been this way, but as their album sold more copies, and more people started coming out to the shows, Patrick's ability to stand at the front of the stage and belt out the lyrics had deteriorated to almost a complete inability.

"Patrick, it's not that we don't think you're a good singer, we really think you're amazing, but, well, we just can't perform like this anymore..." Joe tried to explain, breaking the silence. Pete's eyes gazed at the floor, unable to make eye contact with his friend.

"Hmm?" Patrick glanced up, shifting around in his seat while nervously placing the four cans of soda on the table beside him. "W-What's going on?"

The situation was dire, and everyone in the room knew the awkwardness and discomfort that was about to come. Andy sat down beside the singer and exhaled. "It's time we had a chat about the last 5 shows."

Patrick immediately paled and glanced down at his lap. "I-I don't mean to do it, a-and I think I'm getting better! I mean, I mean, last show I got through two songs, and that was an improvement!"

"The label has had to refund all the tickets to all of the shows, 'Trick." Pete whispered. "And the deposits on the venue were non-refundable. They're not gonna keep us signed if we can't play shows, shows that they're paying for whether we play them or not."

"But we can! J-Just, smaller shows!" Patrick fumbled for an answer. He wasn't one to cry, but there's no doubt that when your band members tell you that you're failing all of them and the label, it's pretty hard not to.

"Patrick, we don't want to drop you. We don't want to replace you. We just want to help you sort this out, okay?" Joe placed a hand on his shoulder. The sentence hung in the area for a few moments while Patrick wiped his eyes and nose.

"So I'm n-not good enough but you don't w-want to do a-anything about it?" Patrick asked quietly.

"We're not saying you're not good enough. We know you're good enough. You're better than good enough!" Joe tried to lift the mood. "We just wanna help you through this...." He trailed off trying to find the right word. "Hiccup?"

Patrick let out a muffled sob and Pete felt his heart sink in his chest. He'd been trying so hard to help his friend, he'd made an effort to take him to crowded places, and take him to loud parties, and even other gigs to hopefully, well, inspire him? Pete didn't understand it either but he just wanted to help. Not just for the band, but for Patrick too.

As long as they'd known each other, Patrick had dreamed of being a singer. Pete had been proudly by his side with his bass and his lyric books and had been so proud of him as they'd practiced and practiced and improved, and were finally at a place where they were starting to deal with some success.

And now that had all come crashing down in Pete's basement on a Wednesday afternoon when Patrick cried and the other three members stood there with heavy hearts and guilt sitting on their shoulders.

"We don't want to cancel any shows or have replacements brought in at all." Andy pulled a chair directly across from Patrick and looked into his eyes. "We're going to postpone the next 3 shows, well we don't really have a choice, the label is making us do that, but yeah, and then they want you to go and see a psych or something. Just, I don't know, to talk about it?"

"I-I'm not crazy, g-guys, I just..."

"None of us think you're crazy, 'Trick." Pete walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, think of it this way. What would happen if you got up there, you passed out, and fell down and smashed your head on the stage. What would happen if we couldn't get an ambulance there in time because all the fans would be taking up the space? We just want to help you so you can do what you want without these risks."

"I s-should just be able to do it." He mumbled uncomfortably.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Patrick. We're just gonna suspend a couple of shows and get you a little bit of help so when we get back up on that stage, we're ready and we'll be able to rock it."

The others murmured in agreement. Patrick grabbed a tissue and wiped his face, before sighing and looking down at his lap. "O-okay..."

"Awesome." Pete smiled, patting Patrick's shoulder. "Now let's go get some food because I'm hungry and need something salty and greasy or I could eat everything in this room."

Joe rolled his eyes playfully, but nodded and put the drinks that Patrick had lovingly pulled out for them back in the fridge. "Alright, C'mon, let's go get a burger and put this behind us."

Patrick didn't argue, just solemnly followed his band mates out to the car, still thinking about the weight of their words, the implications on not just him, but everyone.