rodrikstark's headcanons (part 5)

a. pugliese + folding laundry

slap slap slap slap.

pug sighs, placing this easy four-count rhythm exactly in time with the music playing in the background. he got the idea to buy this plastic t-shirt folder from a college friend who worked retail, and ever since, he's been grateful for the opportunity to expedite such an unbearable chore.

although, today, there's a bit of a stutter to the beat. he sorts most of his shirts into their respective stacks at the foot of the bed, but the rest go to you.

slap slap slap slap.

you're sitting cute, right in the middle of his still-warm laundry pile, humming to yourself. whatever you're handed, you carefully roll into neat little logs, which get crammed into the empty spaces of his suitcase, alongside his work clothes and oxfords.

"pug?"

"yeah?"

slap slap slap slap.

this time, you don't take the sweatshirt he passes your way. you take his hand. "i just realized how much i'm gonna miss you."

he grins, and allows you to steer him onto the bed, him kneeling between your legs, your head haloed by a bunch of mismatched socks. you pout up at him.

"i'm gonna miss you, too, baby." pug presses the last word to the bridge of your nose, but just barely. he's found that the tinier the kiss, the bigger your smile. "but it's only a few days."

"and a few time zones," you mutter.

"didn't you say last week that you were looking forward to having this big bed all to yourself?"

he moves to yank away the clothes digging at your back, but you only arch into him more, urging him to catch the soft curve of your spine in his two hands.

he's very, very distracted now, but still manages to tease you. "eating whatever you want, whenever you want?"

"i take it back," you laugh, tugging at his hair while he lands a kiss on your sternum. "i take it all back, i was just kidding, pug, please don't go."

he doesn't want to leave in the first place, but since holliway doesn't feel like traveling to new york to meet clients in the middle of winter, he has to step up.

"i'll call you every night before i go to sleep." a warm assurance he tucks into your skin.

"and when you wake up," you whisper, sneaking your fingertips under his collar.

he chuckles. "you wanna be woken up that early?"

it takes you a second to do the math. "wait, no—pug." you squirm, but he doesn't let up. "no, i'll call you, okay? in the mornings."

"promise?"

half of his once-clean laundry is on the floor by now, and he needs to finish packing for his flight, but it can all wait. you hook your ankles behind his back. "promise."