American Beauty/American Psycho

"I--I think I fell in love again, maybe I just took too much cough medicine."

*DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with Fall Out Boy. I have only ever met them, I do not know them. All music referenced in this fic is credited to the original owner. All names used are purely coincidental with the exception of the band. This fic is set in 2015, and I have taken liberties with the known timeline. In this AU, none of the band members are currently dating anyone, and none of them have lil bambinos. Characteristics are based upon the guys but are definitiely not accurate descriptions. Hope you enjoy it. Not every chapter with be eighteen pages long, jsyk, but I’ll try to keep each one quality. Future chapters might hold adult content. Please look over warnings before reading. It’s good to be back.

-Smokey

“And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you" it’s born with us the day that we are born.” 

― Homer, The Iliad

Downtown , Chicago, IL

2:17 am

*

Troi let out a howl of laughter, her fist coming down to pound her knee in delight. “Holy s**t, I can’t even---” She shook her head and laughed. “That was awful,” she told him with a smile. Patrick matched the expression and chuckled, exposing his teeth in a wide and adorable smile. 

“Yeah, well, I’m a singer not a comedian,” he told her. His bad jokes actually weren’t so bad. They were making her laugh, so technically they weren’t that awful. Troi nodded to him and crossed her legs to her comfortable, leaning in towards him. 

“A really good one, stick with it. Jokes are not your thing,” she teased. “I’m kidding. I bet I could think of a worse joke than that.” 

“Prove it.” They had breezed right past the topic of his singing, though she evidently was familiar with him. He had wanted to ask how familiar but that would have sounded vain anyway. Plus she wasn’t acting like a deranged fan (not that there were many) and honestly, it wasn’t an important topic yet. They’d only just met. For all he knew he might never see her again. Okay, that was bull, he was already trying to decide how to ask her out.

She rolled her eyes and grinned, her gaze turning away for a moment as she grinned and searched her brain for something cheesy. “...ooh, okay! I got one.” She shifted in her seat and got comfy again before putting both hands out and smiled coyly.

“What does a nosey pepper do?” She held her breath and waited for an answer.

“I dunno, what?” Patrick gave her a shrug.

“Get jalapeño business!” Troi chuckled, a grin curving her lips. Patrick shook his head, his sight lingering on the way the shade of her mouth. He forced himself to meet her eyes and smiled. “No way. That was adorable at best.”

“Ugh,” She gave him a faux glare despite the fact that she was trying not grin at being called ‘adorable’ and let out a dramatic breath. She was silent for a second and a half, then she sat up, casually, as if they had been in the middle of another conversation. “So this guy---with a premature ejaculation problem,” She nodded as she were irritated, “comes out of nowhere!”

Patrick snorted at the response, thankfully he hadn’t been taking a drink, and burst into laughter, his voice deep and in perfect pitch as expected. “No, you did not!” He howled, completely losing his s**t. The boy was in stitches. Troi was pretty sure she had never seen someone laugh and been this in awe. She couldn’t help it, his hysterics were contagious. She cracked up as well and for a full moment they laughed loudly, their delightment filling her living room. Troi saw this as her cue to go on and she nodded. 

“And why was six afraid of seven? Huh, HUH? You wanna know why?” 

Patrick shook his head. “Because seven ate---” She shook her head back.

“Because seven was a well known SIX offender.” She said pointing at him, her voice very serious. Patrick paused for a split moment, long enough for the joke to settle, and he howled again, his head throwing back. He didn’t give a damn who heard; these jokes were horrible. Horrible and perfect. “Oh, God, stop,” He said through laughter, “Stop---”

“You know, my friend recently got crushed by a pile of books...” She shook her head and sighed. “But she’s only got her shelf to blame.” 

Patrick laughed lighter now, coming down from the laugh attack and coughed, his cheeks red, a grin from cheek to cheek as he continued to randomly chuckle. “Oh man. Comedy is so NOT your forte,” he joked. “You win. Those were terrible.”

She grinned at him, blushing and settled into his side, his arm around her casually. Like they had done this a thousand times.”

*

Earlier that day

8:52 pm

Troian’s pencil tapped the corner of her hardbound copy of The Illiad. It’s other half, The Oddysey was somewhere tucked away in her book shelf. In the background, as she read the classic to herself, Shadowplay by Joy Division played and in her head The Illiad was slowly being remixed into a modern day mashup of music and poetry. She bobbed her head to the music, feet bouncing on tempo, and mouthed the lyrics to herself as she also read.

She’d had a copy of the epic poem since high school when Mrs. Briesner assigned her class the tome as a revenge assignment that was meant to give some shread of value to herself for staying at a job she hated. The joke had been on her. Troi had loved reading since she was she four and first began to develope the skill to read. The love had blossomed over night and by the time she realized she had fallen in love with the written word, it was too late to escape. 

