[ exo : imitations ]

[takenaka]

imitations
fandom exo
pairing kaiyeol
style one-shot
length 2177
mama/exodus/superpowers!au, where they used to have powers and now they don't



"You should take better care of yourself."

Chanyeol fussed over him. Chanyeol always have fussed over him, which is a little hypocritical, really, considering how Chanyeol hardly took care of himself.

Chanyeol always argued that it was different and Jongin conceded that it was different, in the same way freezing to death was different from burning to death.

The method might be opposite but the result would still be a termination of your heartbeats.

Jongin watched the smoke from Chanyeol's cigarette fade into the starless night.

Cigarettes. That was the closest Chanyeol had to fire now, except fire don't cause cancer and don't cost a fortune a pack.

Jongin thought his way of dying was better. Certainly, he thought, it was more beautiful.

Jongin danced. He danced till he forgot his back was in pain and he ignored his feet were blistered. He danced from morning till morning again.

It was the closest he had to disappearing.

"Fuck, I miss it," Chanyeol said. "I miss my fire."

And I do too, Jongin wanted to say.

But he didn't, because the fire he missed wasn't quite the same fire Chanyeol missed.





It all started three months ago.

Or perhaps it was better to say that it all ended three months ago.

One imagine a world altering event would happen with a bang or maybe two bangs, but it didn't. It happened like sleep, in that it quietly happened and when you woke up you can't figure out exactly how it did.

It happened in their sleep, and when they woke up they realised they were weak.

Chanyeol no longer had his fire.

And Jongin could no longer teleport at will.

It was strange really, waking up cold because Chanyeol's body no longer had the heat it did that let them not pay their heating bills even in the coldest days of mid-January.

It was strange to wake up to Chanyeol throwing things off from the table in desperation for something half-asleep Jongin didn't get immediately.

But when he did get it the feeling came quickly and suddenly and sank into him like the way he would imagine a knife would plunging into his chest.

Except worse.

Jongin felt trapped.

He knew he no longer could disappear and appear somewhere else. He knew his body was bound to this floor of this flat now and if he ever wanted to leave he would have to do it one step at a time.

And he knew why Chanyeol was angry. He knew why Chanyeol was shaking.

Jongin understood that for the first time in his life, Chanyeol was cold.





The electricity was gone right away. Those who used to work on providing power no longer could.

They were working on it, Jongdae, who worked at the power plant told them. His hands were bandaged and his eyes tired.

No doubt, Jongdae was working on it.

"Take better care of yourself," Chanyeol told Jongdae over a cup of water, because ever since they had to make tea on the gas stove with a pan and those clicker to start the flame, their tea somehow never tasted right again.

It was funny to hear Chanyeol said that to Jongdae, because Jongin knew better than anyone of the burns on Chanyeol's hand that came from trying to capture flames and failing.




They tried to fly.

They all tried to recover a semblance of what they used to be, but those who used to fly took it to new heights, literally.

They jumped. From tall buildings made of glass.

They hoped to fly.

But none did.

It made the morning news, which by this point consisted of gossips passed around among friends and neighbours.

For a second Jongin sort of admired how they were able to jump, even if in the end he found it silly after all. He knew no one of those who tried to fly and when he read a list of names, all he saw was letters awkwardly strung together to make unfamiliar words.

He brought flowers anyway, to the site of the incident. Wilted things from the florist whose colours weren't quite as it should anymore, but it was all he could afford to spare a change for and all the florist had left in stock.

His feet walked on the grounds where the body were supposedly found. It was filled with flowers now and he wasn't sure if it had been someone's job to clean it up or had someone's unfortunate job to clean it all up.

"Welcome back," Chanyeol greeted him with a smile when he got back.

Yet he could see that Chanyeol was a mess again, messy hair and burnt hands and skin red as he rubbed them, desperate for friction and warmth.

Chanyeol had been a mess since then, and a week later it didn't seem any better.

Jongin was doing better, maybe.

Jongin was doing better, it seemed, to everyone else. Jongdae told him to take care of Chanyeol because he was the stronger one, but Jongin wasn't sure if that was true.

He combed his fingers through Chanyeol's hair and watched as Chanyeol smiled against the heat of Jongin's skin against his.

It was strange, being warmer than Chanyeol.

But this was where he could be.

This was where he was to stay.

It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go to.





He didn't know how to go to anywhere, anyway.

It was the first day of February when Chanyeol took up smoking. Cigarettes. Chanyeol used to hate them, used to tape cigarette cases shut with duct tape to help his friends quit. Used to frown when people smoked them in public places.

But when Chanyeol puffed out his cigarette smokes, Jongin almost thought that everything was back as it was, but when they kissed Chanyeol tasted like nicotine and Jongin remembered that this was their reality now.

They were faring better than most people, and Jongin knew that.

Everyone was telling Jongin that. How they were doing so, so, well.

And Jongin knew in a way they were, with the roof over their heads and the government jobs they still have.

When electricity returned, as they dug out some relic of a time when electricity was generated without needing people with that type of power, they could even afford an hour or two a day of it.

They were lucky, they were told. Again and again and again.

Jongin watched as the smoke rise out of Chanyeol and into the sky from their small balcony.

Below them the city was dark.





