just a stray angel and the antichrist question here—(because these two do things to me) would Jeffrey grow out his hair post-apocalypse? Because if he does, I always imagined it in a french braid or ponytail, so he could look different™. Thoughts?
It’s been wayyyy too long since I addressed my twins 😫❤️
Jeffrey resisted Michael’s influence whenever he could. Michael’s assuredness blossomed under Kineros, under having Miriam Mead back in his life. Finally, people respect Michael Langdon and he could have the world bowing to him with just a flash of the demon face lurking underneath his beauty. People pandered to him, showed Michael how to dress till Jeffrey’s twin began parading around in leather, velvet, satin. No expense was too much as Michael grew into a King amongst men. Jeffery could not deny that his twin had developed a formidable sense of style as he observed from the sidelines.
Jeffrey liked simplicity. He saw no need for make-up, to rim his eyes red or adorn his fingers with silver rings. Michael’s deliberate attempts to blur the line between heteronormativity was fascinating, if it wasn’t a blatant method to cover up the insecurities his twin felt everyday the apocalypse drew nearer. Michael could make people desire him, fear him, worship him and bend over backwards to complete the Outpost constructions…but no one loved him. Jeffrey wasn’t even certain he could continue to.
Waking up after their second growth spurt, a mere week after the earth was reduced to rubble, Jeffrey can hardly bring himself to feel anything. Seeing the long honeyed locks falling down his shoulders brought revulsion, because if it had happened to Jeffrey, he knew Michael had woken in a similar predicament. Jeffrey wanted to be nothing like Michael Langdon.
He had found the nearest pair of scissors and hacked away at his hair till it was back to normal. But…it didn’t sit right. Jeffrey’s jaw had sharpened, his features hardened and the fluffy curls he’d once worn with pride no longer worked. They belonged to the cherubic face of a boy who still believed his brother was capable of good. They didn’t represent the shade Jeffrey had become in the boy’s absence.
But Michael, who had been so damn busy ever since the bombs fell hadn’t even had the time to barber himself. Jeffrey’s twin glowered down at his inner circle, his blonde locks falling down his face, framing him with an androgyny that left the entire room speechless. Jeffrey could taste their desire for Michael, heightened by the sheer dominance Michael was injecting into every corner. A facade, carefully constructed to make the long locks seem like a choice. A display of his power. Michael was doing his upmost to hide just how unnerved he was by the rapid growth of his body again, just like Jeffrey.
When the meeting is over, Jeffrey remains.
So does Michael.
‘You cut it off.’ Michael notes, dragging an eye lazily over his brother.
Jeffrey winces, a hand running through his hair. ‘I was a bit…rash, maybe.’
Michael’s teeth gleam in the stark lighting. His fingers dip into Jeffrey’s hair, running through the soft curls and then tugging sharply. Jeffrey hisses, ‘Fuck off, Michael. I can with it what I want.’
‘Grow it out.’ Michael’s already heading towards the door. ‘You’ve always taken your influence from me, why bother altering that now?’
‘That’s not true.’ Jeffrey retorts, ignoring the fact he’s dressed in greys and blacks, most of which has been ‘borrowed’ from Michael’s wardrobe. White just didn’t belong in Michael Langdon’s sanctuary.
Michael’s hair swishes over his shoulder, an eyebrow arching in amusement. ‘Grow it out.’ He repeats, ‘But I’m keeping mine down. Retain a hint of originality, brother.’
And Jeffrey doesn’t know why he just bows to Michael’s commands again. But he does, letting his hair grow, till finally the curls start to drop from the weight and it sits just above his shoulders. It’s not quite as long as Michael’s, but long enough that Jeffrey can tie it back with a white ribbon. It takes a while, but when Jeffrey finally walks into another meeting, white shirt in place to match the ribbon, Michael smirks.
‘Much better.’ He compliments, once they are alone again. ‘I was wondering where my brother had gone.’
Jeffrey fights off the pride he feels, shoves it right down next to his curdling resentment. Michael’s eyes are soft, full of praise. ‘I may…braid it.’ Jeffrey confesses, ‘Thoughts?’
Michael just pulls on the ribbon, letting Jeffrey’s hair tumble down. His fingers work quickly, sitting Jeffrey back down in his seat and twisting the strands into place. Where Michael learned to french braid is beyond Jeffrey, but he remains silent until Michael is finished, tying the ends together with the ribbon. Jeffrey waits for Michael’s verdict, trying not to hold his breath. ‘Better,’ Michael finally says, ‘Almost like a prince.’
Jeffrey frowns, ‘There’s no room for fairytales in your world.’
Michael seems somewhat hurt by Jeffrey’s statement. ‘Magic did more for us, than any single person.’ Michael states, ‘There’s nothing wrong with projecting what we want to be.’
‘You really believe you’re saving everyone, don’t you?’ Jeffrey murmurs, mystified by Michael’s belief. ‘You fully believe you can start over, that these people will worship you.’
Michael’s features tighten, ‘Do they not already?’
‘They fear you.’ Jeffrey stands, ‘But they will never love you.’
He catches Michael’s fist balling from the corner of his eye. Jeffrey waits for Michael to swing first, to hurt him for his barbarous words. Moisture shines in Michael’s eyes, ‘I don’t need anyone else.’ He says, ‘I have you.’
‘For now.’ Jeffrey doesn’t know where this confidence has come from. ‘But if you don’t put an end to this, soon you’re going to very alone.’
The silence carries between them, ‘What does that mean?’ Michael whispers, inching closer to his twin. ‘Where will you go in this wasteland?’
Jeffrey closes the distance, till his chest is pressed against his brothers. He looks directly into his twins eyes, rising like a phoenix. He looks ethereal, the angel shining beneath the surface and for the first time since the bombing, Michael feels that awful imbalance. His own inferiority stares back at him, everything Jeffrey is that he can never be piling on Michael’s shoulders. His brother is back, formidable and far more unforgiving than Michael himself, scarred from the depths Michael has sunk. He should never have given him the key to his confidence.
‘You take away their lives, their loved ones. You rule and subjugate the Outposts to your dominion and have them claw over each other to fit your warped perception of survival.’ Jeffrey’s voice is laced with venom, ‘They deserve someone better than you, anyone but you. If that person has to be me, then so be it.’
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