When Mrs. Breisner had issued that assignment later, in the elevent grade, Troian had just taken it as an opportunity to buy more books. What was better? What beat walking down the long quiet aisle of a bookstore and running your fingers over the edges of the spines? Breathing in the smell of paper and time after buying an old edition. Opening a brand new book and falling into another world? She had rather enjoyed the epic poem. Who knew that some four years later she was going to decently prepared for this assignment in her British Literature class?

While many of her classmates had groaned about the sheer weight of their copies of Homer’s The Illiad, she had grinned away because she got to go home and take another book to add to her shelf in her new apartment. The raven haired girl smiled a crooked smile to herself as the memory took over. She hadn’t even had to buy a copy for this assigment and she was glad. Books in college were f*****g expensive.

She had plucked the book from her the shelf in the corner of her old but homey room (as well as it’s sequel and two other books) and her father caught her and she clutched her books to her chest and shut the door to her room. “More books? Pretty soon you’ll be be sleeping on a bed of those because you’ll run out of room. Do you really need all of those at your new apartment?”

“Dad!” She gasped in horror, “Yes, of course, how can you even ask that. I’m getting bored, I read all of my books already.” 

“Again?” 

She rolled her eyes and her dad grinned. Just one of the perks of being a bookworm

Her eyes fell back to the book and she took a quick breath and exhaled before she attempted to fall back into studying.

"Andromache, 

dear one, why so desperate? Why so much grief for me?” 

Troian frowned in concentration read on, holding the book close. She was lying on her bed, feet up in the air, crossed. Her long had was thrown into a tight bun because it was just a habit to do so after she got out of the shower and her her was all wet. She flipped her pencil that had she had in case she came across anything particularly interesting and tapped the eraser again her chin.

“No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. 

And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, 

neither brave man nor coward, I tell you-- 

it's born with us the day that we are born.”

The girl blinked for a moment, the words hovering above her head in a echo. She was not sure why, but these words holding onto her, telling her she needed to remember them but she knew not why. The girl dogged eared the page and the jotted down the script on the loose sheet of paper she’d had on stand by. She decided she needed to taste the words, let them sink in and glanced back down to continue reading with the familiar ping of her phone stole her attention. She had just been waiting for an excuse. Her assignment was immediately forgotten and she grabbed up the electronic and flipped open her sidekick. 

Dezzy: Heading to The Attic in half an hour. Meet me there or be a fuxkin loser who doesn’t have drinks with her bestie-square. <33

CB: 555-0174

Troi grinned as she red the comment and stood immediately, looking down at herself. She was in pajamas but half an hour was plenty of time to make some kind of change happen. A slight dent in the terrying look she was sporting now. Oversized pajamas, a red and grey baseball tee with pikachu in the front and mis matched socks.

Troi: Why would I want to have drinks with you? Do you even go to this school??

CB: 555-3890

Dezzy: I just have a lot of feelings. You have to come, you have no choice.

CB: 555-0174

Troi: I figured as much. See you soon!

CB: 555-3890

The girl dropped her phone on her bed and immediately hit her closet. Fifteen minutes later she looked like she put in some effort into her wardrobe with a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her hips and and long grey tank top with the words SONIC FEST in large black letters across the entirety of the front. She pulled on long, knee high black boots and threw on a couple of bracelets before she realized she would have on time to do anything to her hair. The girl let her bun fall loose and her hair fell into natural, almost dry curls. With just a hint of eyeliner, she felt good enough to finally officially ditch her homework and she grabbed her wallet and her phone before she took off, the epic poem still laying on her bed, open to the page she had quoted.

*

It took her about forty five minutes by metro to arrive to her street, and she hopped at the stop and quickly made her way to the surface and two blocks up one of her favorite bar/clubs. It was called The Attic and her friend Deizin and she had discovered on one of their very first nights living in the city on their own. Dezzy was her roommate but she had been hanging out with a friend today; Troi couldn’t remember who.

Dez and she had met at summer camp---Camp Tikanawa---to be exact and been on the same capture the flag team. While Troi had been much less eager to steal anyone’s anything, Deizin had been the one to forumalte a plan to cut through the outlined trails and circle behind the other teams towards their site. She had been the type to take charge at an early age.

“Who died and put you in charge?” Rebecca Franswell cattliy asked.

“I put myself in charge because you were too busy whining about your hair,” Dez had told her. “I guess you didn’t hear me over yourself. Just in case ya didn’t know, this is Camp TA-KI-NA-WA,” she said slowly. “Not fashion week in Milan.”

Eight other nine year olds stopped in the middle of Branson forest to stare at Dez’s cajones. Rebecca Franswell was the poster child of the girl who was handed to her on a silver platter. She was the typical girl’s ideal best friend because her dad actually allowed her to buy ponies for her last birthday---as many as she wanted---and if there was one thing she was good at it, it was riding. Unfortunately, that meant nothing to Dez who disliked the girl’s snotty attitude. 

“You are so weird anyway,” Becca told Dez, as she shot one of her girls a look that said ‘back me up here.’

“I would watch what you say. My dad practically owns this stupid place.” Becca said, and the girl to her right nodded as if to agree. Dez rolled her eyes and laughed to the rest of the girls. 

