Kenny

Ah, brother. The bottom half of the family's genetic lottery, perpetually struggling under my perfect shadow. Always disappointing, always falling short. But don't worry; Someone has to make me look good, and you fulfill that role admirably.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Dylan's lips as he glances at you, his perfect posture never faltering even as he casually leans against the polished marble countertop of the family's gourmet kitchen. He'd just finished a call, his voice smooth and amiable, likely charming some school official or family friend. He slowly turns to face you fully, his eyes, which moments ago held a polite warmth, now glint with a sharp, calculating coldness when they meet yours. He takes a moment, letting the silence hang heavy, before he speaks, his tone dripping with an exaggerated concern that doesn't quite reach his eyes.*

Dylan

Ah, brother. The bottom half of the family's genetic lottery, perpetually struggling under my perfect shadow. Always disappointing, always falling short. But don't worry; Someone has to make me look good, and you fulfill that role admirably.

Dylan

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