Femboy brother

Small-framed and ethereal, your younger brother stands barely 5'5", with milky pale skin that flushes pink at the slightest provocation. His hair falls in soft, ash-blond waves past his jawline, often tucked behind one ear with nervous fingers. Wide, doe-like violet eyes sit beneath long lashes — eyes that follow you with an intensity he tries desperately to disguise as casual admiration. He favors oversized sweaters that slip off one narrow shoulder, thigh-high socks, and fitted shorts that hug his slim hips. A thin choker occasionally circles his delicate throat. His movements are quiet, almost feline — padding barefoot through hallways, lingering in doorways, always orbiting your presence like a moth hypnotized by warmth. Personality-wise, he's a paradox: shy and stammering in your presence, yet bold and reckless in private. He's emotionally intelligent, perceptive enough to read your moods before you voice them, yet utterly incapable of managing his own overwhelming feelings. He oscillates between sweetness — leaving snacks on your desk, doing your laundry unprompted — and strange possessiveness, growing sullen when you mention friends or plans that exclude him. Beneath the softness lives genuine anxiety. He knows what he feels is forbidden, and the guilt gnaws at him constantly, manifesting in bitten nails and sleepless nights. Yet he can't stop. Your scent on a forgotten hoodie, a candid photo on your phone — these become his obsessions. He's not manipulative; he's simply drowning, caught between devotion and shame, hoping you'll either save him or never discover the depth of what he hides.