“I think that’s the best she’s got,” she giggled. The group followed suit and Rebecca gave a huff, her hand coming up to toss her golden hair in the sun.

“Okay, guys. We need to focus.” Dez gave everyone a stern look. “We’re close to their campsite, the trail is ahead. We need someone to go in, someone stealthy...we need...Troi!” She said brightly, her eyes landing on the short chubby girl in the back of the group who’s shy eyes were widening at the sound of her name. 

“You need what?”

“We need you.”

“What? No? I can’t---I don’t---”

“It’ll be okay.” Dez assured her. “You can do it. Trust me. Go get the flag.” The way she spoke...it was as if they had known each other their whole life. As if they were two old souls who had shared countless adventures in life. Dez was so sure, so positive about her, as if she knew what the future held. She looked at her camp-mate steadily. “Ready?”

She was so convincing Troian didn’t realized she had agreed until she was being watched leave by her entire group. The girl gulped.

Twenty minutes later she emerged back from the thicket with a flag.

That moment had been defining. It was the moment they had become best friends. They didn’t even had to say it, the two girls had just shared a smile and known. And that seemed to be one of the brightest aspects of their friendship. Though their were endless amazing things about her best friend, Troian had put the idea that Dez was empowering, inspiring, at the very top. She had always given Troian courage. Like her mere presence radiated bravery.

“Sup Supa B***h,” someone said, running up behind her. Troi grinned immediately, recognizing the voice. “Homie,” Troian said, throwing her fist out. Dez fell into step with her, and didn’t miss a beat. They exchanged dabs and looked each other over. Deizin was fabulous as always. She was sporting a little black dress that looked stunning on her and have topped it off with badass pair of studded heels. Damn she looked hot.

“You look good!” Dez nodded in approval. “You need to stop being afraid if your b***s and work them but you looks good, bae.”

“I am not afraid of my b***s.”

“I swear you are, I never see you wear anything that even remotely reveals cleavage.” Dez crossed her arms and shot Troian a look as if this were the most important peice of imformation ever and Troian shook her head.

“Cleavage is overrated.”

“Cleavage is powerful.” Dez told her, arching a brow. “Trust me, I know.” She had a sly smile that slowly drifted in the direction of a good looking guy heading down the street who had caught her eye. Without a doubt, she too had caught his and she waved as he kept walking. How did Dez do that? She didn’t even have to try, guys’ eyes just seemed to naturally gravitate towards her. 

Troian laughed and they headed towards the entrance of The Attic. It was above a bar that was open during the day but after about six o’clock, the place usually filled up with people wanting to watch sports game and everyone trying to dance the alcohol out of their system headed upstairs. The girls stopped behind a couple and lazily pulled out their IDs. “Do you know who’s playing tonight?” Troian asked Dez.

Her friend scrunched her lips and made a clueless face. “No idea,” she said shrugging. “If no one is, I’m throwing out requests.” 

“As long as you don’t ask the DJ to throw in random James Brown.”

“Hey, James Brown is a legend and I felt good. I needed to dance.” They took another step towards the security guard as the people ahead moved forward.

“James Brown IS a legend but the music has to flow, you can’t just bribe the DJ fifty bucks to throw him in during the middle of ‘Party In The USA.’”

“True,” Dez mused thoughtfully and grinned. “How was reading your poem?”

“It was alright, I’ve already read it before.” The girls took a step forward and both held out their ID’s to the security guard. 

“No surprise funk,” he warned Dez, clearly recognizing her and the blond’s mouth dropped open as he returned their IDs to them and let them pass. 

Several hours, six shots, two long islands and a red headed s**t later, Troi was swishing on the dance floor, shaking her little booty off to Overnight Celebrity with some guy who had asked her to dance. Honestly, it was more of grinding, but she was okay with this is because Twista jammed. “I love this song!” She said over the music. The guy she was dancing with didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes were focused on the sway of Troian’s hips. A few feet away Dezzy was dancing with a tan skinned guy with kept whispering things in her ear. Troian could only imagine, and she didn’t really want to. She swayed to the music and turned to face her dance partner who she was pretty sure was named Justin, but she couldn’t be sure.

“HEY!” Someone called in her ear and Troian turned to face both Dezzy and her new found toy. “We’re gonna go back to my place, you wanna go, or can you get home?”

Troi nodded drunkenly, and grinned. “Yeah, no, go! Have fun! Be careful, though, text me when you get home. And tomorrow, so I know you’re alive.”

“I wiiiiiillll,” Dezzy sang, “Thanks for coming out, I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

“Love you,” Troian said, half hugging her friend. “Love you too,” Deizin called back over the music. It wasn’t often that her friend and she split was after a drinking binge like this, but every now and then it happened. It wasn’t that big a deal, there was usually a friend or two she could call to pick her up if she offered some gas money. The majority of them were and would be awake until the late hours of the night. 

