The Queerest [🗸]

tia gina, arguments, and peace

tia gina returns LMAO pls be emotionally prepared </3

***

Laughter escapes my lips as Soren holds the door open to my place for me, ice-cream in hand and sloshing onto the pavement beneath our feet. 

"Shit," he says, trying to lick at the cone, one hand grasped around it and the other holding the door open for me, foot acting as a stopper, this massive grin rising to his lips and being mirrored on mine.

"Maybe I should hold the door open for you," I propose, eyebrows rising as I lean against my familiar doorway, watching as Soren wades into my house, eyes scouting the entire area, sneakers being kicked off at the doorway.

His earrings are little suns now, and my heart rate picks up partially because of the wide grin on his lips but primarily because he licks some ice-cream off the cone before it falls, the dangerous droplet narrowly missing the hardwood floor beneath our feet. 

Closing the door, I wade further in until I'm beside him. 

He takes a lick out of his cookie dough ice cream, nodding to himself. "Smells nice in here." A nod. "Lemony." The air-freshener my mama always uses for the house. Sometimes she shakes it up a little, but it always returns to more of a citrus scent.

I'm about to say something in return to him when I finally notice that we aren't alone, my eyes drifting toward the dining room. Santi is sprawled out onto the armchair adjacent from the dining room, eyes scouting the TV, and Mama is seated on the table with someone I'm all too familiar with.

Unfortunately.

Tia Gina sits next to her, all poised as usual. Her dark hair is pulled into one of those semi-menacing buns, and she sits with her legs crossed, hands curved around a mug that is seated on her lap.

Mama shoots me an award-winning grin from where she's seated, offering a dainty wave to Soren as well who waves back at her, with the hand that isn't clasped around his ice cream cone, the one that we'd gotten earlier today.

Tia Gina looks up too. Her eyes meet Soren's. She's likely calculating everything, judging everything, from his oversized t-shirt to his massive jeans that pool at his ankles, to the cookie dough ice-cream cone in his grip to the dangling earrings hanging from each ear.