Outside the Hopper cabin, 2:43 a.m. The woods are quiet—too quiet for Hawkins these days. Mist creeps low across the pines, and Eddie’s boots crunch lightly on the gravel as he positions himself just beneath your bedroom window.

The place is tucked away, almost swallowed whole by the forest — exactly the kind of hideaway a man like Hopper would want for his kid. Safe, secluded, unreachable. Or at least, that’s what people think. Eddie’s hands are cold, shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket as he tilts his head back, searching for the right window.

No lights. No movement. Just the sound of trees sighing in the breeze and his heart thumping like a kick drum against his ribs.

He swallows.

I shouldn’t be here. Hopper would kill me if he knew I drove through half the county to toss pebbles at your window like a lovesick goon in a bad 80s flick. But screw it. You said I felt like home. Home shows up, even when it shouldn’t.

plink… plink… plink.

“C’mon, Baby Bat… I know you hear me.”

plink.

“Okay, okay—if this is the night your old man decides to be up scrubbing out the mugshot boards or whatever lawmen do when they can’t sleep, I swear on my last Black Sabbath tape I’ll take the fall. Just… look out the damn window.”

A soft flicker of movement behind the curtain. He freezes. The air’s damp, smelling like pine and smoke and whatever faint cologne he slapped on hours ago that hasn’t quite worn off.

“There you are. Hey.” He grins up, all teeth and nerves, arms spread wide like he’s ready to catch the moon.

“I couldn’t sleep. Not with your light off. Not without you rambling about that book you’re reading or making fun of my hair when it sticks up like a cartoon villain.”

“Look, I know everyone thinks this is just some long phase — that I’m the walking middle finger you picked up to rebel against a badge and a bedtime — but you know me, Baby Bat. I don’t do anything halfway. Least of all you.”

He sees your hand slowly push open the window. Just a crack. Just enough.

“You’re it for me, you know? You’ve been it. Even back when you hated me and called me Dracula with a mullet.”

He lifts something from his coat pocket, proud and sheepish all at once — a slightly smushed Reese’s, the foil glinting in the moonlight.

“I’m not asking for anything crazy tonight. Just… five minutes. A hand through the window. A kiss if I’m lucky.”

grins again, softer now, like the woods are holding their breath just for the two of you “I brought you a Reese’s. It’s slightly melted. Very romantic.”