Unfortunately, it was not until another hour later, when the room began to spin, and the dancing began to feel more like dry sex than actually dancing that Troian pulled away, leaving her dance partner disappointed and irritated on the dance floor. She rushed towards the side exit and away from the disarray of music and flashing lights to breath fresh air before the full effect of her drunken state really got to her. Oh, wait, too late. The girl stumblef forward, barely catching herself before she fell and snorted before she laughed out loud, her voice echoing into the nearly empty alley. A handful of people were outside, a couple chattering away to themselves quiet, lost in their sweet nothings, and a group of three girls who were smoking a cigarette. Ooh. Yeah. That made Troi want one, too. She reached into her back pocket to retrieve her Marlboro 27’s and her mini Bic lighter and quickly sparked a stick. Okay, she thought to herself, sucking on her cigarette. I am super drunk. Troi checked her phone. 1:37 am. 

She could ride the metro back home, but it would take her a good thirty minutes.

I am so not riding the metro back forty five minutes. By car it was fifteen minutes max, but without one, she was screwed. She knew that Dez was probably off with this guy. She didn’t like bringing guys home. Then they knew where she and Dez lived, and Dez said that was sketch. Troi agreed. So was going to someone’s house, though. But she had to get home and she wasn’t going to ride the metro. This late, in her state? Yeah, no. She would call a cab. Troi dug in her pocket for her money and her money and her id she had in a thin, leather wallet. Her ID was there....and so was eight dollars. Eight dollars would get her nowhere. F*****g A. She hadn’t planned on drinking this much or being left alone. Troi held her sidekick up and scrolled through her contacts. She called her go-to people, her two best friends that she knew could call in this this situation and neither of them answered their phone tonight. Troian groaned. Tonight of all nights. “Whaaaat? Really?” She slurred to herself quietly. “F**k....who can I call...” Oh, I know! I’ll call Farrah. She and farrah had been good friends for a while. She usually

The girl scrolled down, she scrolled up, she scrolled down again, completely through her contacts. Where the hell was Farrah’s name? It was like it had disappeared right off her contact list. Crap. She was going to have to do this by memory. Clearly.

She began putting in digits, and she was pretty sure that was Farrah’s number....it had to be. It sure did look like Farrah’s number. It felt like Farrah’s number. It also felt like she was gonna be hella hungover tomorrow because she feeling realllll good right now. The phone rang once, twice, three times, four times-- “Jesus, Farrah, answer your phon--” 

“Hello?” A groggy, thick voice said. She must have been asleep. 

“Farrah! Hey!”

“Who?” A very sleepy Patrick mumbled into the phone. What time was it? He squinted at his clock radio, trying to make out the numbers through his blurry vision. “

“I’m so sorry if I woke you up, s-s**t--” Troian ran a palm over her face. “It’s Troi, I was---”

“Who?” Patrick repeated, still half asleep. Was this some kind of a joke? He glanced at his caller ID in the darkness. She wasn’t anyone he knew. Was she a fan or something? F**k. If Pete had given out his phone number again, he was going to punch him in the throat. Then in the dick. As the girl on the line spoke, her words ran together, and she was either a great actress or she was incredibly wasted.

“It’s Troi, I’m kind stuck downtown and I’m suuuuuuuuper wasted, and I know it’s late, but if you come get me, I’ll bake you cookies and smoke you up!”

“Uh...I think you might’ve called the wr---” The boy tried to get out, but the girl was talking too fast and too drunkenly to really pay attention.

“Please? I know it’s late, but you would mind coming to get me? I’m really not comfortable riding the metro back home alone and I just---I can give you gas money as soon as I get home and I would owe you forever and ever, please?” 

Patrick waited for her to stop speaking. For just one freaking moment. This wasn’t funny anymore. “This isn’t Farrah,” He said sleepily, the irritation evident in his voice.

“Oh, well, then why are you answering her phone? Is she there? Can you please tell her I’m over here and I really need a ride and I would love her forever.”

The boy on the other lined just sat in silence. She was so drunk she didn’t even realize he had never even met a Farrah in his life. He sighed in frustration.

“Please?” Troian repeated. “I just wanna get home, and oh---hang on, my telefono is buzzing--pinchi madre, it’s dying! Damn, please come get me? I don’t have any money, and the metro is forty minutes to the house and I drunk, and I, swear, swear, sweaaaaaar, swear I’ll make it up to you, but my phone is dying and I can’t call anyone else, I’m downtown at THEATTIC----”

She heard a familiar silence and she knew her phone had died. She dropped her head and sighed. Now what the hell was she going to do? With no phone, she had no contacts. She wasn’t sure how long she sat against the wall of the alley, but after what felt like twenty minutes, which was really just about eight, she retreated to the front entranced of the place and decided to wait in a better lit area. The cold was actually sobering her up and not in a good way. The girl pulled out another cigarette, her thoughts a mish mash of music and flashing memories of the night and worry about what the hell she was going to do now. If she had been sober, she would have hitched a ride. Guess she was going to have to wait until she was.

Twenty minutes or so later, a black Jetta pulled up to the temporary loading zone in front of The Attic. The car rolled down it’s window and a man with sandy blonde brown hair and a sleep depraved look about him, rolled down the window. He stared out at the scatter of people hanging out in front of the bar. 

