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Summary
If Dante wanted to be sympathetic, he’d have to acknowledge that Vergil probably hadn’t done a single chore since he was a teen, and the last time Dante had seen him do it was even further back ten years, when they approached housework like any other boys their age would. And maybe Dante had to shoulder some of the blame too, far too eager to let his brother back into his home after that (accidental? He still hasn’t clarified) genocide of his that wiped out an entire city, reprising his performance with the Temen-ni-Gru with an even deadlier, shiny-spankin’ new record. Dante laid down no house rules but the (unspoken) promise that things wouldn’t be like how they were, and Dante thought that would be the only thing they needed.
And sure, if he wanted to be completely raw to the bone about it, maybe, just maybe, it was just a little bit adorable that Vergil, flawlessly precise, uptight Vergil, was a dithering goof when it came to being a normal person.