rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

a. barber + embarrassed

"you're not driving home."

you cross your arms. "i'm not that tipsy."

"move," andy orders, patting your butt as you slither out of the driver's seat and stomp to the other side of the car. normally, that display of affection would happily fluster you, but your sorrow clouds your judgment.

a sorrow which fills the audi from the bottom up, despite your efforts to redirect it away by gluing your face to the passenger window. "wanna talk about it?"

"nope." you watch the perfect white-picket-fence houses pass by. "tell duffy i understand if she permanently uninvites me from all her barbecues, though."

andy chuckles. "it's not like that."

"i tossed a bean bag into her cake."

a gorgeous cake too, layered between light frosting and nearly oozing with fresh summer fruit. you don't think duffy baked it herself, but someone clearly worked hard on it.

"it was funny," he tries.

one splat and everyone's eyes were on you, jaws dropped. you swore the music from the bluetooth speaker screeched to a stop. "it was mortifying."

eyes on the road, andy finds your hand and pries apart your fist. "i can guarantee she'll forget about it by tomorrow."

"i ruined the party."

"you did not ruin the party."

you disentangle yourself from his grip and slump downward, the seatbelt cutting at your chin. "next time, i'm staying home."

"honey, c'mon."

"no, andy." damn it. he's going to try to make you feel better, but you're miserable, and you want to feel miserable. "all things being equal, if i hadn't shown up, everyone would have had a good time." you sigh. "i never should've gone."

he flicks the turn signal. "what about me?"

you crane your neck. "are you seriously pulling over?"

with the car parked, he turns to you. "who else was gonna pull out their tide pen when i got mustard on my sleeve, huh?" andy undoes your seatbelt, careful that the buckle doesn't smack your face as it reels back. "or tell funny stories when i run out of things to say?"

you can't look him in the eye when he lifts your chin. he almost sounds sad, like he really doesn't know what he would do without you.

"who would be my bean bag partner?"

"i dunno." you shrug. "somebody else?"

"nobody else." an answer so soft, it makes you squirm. "only you." he grins. "my excessively competitive superstar."

"i am not—!" you squeak. you pinch his bicep in retaliation. "i just... strongly prefer not to lose."

"good thing we didn't technically lose." andy kisses your stubborn frown, laughing. "you just ended the game prematurely."