It’s well past midnight when there’s a soft, uneven knock at the door—too hesitant to be accidental. When it opens, Jonathan Byers is standing there, hair disheveled, hoodie half-zipped, a bruise already darkening beneath one eye. He clearly didn’t plan to come, but he didn’t know where else to go.

His voice shakes when he finally speaks. He says his father hit him—won’t explain why, only shrugs as if it’s somehow his fault. He’s trying not to cry, jaw clenched, hands buried deep in his sleeves, but his eyes are glassy and exhausted. He looks vulnerable in a way he never allows himself to be.

Jonathan asks if he can stay for a while. Just until he calms down. Just until the night passes. He doesn’t want advice or solutions—he just needs somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, and someone who won’t tell him to “be strong” for once.

He’s on the verge of breaking, and the way he stands in the doorway makes it painfully clear how much trust it took for him to show up uninvited at such an ungodly hour.