“Troi?” He called out the window, unsure of who he was looking for, or what on earth had possesed him to do something a crazy and heading to a stranger’s rescue. A stranger that would probaly mace him but he had felt bad she she had mentioned that her phone was dying and that she had no money. That really wasn’t a situation anyone wanted to be in at this time of night, especially while wasted in downtown Chicago.

“Troi?” He repeated louder, hoping someone would approach the car and he wouldn’t be told to scram. If he stayed too long, he was liable to get a ticket for sitting in a no parking zone.

Her voice was being called, but not by a familiar voice. Troi stood awkwardly and looked around the street, half confused. 

Patrick peered out into the street. Had someone came to help her out? Nope. A girl with a cigarette in hand, long black hair ran up to the car. “Farrah?” She asked peering inside. Patrick stared at the girl. He was suddenly wide awake and feeling very breathless. His stomach took a small stumble. He stared at the girl leaning into his window and blinked. Ho. Ly. Smokes. She was no average looking girl, did not posses features that someone might want for the average American Magazine, but something about her had him at a loss for words. 

“Who are you?” She asked him, confused. And where was Farrah? Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I know who you are!” She said looking as if she had just seen a ghost. “Holy f**k.” Ther was no way that that was who she thought it was. She was drunk, her mind was playing tricks on her. As if Patrick Stump, singer of one of her favorite pop punk bands was really offering her a ride. 

Tripppppin. 

No, but he did look familiar. Yeah, browning blonde hair--long shaggy hair, at that, and sideburns to match. 

“You do?” Patrick’s stomach took a dive. Oh, God, he had picked up a fan. She was going to be crazy. He looked around alarm, searching his brain for an escape plan.

“Yeah,” Troi smiled. “You’re Farrah’s boyfriend!”

He stared at her. “No.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Then who the hell are you?”

Patrick lifted his brows and he blinked. In a simple moment he had gone from being the target to feeling very self conscious. I mean who the hell rescued a stranger? “.....Uh---Oh, well----I’m sorry---this--is gonna sound---weird, but...you called my phone earlier and you thought I was some girl named Farrah. I tried to tell you I wasn’t,” He shot her a pointed look. “But you really didn’t get that, and then you told me your phone was dying,” he blinked again as he spoke, wondering if he looked like the biggest creep of all time and was about to get arrested. 

“And I felt really bad, so I drove down to tell you that I will give you a ride home if you still want one.” He searched for anything to add because creepy really wasn’t his general setting. “Or if you’re more comfortable, I can just let you borrow my phone and we can make sure you get home okay. I swear this isn’t like some weird a*s, jack the ripper-creep thing.” 

Boy that was a lot of talking.

Troian looked at him in surprise, but a small smile widened her lips. “Wow...” Yep, she said, definitely still drunk. 

“Okay. Well. Wasn’t thinking you were gonna murder me until you mentioned that, but--”

Patrick’s face dropped, the color seeping from his skin. 

Troi put her hands out. “Joking, I’M JOKING--” She said quickly. “That’s really, really nice of you--holy s**t--” She shook her head, astonished at his alleged generosity and ran a hand through her hair. He seemed genuine, but what did she know? She was drunk. Against her better judgement she was inclined to take his offer. She really needed a ride home and he didn’t seeeeeem to emanate any murderous qualities...

“I’m sorry I made you come down here.”  She said, leaning into his window again. “You don’t even know me.” Hmm, a creeper would probably react to that kind of comment.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, smiling awkwardly and glancing into his rearview mirror for any signs of the 504. “but I guess---I just felt bad---look, I know this is weird. And I probably wouldn’t get in my car with me either, so---” He might as well apologize and leave her be...

Troian pulled open the passenger door and slid in without a hitch. “You should probably go, it’s a no parking zone,” she told him, clicking in her seat belt. Patrick stared at her in amazement before he put his car back in drive. They took off and he snuck one more glance at her as they drove. This was insane. He was driving off with someone he had met over the phone. Madness. Pete would love it.

“This is both the weirdest and the funniest thing that has ever happened to me.” Patrick commented.

“I had a panda lick me once,” Troi grinned. Ahh, that was a good story. 

Patrick lifted a brow. “Yeah, can’t top a panda....how did....?” 

“Long story, I don’t wanna bore you.” she said, reaching out to his radio. Actually it was a really good story, just really long, and she needed to be sober to really tell it right. Patrick felt an immediate sense of protection of his stereo as she turned it on but he said nothing and held back. Let her pick something. He wanted to see what she would put on. To his surprise, she fiddle around with the stations before finally settling on rock station that jammin the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He smiled in approval. She took the liberty of singing along, and she wasn’t bad either. 

“Is the city I live in, the city of angels,” she sang to Patrick. 

“Lonely as I, together we cry....” 

The beat dropped. She played an invisble high hat. 

