@miscelliany // 💋 robocop new years kiss!!
Send me 💋 to receive a new year’s kiss from my muse! || ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ!
"Do you remember that?"
I ask him, hoping he can hear me, but he doesn't respond.
It's been two years since then. Everyone else is out celebrating, while he's here on a cold table, surrounded by screens, connected by wires and various tubing. Laid out on a bench like Frankenstein's creation, waiting for a bolt of lightning. Two years since our last fight. Two years since I last saw him awake. Two years since the start of the Public Eye's Reclamation program. Two years since I lost him.
His upper jaw sits in a metal chassis, adorned with a bastardized "newer, cooler" version of the Punisher's logo across his chest. He looks taller than he used to be. He's bigger than he used to be. Far removed from the reality of who Jake was. Bigger. Scarier. More teeth. They even cut his hair down from dark, crashing waves to a solid line of buzzcut. He'd hate it. Every part they turned him into. Once a free man with his own ideals, dedicated to protecting his friends, his family, his community... someone who kept me safe all of those years, who kept me out of trouble. Reduced to metal and rockets. Yet... there are always loose strands of hair hanging in front of his face like there is now.
Hanging upside down over him, I remember how his hair used to dangle. A stubborn curl that I would take a finger and gently move aside, if only just to watch it bounce. Jake would often freeze and stutter if I caught him in the middle of a conversation. He'd always forget his words and needed a reminder to restart his statement. Sometimes I'd do it just for the effect it would have on him. It was always endearing, watching someone as strong and capable as him stumble over something so naturally mundane.
Just like before, I move the strands for him away from his face. Just like before, they fall right back into place.
I can hear Alchemax executives on the floors above us, celebrating. Counting down to the ball drop. I take his face in my hand just like he did two years ago, pressing our lips together amidst the uproar of excitement upstairs. I don't care for a moment if someone finds me without my mask here.
"I have to leave again." I swallow back the dry, stinging sensation in the back of my throat that threatens to open the dam of emotions behind it. I've cried enough over him. He wouldn't want to see me cry on a holiday. My breath still trembles with every word. "I'm going to make a plan. I'll get us out of here. I promise." Pulling my mask back over my face, the silence that follows lets me know I've overstayed my welcome.
"Happy New Year's." The back of my first two fingers run down his face one last time. "Dulces sueños, mi vida."
