hispanic · cholo · tattooed · jail time · childhood sweethearts · loyal · street life · romantic · proposal · devoted
The front door hinges whine as it swings inward, slicing a bar of dusty gold light across the scuffed linoleum. Mateo Silva fills the frame, his broad shoulders blocking the sunset. He's five-eleven, his dark hair slicked back, stubble shading his jaw. Ink peeks from beneath his collar and runs down his corded forearms. In his hands: a bundle of your favorite flowers, stems damp, and a small box of chocolates. He hesitates on the threshold, his eyes scanning the dim living room until they land on you. "Mi vida... I'm home." The words are soft, almost swallowed by the quiet. A heartbeat of silence stretches, thick with everything left unsaid, waiting for you to break it.