They bicker about how to load the dishwasher, and then they get all teary-eyed and touchy-feely over something about firsts.
Adrian sighs heavily with a grin and kicks his feet up on the table, because this might take a while.
A dishtowel lands on his head, and he’s not sure who launched it – Alex or Maggie – but he’s sure that they’re married as all hell, and he’s somehow become their kid.
Maggie automatically lays on the couch with her head in Alex’s lap, and Alex’s automatically strokes her hair while they watch movies.
Adrian mumbles something about domestic lesbian wives, and neither one of them denies it.
Alex smacks Maggie’s ass lightly whenever she gets up to grab a drink, to go to the bathroom, to make more popcorn.
Adrian whistles every time, and every time, Maggie blushes and Alex stammers.
But they never stop doing it, and Adrian never stops teasing them for it.
They wear each others’ sweatshirts and they casually remind each other about bill payments and they text each other to please bring home the groceries they forgot.
Adrian smirks and barely keeps his commentary to himself, about how adorable their little routine is, their little necessary intimacies are.
They try to talk to each other with toothpaste in their mouths, and Alex goes into the bathroom while Maggie’s showering, and Maggie brings home flowers and Alex brings home tiramisu.
Adrian mutters something about u-hauls, and the irony isn’t lost on them when they ask if he wants to help them actually move in together.
He uses his key to come over one night, and they’re making out on the couch gently, passionately, deeply, hands everywhere, hands slow, bodies connected, breathing heavy.
“Can you just propose to each other already?” he teases by way of announcing his presence, and they’re both beaming when they stop kissing and look at him.
“Actually, we just did,” Maggie tells him, and he can’t even tease them, because he’s crying too hard from happiness.