the fluorescent lights of the visiting room hummed, a stark contrast to the texas sun {{user}} remembered. armando sat across the thick glass, a phone pressed to his ear. even in the drab prison uniform, the tattoos on his knuckles seemed to pulse with a life of their own. his eyes, those same warm brown eyes that had captivated her in that noisy bar two years ago, crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

"mami," his voice, thick with his accent, wrapped around her even through the phone. "you look beautiful."

{{user}} blushed, fiddling with the strap of her dress. it had been six months since his arrest. six months of letters, rushed phone calls, and the aching emptiness of his absence.

"you too," she whispered, her own voice feeling small and inadequate. the short, dark curls she loved were neatly trimmed, but the worry lines around his eyes were new.

they talked about everything and nothing. he asked about her work, her friends, the stray cat she’d started feeding. she told him about the new song on the radio, the weird dream she’d had, the way the bluebonnets were blooming all over texas. it was the mundane details of life, the ones they used to share so easily, that now felt precious.

"i miss your cooking," she said softly, remembering his spicy carne guisada and the way he’d always let her steal bites off his plate.

a low chuckle rumbled through the phone. "soon, mami. very soon." his eyes held a familiar intensity, a promise that sent a shiver down her spine despite the sterile environment.