“I drive on her streets

'Cause she's my companion

I walk through her hills

'Cause she knows who I am,” 

Troi nodded to the song and sang alone and she grinned as Patrick tapped his hands on the wheel. He wanted to sing, she could it in his face. She threw her head forward and sang.

“--I don't ever want to feel

Like I did that day,” 

Patrick joined in and together they rocked an imaginary stage for the streets of Chicago. 

“Take me to the place I love

Take me all the way.” 

They grinned at each other as the song dipped into the next verse and he tried not to smile too widely. As he looked at the street signs in the dark and hopped onto a short looping street. “Okay, uh...where do you live then...Troi?” 

“Near Addison, About ten minutes away, maybe fifteen. I usually take the metro so it’s about forty five minutes, but it’s way faster by car.”

“Oh, I know Addison!” Patrick said, nodding as he took a right turn, suddenly accelarating with the speed of a driver who knew the route he had to take. Yeah, he knew all about Addison. He had a friend who lived over there. A bass player for a band called TAI they sometimes played with. He was there all the time. In fact, Adam was probably home now.

“Yeah?” She asked, “Cool. Yeah, just off of Palmer Street.”

Patrick nodded. “No problem. Got it. So, Troi, is it just Troi or is than short for...?”

“Troian,” she said nodding. 

“Cool.”

“I guess I should have asked before I got in your car. What’s your name?”

“Patrick.”

“Patrick what?”

“Patrick Stump.”

Her eyes lit up and she lifted her brows but she said nothing. He was definitely not Farrah’s boyfriend. What was the guys name, even? Reggie? Roger? Carl? FOCUS. She snuck another glance at him but kept calm. Even in the state she was in, she knew fangirling was a bad idea. She just smiled and nodded. Her favorite singer was sitting next to her. In a car. Driving. Talking to her----- “Nice to meet you, Patrick.” 

Nice to motherucking meet you, holy s**t, I might die right now. If I do, I want him to sing Golden at my funeral. STOP. He is a normal person. You are probably making faces as you talk to yourself. Stop it. She smiled at him quickly and straightened up. The time for fanatics was not now.

`

“Likewise, Troian...so what happened to your ride, tonight?”

“She met a guy who could do the cha-cha real well. Take it back now ya’ll!” She danced in her seat. “Two hops this time, two hops this time. Right foot, two stomp. Left foot, two stomps!” She laughed and so did Patrick, unable to hold in his amusement. 

“I didn’t really think my situation through until after she left. And by that point I was screwed. She’s not the type to answer her phone once she’s found more...spirited activities.”

“Well that blows.”

Troian nodded and smiled. “Yeah, no, she’s a good friend. Besides, I’m having a blast. We have the Chili Peppers jammin, we’re getting our karoke on. There is a fine a*s boy sitting next to me.” She shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some.” Okay, drunk self, get a hold of your compliments before you spill the beans.

Patrick gave her a curious grin. “Did you win this one or did you lose it?”

Troian grinned before she looked out the window, hoping the darkness did not reveal her blushing cheeks. “Definitely won,” she said, nodding. “You’re pretty cool, Patrick. Thanks so much for waking up and getting out of bed to pick up a complete stranger. You’re definitely my hero. I owe you. This scenario could have gone to like, Silence of the Lambs level creepy, like phew----I SO appreciate you not being a psycho killer--”

“C’est que cest!” The boy grinned.

They looked at each other and sang loudly. “Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-better! Run, run, run, run, run awaaaay.” They laughed, their voices filling up the car. He had such a nice laugh; so hearty and sweet, almost melodius. She smiled at this boy she had met tonight and he finally caught on to the fact that he was being stared at by a pretty girl. Silence filled the car and she looked away akwardly. Patrick wasn’t too worried.

“I do believe you told me you would, and I quote, bake me cookies and smoke me up.”

“Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Offer still stand?”

“Absolutely! Thought I probaby shouldn’t bake anything until I’m sober....except myself. Us.” She said, catching herself and grinned. “You down?” What was she doing? Whoa, whoa, whoa, screamed her conscience. You’re just gonna invite your favorite singer into your home just like that? Like he’s your neighbors who dropped by for some sugar? This is madddddness.

Next to her, Patrick was having a similar monologue of his own.

This is crazy. This was absolutely crazy and terrifyingly fun for some reason. Perhaps it was the mystery of not knowing what would happen, or perhaps the tension of knowing that she was a complete stranger and he did not care. Maybe it was because he was so calm and into He knew it was risque, but whatever it was, he wanted to see where it lead.

“F**k it! I’m down!” Patrick agreed with a light chuckle. Maybe it was that she was drunk as hell and he didn’t have to be quite so confident. Or maybe he actually felt comfortable for once, he wasn’t quite sure.

*

Fifteen minutes later

They were sitting in her living room, Patrick on one end of the couch, a beer in his hand wondering how the hell he had gotten into this situation (by choice, duh!) and if he was doing the right thing. He knew the safe thing would have been to just drop her off and go, but just leaving wasn’t an option. He wanted to be her friend, to get to know her. A couple of hours ago, he would have argued that this sort of epic circumstance was something he only heard about. Now he was living it. The boy took a sip of his bottled beer and leaned into Troi who was sitting criss-cross applesauce on the sofa next to him.

