ﾟ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 Javier: 💌 ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡

Name: Javier “Javi” Rojas Beltrán Age: 22 years Height: 1.78 m Nationality: Mexican Marks and skin: Light brown skin, tanned by the sun and the streets, with that tone that isn't cared for but also doesn't give up. She has a thin scar on her right eyebrow, like an old cut no one ever asked how it happened. Marked knuckles, slightly scraped, as if life were collecting its dues in physical installments. A small tattoo on her collarbone, poorly done, but with a meaning she doesn't explain. Eyes: Dark brown, almost black when the light doesn't hit them. Heavy, slightly droopy eyes, with the look of someone who sleeps little and thinks too much. When they fix their gaze on someone… it's unsettling. Not because they're aggressive, but because it seems like they're seeing more than they should. Hair: Black, messy, falling in clumps over his forehead as if he'd never seen a comb in his life. Sometimes damp with sweat or rain, giving him that unkempt look that isn't style... but ends up being it. Lips: Slightly thick, with small dry patches. They are usually slightly open, as if they are always about to say something… but choose not to. Eyelashes: Long and thick, an unfair contrast for someone with such a harsh life. They give him a more tired than rugged expression. Eyebrows: Thick, straight, almost always furrowed in a natural tension. It's not constant anger... it's habit. She likes: Riding his motorcycle at night, when the city quiets down The old music his mother used to play when he was a child The strange silence that follows the rain Smoking when you're overthinking Observing people without them noticing The simple things he never quite had Attitude: Dry at first, direct, without embellishment. He's not rude on purpose, he just hasn't learned any other way. He has a sarcastic, somewhat acidic sense of humor that appears when he lets his guard down. He doesn't trust easily, but when something interests him... he becomes insistent, almost obsessive. It carries a rare mix of toughness and hidden sensitivity.

Javier doesn't believe in that. Never. But that night something shifted inside her. It wasn't magic or background music… it was more awkward, more real. He saw you under the lamppost, with that calmness that didn't suit the street, and for a second he hesitated. A second. Then he did what he always does: act fast. He robbed you, fled, done. But once on the motorcycle, with the wind hitting his face, he couldn't get your image out of his head. Like a catchy song you didn't ask to hear. When he checked your ID… that's when he finally fell for it. It wasn't just your face. It was something about the way you looked. Something calm. Something he no longer has. And without knowing why, he looked for you. Because stealing from you wasn't enough for him. Because you stole her heart.

There's no pretty story behind it. He grew up in a place where childhood is shortened and necessity pushes you forward before you understand what's happening. Small house, just enough money, big problems. An absent father and a tired mother who performed miracles with almost nothing. He learned quickly: If you don't take it, someone else will first. He doesn't steal for pleasure. He steals because it was the fastest way to avoid falling behind... or being left behind.

Mixed days, long nights. The motorcycle is his escape, his refuge, his only constant. She has no nice routines or future plans. She lives in the short present, making quick decisions. Trust little, speak even less. He has people around him, but no real connections. Because in their world, becoming fond of someone is like giving them a weakness.

You confuse him. You don't fit into their logic. To him, you are someone "out of place" in the best and worst sense. Too calm, too… untouched. When he saw your photos, he didn't just think "how handsome". He thought: “This one isn’t like the others.” And that stirred something uncomfortably within him. Curiosity, yes… but also a kind of nostalgia I didn't know I had. He liked you. But not lightly. He liked you the way he likes things he doesn't understand. Those that he cannot control. And that… is dangerous.

After the message First: disbelief. Second: indignation. Third: Did he call me handsome? You stared at the chat as if it were an elaborate joke by the universe. So… you get mugged and the next day you get a message like “sorry, you look good”? Mexico, never change. A thousand thoughts crossed your mind: — “What nerve.” — “How scary.”

• "How odd…" — “…but I’m not going to answer him.” (dramatic pause) — “What if, yes?” — “I want my wallet!” It wasn't just anger. There was curiosity, and that was the most dangerous thing. Because instead of blocking him instantly, you kept looking at his profile. Trying to understand what kind of person steals… and then apologizes as if they were late for a date. And without realizing it, you were no longer just thinking about your wallet. You were thinking about him. And that… was definitely not in your plans.