Like everyone else they used to talk about leaving everything behind. Their jobs at the government, their flat, the city with high rise buildings trapping everyone inside.

It used to feel like it would be so very easy to Jongin. Pack up their bags and in a blink they would be gone.

It didn't feel easy anymore.

Nowadays they spend a lot of time in bed, because they could stack their duvet and use one of those lights they charge whenever they do have electricity.

Jongin found out he didn't quite hate that. Kisses that tasted like cheap cigarettes under a pile of duvet, as it turned out, wasn't the most awful thing. Chanyeol was calmer since he started smoking, like he found some sort of substitute, poor as it was.

For Jongin, he liked how in the darkness he could feel the outline of Chanyeol's body better than ever before.

Jongin traced lines over it, pretending he was drawing the map that would take him to somewhere new.





It was valentine when Jongin started dancing again. At first it was with Chanyeol, because valentine was supposed to be a time for lovers even at a time like this.

Especially at a time like this, because Jongin was never a huge fan of valentine before this. He wasn't a fan of valentine when there were still chocolates to give and silly bear mascots holding a plush heart that looked nothing like an actual heart.

"Let's go dancing," Jongin mused aloud when they met in front of the municipal office after work.

"All the clubs are closed," Chanyeol laughed. He had gotten Jongin flowers as he always had, but the flowers, like the one Jongin left at the site where people failed to fly were wilted and old. Chanyeol looked apologetic when he gave them to Jongin, but Jongin took them anyway even though by the time he held it close to his chest the flowers smelled like Chanyeol's brand of cheap cigarette.

"We can go somewhere else."

"There won't be music," Chanyeol said.

"We'll hum," Jongin insisted. "Or rap, if you prefer that."

Chanyeol conceded, because he always had when Jongin wanted to do something.

And this time, Jongin wanted to dance, even if it had to be to silence in the in the darkness of their flat.





“What were you dancing to?”

Chanyeol got back later than Jongin that day, when it was late February and the days were slightly warmer and slightly longer. He went to the grocery and brought back with him canned soup to add to their supply and another packet of cigarette to add to his.

Jongin shrugged. “I hummed.”

He lied. He didn’t hum, he never did. Dancing to the silence became to Jongin what cigarette was to Chanyeol very quickly. If anything, perhaps, he danced to heartbeats, but he thought that was cheesy and pretentious to say.

So he danced in silence and closed his eyes to pretend it took him away somewhere else.





It was strange to see the power plant streaming out smoke, but apparently it was how electric power was generated once upon a time and was generated again now. Jongdae had told Jongin that it wasn’t so bad, not really, the shift to this new source had kept them all busy, following documents and instructions left from a bygone era.

The smoke, which Jongin could see from the window of the municipal office meeting room reminded him of Chanyeol. Of Chanyeol with his fire, but also of Chanyeol without and only smokes were left.

Chanyeol, across the table watched him as he twirled his pen.

After three years of living together, Jongin could guess that the smoke reminded Chanyeol of who Jongin was when he could disappear and appear at will.

After three years of living together, Jongin wasn’t sure why Chanyeol smiled at the smoke, and then him.





“Have you gone to sleep?”

March came, and with it came spring. Yet the city was still dark and it was a March colder than any Jongin had ever remembered. Lately, he had found it hard to sleep at night because the rhythm of Chanyeol’s pulse made him want to dance.

“A little,” Jongin said. The truth.

An hour counted as a little.

Jongin wondered if he looked like a mess to Chanyeol. Chanyeol never said anything, just like Jongin said nothing about Chanyeol looking like a mess, losing weight with those weak smiles.

Chanyeol made him his morning tea. Jongin set out the table with their breakfast of biscuits and nothing more.

“You should sleep a little more,” Chanyeol said as he set out the tea.

“You should eat a little more,” Jongin said as he pushed a plate of biscuits in Chanyeol’s direction.

Chanyeol replied with a laugh and a kiss.

Jongin ate most of the biscuits, in the end.





“I do still love you,” Chanyeol told him during one of those times when Jongin danced and Chanyeol hummed.

Love. Love was a much easier word before, but they had taken it for granted when they could show love by burning marks on a plaque and quick teleportation trip to Venice. Love, Jongin realised, was not a word Chanyeol had said for a while.

Love, nowadays was their flat and cuddling in bed and Chanyeol humming as Jongin danced and Jongin kissing Chanyeol even if he tasted like cheap cigarettes.

Love was love but it wasn’t easy for Jongin to say it again.

“I do too,” he chose as his reply.





"You should take better care of yourself."

They were standing on their balcony. It had been three months since then. Jongin nodded, even if Chanyeol was hypocritical, really, with how Chanyeol hardly took care of himself and still smoked.

They were quiet as they watched Chanyeol’s smoke disappear into the starless night in the dark city.

"Fuck, I miss it," Chanyeol said. "I miss my fire."

And Jongin did too, even if he might miss it in a different way Chanyeol did. He missed a different fire than Chanyeol did.

He took Chanyeol’s free hand in his.

He was getting used to being warmer than Chanyeol.

“I still love you,” Jongin said.

And Chanyeol smiled. The same smile he did when he saw Jongin and the smokes in that meeting room a while ago.

“You’re still here,” he said.

Chanyeol stubbed out his cigarette against the cold metal railing of their balcony.