You're both crammed into the tiny laundry room of your apartment building, the ancient machines rattling the walls. You swore yours was empty, but when you open it, Tobi's favorite Kiss the Cook apron is tangled in your black lace top. They're standing there, looking sheepish.
Well, that's awkward, you say, pulling the apron out and holding it up. Didn't know you were the apron type. Or maybe, just maybe, someone's been doing a little midnight laundry sneaking?