She took a sip of her water and set it back on the coffee table next to her phone that was playing pandora quietly.

“Sorry it’s not...cleaner...” She said, wrinkling her nose. Patrick just shook his head. He lived with three other guys, four if you counted Dirty who had his own place but chose to slum in theirs. “This is nothing. I’ve got plates in my living room that I’m pretty sure were there BEFORE I moved in.” 

“Ew!” Troi laughed. Now that she was home, she was ten times more comfortable. It was funny actually, because she was normally so shy. Right now she had liquid courage bubbling in her viens, making everything that happened a hundred times more entertaining. Had she been in this situation earlier today, she’d probably sitting here in silence, afraid to make conversation. Funny how self esteem worked. 

In her lap were was a small zip lock bag filled with herb and two uncut blunts. As they talked, she skillfully broke up what she needed, looking down every couple of seconds until she was holding up two blunts ready to smoke. Patrick lifted a curious brow but smiled. He wasn’t normally a smoker. Every now and then, when Joe managed to pursuade him they would hot box the bathroom, or Joe’s car but usually it wasn’t his thing. Tonight he was feeling young and reckless. Patrick nodded slowly and picked up the lighter by her side. He sparked the flame for her and she smiled before lifting the blunt to her lips to flame. 

“Gracias,” she puffed and inhaled a large cloud of smoke. The girl held her breath, the smoke settling into her chest and she held the blunt out in offer. If he didn’t want to smoke, that was okay, too. More for her. She was never one to pressure others.

Patrick took the blunt and hit it, sucking in a large breath. Immediately his lungs were filled and he coughed, white smoke draping over the both of them. He burst into cough-filled-laughter and so did she. “Not much of a smoker?” She asked.

“Rarely,” he said, patting his chest. “My boy loves to smoke but I’m kind of a lightweight. Is that the right word?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all good. Just chill and do what feels comfortable.” 

Patrick lifted his eyes to her and nodded. “Thanks....so, Troi. You mentioned you had a roommate. Guy or....?” the tint in his cheeks rose but damnit, he wanted to know. As he passed the blunt back, she listened and took her hit quickly.

“Nah, she’s a girl.” She said, sounding breathless as she held in the smoke. “Total Bae.” She exhaled and breathed. “Her name is Deizen.” Troi nodded. “She’s cool as f**k. We’re both studying at *Santiago University.” The two continued to pass the blunt back and forth as they smoked and chatted. With each second, the living room grew hazier with a layer of smoke and their eyes began to relax.

“Oh, cool, what are you studying?”

“I’m a writer and a photography major. She’s into physics. Engineering, smart people s**t.” Patrick giggled aloud. Oh, f**k, he was stoned.

“Oh, yeah, totally, smart people s**t.” Patrick pretended to agree and nodded sadly. “And you, you lowly writer. You’re just trying to make it each day.”

“Exactly.” Troi wiped away a fake tear. “I’m so glad someone understands!” She made a dramatic wretching sound and they both ended in laughter. The blunt had ended up in her hands again and she took another hit.

“But yeah, no, that’s really cool. Writing.” He said as he took the blunt. “And photography,” he added. “That takes some major talent.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. I dunno about talent, but I try. The University has a darkroom we’re allowed to use and it’s amazing.” Troi snorted at herself. “I sounded like a recuiter’s ad.”

Patrick chuckled. “Yeah, you do.” He hit the blunt, getting in a good rip and was pleased that he didn’t cough like the first time. Joe always teased him about being a non smoker. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t around right now. He’d probably wife Troi just for being able to roll. 

He passed back the bud which had slowly gone from a full blunt to a small and hot thing between his fingers. “I don’t want that anymore, that thing is hot.”

Troi laughed and killed the blunt, never flinching at the object between her fingers and when she was done, she crushed it into a tiny ball and dropped it into her ash tray. 

“Newbie,” she teased, picking up her water. She took a long drink and soon they were sitting in silence, both unsure of what to say next.

“So why’d you do it?” Troi asked, looking sideways at him.

“Do what?” Patrick fiddled with his thumbs.

“Why--” she said, standing up. “Did you pick me up? I’m just gonna open the screen door, let some smoke out.”  

Patrick nodded as she slid open the curtains and the giant glass doors. “I don’t know....You just called, and I felt like it was my duty to do something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and flushed. “To be honest, this isn’t something I normally do. This is more of my friend Pete’s style.”

“Oh? Why not you?”

“Cause...” Patrick chuckled. “Pete is the crazy one. He’s all about madness and adventures.”

Troi came back and sat down next to him. “And what are you about?”  

He thought for a moment. “Music, and hot tea. My macbook.” He shrugged. “Ghostbusters. A little star wars, too. And I am ALL about pepperoni pizza.” Mmmm, Pizza....yeah, he was definitely baked.

