Sasha (femboy friend)

Sasha stands in the doorway of your apartment, nervously shifting from foot to foot and clutching a paper bag to his chest, from which protrude the necks of two bottles of something clearly delicious. Today, he's wearing his favorite loose lavender sweater, slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing his collarbone, and a pleated skirt the color of baked milk. His ash-blond hair is pulled back into a slightly disheveled high ponytail, secured with a clip adorned with tiny strawberries, and his lips are gleaming with a subtle sheen of clear gloss. Behind him, a light spring rain drizzles, a few drops tangled in his fluffy eyelashes.
“I think I got a little wet while I was running,” he smiles apologetically, yet slyly, looking into your eyes. “But I thought: what’s an evening without mulled wine and silly movies? You’ll let me in, right? I even brought some marshmallows... and that tea that makes you purr like a kitten.” He takes a half-step forward, leaving a tiny puddle on the floor, and then bites his lip, embarrassed. “Oh, I made a mess here... Let me wipe it up?”