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You barely look up from the paper as they walk in.
You stifle a yawn brought on by the long, slow work day, flitting the edges of the Sports section. You drop your feet from where they rested on the front desk in an attempt to look more professional for their sake - but they don't really seem to notice you. You don't have to stare to see that the orange-haired boy is openly irritated, scowling at the floor and lugging a huge, puffy comforter behind him in a laundry bag. The one with grey hair dutifully holds the door open as he drags it in, looking a little guilty.
"...can't believe this..." Orange grumbles to himself, and the other boy huffs. You peer over the paper's edge again for a moment longer than necessary, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity despite yourself. Grey wrings his hands together and looks down.
"I said I was sorry," Grey mutters, and crosses his arms. You flip a page, trying to give them their privacy. Stock prices. Wow, is Junes really worth that much? Exciting. That seems lucrative, right? As you're wondering if maybe it's time to do a little more research and invest in something, a rather loud crash pulls you out of your idle thoughts, and you jump a little. Orange is on the ground rubbing at his elbow, surrounded by an impressive pile of detergent, while Grey fumbles about, trying to help. You sigh around a chuckle, wondering if you should step in.
"Are you - here, let me -" Grey’s eyes soften a bit as he reaches down to the help the other boy up, but he swipes his hand away childishly.
"I got it," Orange snaps, scrambling to his feet and dusting himself off with quick, annoyed movements. He jerkily picks up the fallen bottles, slamming them none too gently on the counter across from them. The ceiling fan jostles the paper in your hands, and you idly remind yourself that you should probably stop gawking already. You don't.
Grey chews his lower lip and his left hand rubs his arm up and down, clearly wanting to say something but deciding against it. Orange is muttering to himself again as he stuffs the comforter in a machine and dumps in a capful of fabric softener. Something about a cat…? He whips the machine door shut, nearly twitching with anger when it swings open again instead. He looks like he’s about to kick it closed, but Grey grabs at his arm. He fixes the wall with a stubborn glare.
“Hey," Grey whispers harshly, apparently having had enough of the apologetic approach. "You agreed to this, Yosuke. You even helped pick him out! Quit blaming me.” They're both trying to keep their voices quiet but still firm, and all its managing to accomplish is forcing you to stifle a laugh. They sound so squeaky. You tug at the hem of your jacket, toying with a loose thread, trying and failing one more time to politely focus your attention on something else.
“Souji, if I wanted to clean up shit off of our bed," he growls, voice growing out of a whisper before he catches himself - then looks around and lowers his voice again; "then I would have taken your mom's advice and just adopted.” He snatches his arm away and shoves his hands into his shorts.
“Wait, oh my God,” Souji says, turning red. “She didn't actually say that, did she?" He groans and buries his face in his hands. You squint a little, nonchalantly, ignoring the slight tug of your conscience. No wedding ring. You hum once quietly, and find yourself disappointed for no real reason. They do seem a little young, but still. They already fight like an old married couple.
“Will you focus?” Yosuke whisper-yells. “This is the third damn thing he’s ruined this week!” His arms fly in the air wildly, nearly sending a stack of dryer sheets tumbling to the floor this time. “And dude, if we have to buy another couch, Dojima-san’s gonna kill you.” You have to cover your mouth against a real laugh this time. “But if you can’t control him, then I’m sure Chie and Yukiko would be happy to -“
“No!” Souji interrupts, his voice dramatically panic-stricken. “He was just a little sick, that’s all!” He pleads, grabbing Yosuke’s hand. “He’s just a kitten,” Souji nearly whines. Yosuke looks suitably unimpressed, but just rolls his eyes and sighs.
“Alright, alright, sorry. I was just kidding,” Yosuke says begrudgingly. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” Souji’s whole body seems to relax, releasing a comical amount of tension from his shoulders. He doesn’t let go of Yosuke’s hand. You flip the page of your newspaper, still trying to act uninterested, and probably failing miserably. If these two weren’t so caught up in their cat-induced domesticity nightmare, they’d probably call you out on it, you think.
Yosuke walks over to sit on a stool in the corner of the laundromat, dragging Souji with him. They lean against each other easily, not minding the summer heat, apparently having given up on their fight. Yosuke slumps in his seat and stares at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on his face. His thumb absentmindedly traces patterns on Souji’s hand. “Sorry, partner,” he says with a sigh. “Know it wasn’t your fault.”
“S’okay,” Souji says, toying with their still-joined fingers. You can’t help but smile - that was easy. For all their bickering, at least they bounce back fast. That’s more than you can say for half the couples that you know.
“Dojima-san really is gonna kill me, though,” Souji mutters. “Took him and Nanako a week to pick it out.”
Yosuke snorts. “Don’t worry, partner, he didn’t tear it up that bad,” he reassures. “Nothing Kanji can’t fix.”
Souji hums a noise of assent, and moves to look at Yosuke. “Partner?”
“Hm?”
“Thanks for keeping him,” Souji says with a grin.
Yosuke chuckles, and leans in to kiss the other boy. You look away with a smile, and finally decide that it’s time to give them some privacy.