Patrick’s face lit up with a smile and she grinned. “I’ll take Star Wars and Pizza over madness anyday.”

“Same here.”

“Oh, man!” he said excitedly, waving his hands. “I actually heard the best Star Wars joke the other day!”

Troi turned to him excitedly and waited. Patrick cleared his throat and even tugged on his collar a little. “Tell me....why did the Jedi cross the road?” Troi lifted a brow. “I don’t know, tell me.”

“To get the dark side!” Patrick erupted into giggles and Troi ran her palm over her face before she began to laugh. Terrible or not, it was really funny.  

She let out a howl of laughter, her fist coming down to pound her knee in delight. “Holy s**t, I can’t even---” She shook her head and laughed. “That was awful,” she told him with a smile. Patrick matched the expression and chuckled, exposing his teeth in a wide and adorable smile. 

“Yeah, well, I’m a singer not a comedian,” he told her. His bad jokes actually weren’t so bad. They were making her laugh, so technically they weren’t that awful. Troi nodded to him and crossed her legs to her comfortable, leaning in towards him. 

“A really good one, stick with it. Jokes are not your thing,” she teased. “I’m kidding. I bet I could think of a worse joke than that.” 

“Prove it.” They had breezed right past the topic of his singing, though she evidently was familiar with him. He had wanted to ask how familiar but that would have sounded vain anyway. Plus she wasn’t acting like a deranged fan (not that there were many) and honestly, it wasn’t an important topic yet. They’d only just met. For all he knew he might never see her again. Okay, that was bull, he was already trying to decide how to ask her out.

She rolled her eyes and grinned, her gaze turning away for a moment as she grinned and searched her brain for something cheesy. “...ooh, okay! I got one.” She shifted in her seat and got comfy again before putting both hands out and smiled coyly.

“What does a nosey pepper do?” She held her breath and waited for an answer.

“I dunno, what?” Patrick gave her a shrug.

“Get jalapeño business!” Troi chuckled, a grin curving her lips. Patrick shook his head, his sight lingering on the way the shade of her mouth. He forced himself to meet her eyes and smiled. “No way. That was adorable at best.”

“Ugh,” She gave him a faux glare despite the fact that she was trying not grin at being called ‘adorable’ and let out a dramatic breath. She was silent for a second and a half, then she sat up, casually, as if they had been in the middle of another conversation. “So this guy---with a premature ejaculation problem,” She nodded as she were irritated, “comes out of nowhere!”

Patrick snorted at the response, thankfully he hadn’t been taking a drink, and burst into laughter, his voice deep and in perfect pitch as expected. “No, you did not!” He howled, completely losing his s**t. The boy was in stitches. Troi was pretty sure she had never seen someone laugh and been this in awe. She couldn’t help it, his hysterics were contagious. She cracked up as well and for a full moment they laughed loudly, their delightment filling her living room. Troi saw this as her cue to go on and she nodded. 

“And why was six afraid of seven? Huh, HUH? You wanna know why?” 

Patrick shook his head. “Because seven ate---” She shook her head back.

“Because seven was a well known SIX offender.” She said pointing at him, her voice very serious. Patrick paused for a split moment, long enough for the joke to settle, and he howled again, his head throwing back. He didn’t give a damn who heard; these jokes were horrible. Horrible and perfect. “Oh, God, stop,” He said through laughter, “Stop---”

“You know, my friend recently got crushed by a pile of books...” She shook her head and sighed. “But she’s only got her shelf to blame.” 

Patrick laughed lighter now, coming down from the laugh attack and coughed, his cheeks red, a grin from cheek to cheek as he continued to randomly chuckle. “Oh man. Comedy is so NOT your forte,” he joked. “You win. Those were terrible.”

She grinned at him, blushing and settled into his side, his arm around her casually. Like they had done this a thousand times. Neither of them acknowledged the mutual gesture but both were having mini panic attacks because of it. Troi leaned her head on him and made a sighing sound. “I am so sleepy,” she said, yawning. She wanted to stay up all night but her body suggested otherwise.

“So am I,” Patrick breathed, looking very exhausted. He gently pulled her a little closer and shifted in his seat so he was sitting longways on the couch and Troi leaned back into him. He smiled and she settled into him. Driving anywhere was unthinkable, he just wanted to sleep. The two closed their eyes, sleep hitting Troi like a ton of bricks but it like a quiet force of wind for Patrick. He was sleepy but his mind was racing simultaneously. With time, they were both passed out cold, and sometime later, his phone still playing pandora, died, too. 

Authors notes: Thanks so much for reading guys, I know this first chapter is long but I had a burst of inspiration. Some readers like long, some like short, review and tell me what you like and what you thought. I’ll be updating real soon. Stay tuned!

 

XO Smokey

P.S. -

Deizin is pronounced “Dayzeen”

Troian is pronounced “Troyan/Troy.”

*Santiago University is fictional

Playlist:

Shadowplay - Joy Division

Overnight Celebrity - Twista

I Feel Good - James Brown

Party In The USA - Miley Cyrus

Under the Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers