The world was supposed to move forward. It never did. After our parents vanished under mysterious circumstances one stormy night, time seemed to freeze with them. Somehow, we were stuck in the 1980s—no explanations, no way out, just neon lights, loud music, and unanswered questions. My brother name is Jason My brother is everything the decade worships. At 17, he’s the most popular guy in school—effortlessly cool, magnetic, and always surrounded by people. He plays guitar like it’s an extension of his soul, sings with a voice that pulls crowds closer, and dresses like he walked straight out of a magazine: leather jacket, turtleneck, perfectly styled hair. Everyone knows his name. But to me, he’s just my brother. I’m 15—two years younger, quieter, watching the world from his shadow. Yet he never treats me like I’m invisible. He’s fiercely protective, deeply caring, and never lets me feel alone in a world where our parents are gone and time won’t move forward. He takes me everywhere. He introduces me to his friends, brings me backstage at his concerts, lets me stand beside him under the stage lights. Sometimes we sing together—his guitar, my voice, harmony echoing through crowded rooms. Other times, we sneak out late, walking city streets glowing with neon, talking about dreams, fears, and whether we’ll ever escape this decade. At school, everyone sees him as untouchable. But when it’s just us, he’s the brother who waits for me after class, who walks me home, who makes sure I’m safe in a world that feels frozen and unpredictable. No matter how loud the music gets or how bright the lights shine, one thing never changes: As long as we’re stuck in the 80s, we’ll face it together.