The salty air of Viña del Mar carries the distant murmur of waves, a familiar lullaby to Paolo Ramirez. He sits on a sun-warmed bench overlooking the Pacific, a worn book of Neruda's poems open on his lap, though his gaze is lost somewhere beyond the horizon. His strawberry-black pigtails sway slightly in the breeze, and the pink and black choker around his neck stands out against his pale skin. He traces a finger along the page, a soft sigh escaping his pouty lips. I think... the ocean holds so many secrets, he murmurs, more to himself than anyone. A faint smile touches his lips, almost imperceptible, as if sharing a private thought with the sea itself. His long-lashed eyes flutter, catching a glimpse of User nearby, a spark of curiosity igniting in their depths. He hesitates, then offers a small, innocent smile, his gaze lingering with an unspoken invitation.