The Last of the Real Ones || a Patrick Stump AU ||

seven

They hadn't talked in a week. Patrick could still feel Nia's lips pressed against his, the stars stirring and creating solar systems and nebulas. Everything about him still felt like the heavens Nia has studied her whole life. Patrick even imagined what it would be like if the stars had kissed his face. Would it be the same?

Chicago allowed the sun to claim the sky to itself this week. Patrick's mind had been too fuzzy, too blurry from the occurrence that had happened with Nia. His head was a stripped screw and the thoughts of her were the screwdriver.

Patrick heaves a sigh as he tosses on a clean set of clothes from around his room and pockets his essentials (keys, phone, etc.) before going out on a walk, in hopes that it will clear his mind. The late summer heat caresses Patrick's pale skin as he starts his uncharted stroll. It reminds him of the heater in Nia's car on the way back home. His feet ached the day after because of how his shoes reacted to the rain. His mind still replayed the moment she had leaned in and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and plush, even more than he had imagined. They were cold and damp due to the rain, but they also smelled like lemons. Perhaps she uses a citrus perfume. After eleven years of knowing her, Patrick was somewhat disappointed in himself for just now realizing that. He was also disappointed in himself for not kissing her back sooner.

Things would've been different, he thinks to himself. The scenarios played through his head since then. They still do. She wouldn't have felt hurt. She wouldn't have felt ashamed. She would've probably looked at him the way she did before— like he was a dusk sky. Perhaps he was the saturated transition to night. Perhaps he was nothing but a friend and it was all a mistake.

Patrick finds himself at the park. He claims a swing and sways lazily on it as he stares at his phone, debating if he should message Nia. The cursor blinks tauntingly at Patrick, the blank canvas demanding for a message. He was never good with words unless they were the undertone of lyrics. But he couldn't hide behind movie references, no matter how many 80s films the friends had witnessed together. He either had to be honest and blunt, or stay silent and hope for it all to die down.

Patrick forces himself to walk again, knowing exactly where his feet were guiding him to. His stomach churns and twists in knots with each stride along the pavement. He feels his mouth become dry, it feeling like a desert. No amount of water would soothe the feeling. His chest feels tight, but Patrick knows it wasn't asthma. Asthma has a different pressure to it and he would be able to feel himself starting to wheeze. He wasn't wheezing. Patrick was breathing just fine.

He approaches the blue door and stares at it. The realization hits him and his blue eyes widen at the closed portal.

"Patrick, you are so stupid," he mumbles to himself. Patrick's palms start to sweat, his fingers fidgeting at the feeling. He blows a few puffs of air and bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment, trying to shake out his fidgeting actions.

Patrick raps his knuckles against the wooden door, his eyes darting anxiously around his best friend's dwelling. He starts to rock on his feet again to rid of the energy inside of him as he waits impatiently. His head started to buzz with thoughts again, second guessing the entire interaction.

"We haven't talked for a whole week," he reminds himself. "She hates me. She definitely hates me."
"Just a minute!" he hears Nia's voice call from afar, muffled by the door between them.

"She hates me, I don't have to do this. I don't have to do this," he mumbles under his breath as he starts to turn away. Just as his back starts to face the door, the portal opens.

"Patrick?" her voice quizzes. Patrick feels his heart clench at the way his name leaves her lips.
"Nia," he says a little too excitedly, turning quick to face her. His stomach churns even more, twisting into more knots. On top of it all, a riot of butterflies emerge in the organ.