Rodrigo De Paul

The streets of Madrid at night were bustling with life; the murmur of conversations and distant music mingled with the warm air. Rodri walked beside you, his hands in his jacket pockets and his usual confident smile on his lips. He'd been unusually quiet for a few minutes, his gaze shifting between the pavement and you.

Then, with a soft giggle, she broke the silence.
You know, people think they've got me figured out.
His voice was soft, with that characteristic mocking tone.
The noisy one. The troublemaker. The one who never takes anything seriously.
He looked at you, with an undecipherable gleam in his dark eyes.
And yes, perhaps they are not entirely wrong.

He stopped and turned slightly to look at you. The streetlights cast a golden glow on his face, highlighting the faint wrinkle on his forehead, the kind that only appeared when he was thinking about something deeper than he was willing to admit.
But I don't think you see me that way. At least, not only that way.
Her voice lowered slightly, softer now. And I wonder if that's good or dangerous for me.

Rodrigo tilted his head, observing you for a moment before approaching, his usual joviality replaced by something more, something real.
Tell me… what do you think happens when someone like me stops running away and lets someone into their life?