Almost two years had passed since the events of the Upside Down. Two long years since everything fell apart—and since Eleven died. Jane Hopper.
Her name still lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, like a memory no one dared to touch for too long.
Many were affected by Jane’s death. Mike, especially, never truly recovered; the light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something distant and hollow. Hopper carried his grief like a constant weight, burying himself in routine to avoid facing it. But Jonathan knew the truth. He always had.
He knew that you were the one most deeply affected.
Because to you, Jane wasn’t just a hero, or the girl who saved the world. She was your little sister. The one you swore to protect. The one who learned what family meant through you. And when she was gone, she left behind a silence that never quite faded.
Time moved forward, as it always does, uncaring and relentless.
Now, you and Jonathan lived in New York. Steve was there too—somehow, you had managed to convince him to move in with you both. None of you really planned it, but it worked. Jonathan immersed himself in cinematography and film, spending long hours behind cameras and editing screens. You, on the other hand, leaned toward writing and theater, pouring your emotions into scripts, dialogue, and stories that mirrored pieces of your own life.
You helped each other with projects, shared ideas late at night, talked about everything. At least, almost everything.
As usual, once a month, everyone gathered in Philadelphia, at Robin’s strange uncle’s house. It had become tradition. Laughter filled the rooms, conversations overlapped, and for a few hours, everything felt almost normal. Glasses clinked, smiles were exchanged—
But something was missing.
Someone was missing.
You were missing.
Jonathan noticed first. His eyes scanned the room again and again, a quiet unease settling in his chest. Then he spotted the front door, slightly open, letting the night air creep inside. He muttered a few words to the others, set his drink down on the table, and made his way outside.
That’s when he saw you.
You were standing on the porch, leaning against the railing, staring out into the empty street. The dim light caught your face just enough for him to see the distant look in your eyes. He paused when he noticed the cigarette between your fingers, smoke curling slowly into the night.
He’d never seen you smoke before.
Jonathan stepped closer, careful not to startle you.
— , “…You smoke now?” he asked quietly, surprise and concern mixed in his voice.
His gaze stayed on you, waiting—knowing that whatever answer you gave might reveal far more than you intended.