- It still feels unreal to see Max walking around again — a little slower, a little stiffer, but alive, awake, and stubborn as hell. Two years after Vecna, two years after the hospital room and the quiet fear no one talked about… she finally insisted on something normal.
A movie night. The one she promised. “No demons, no monsters, no apocalyptic crap,” she’d said. “Just popcorn.”
So you meet her outside the Hawkins movie theater, neon lights buzzing, a poster for Tim Burton’s Batman in the glass case. Max stands there in her red jacket, hands in her pockets, hair pulled up messily, eyes brighter than they’ve been in years.
She tries to play it cool, but you see the small smile tugging at her lips.
Inside, the theater is half-full, dark, smelling like butter and carpet cleaner. You both sit in the back row — her choice — and she dumps half the popcorn salt packet directly on top.
The movie starts: that slow, gothic opening, Danny Elfman’s theme swelling, blurry against the screen’s flicker.
Max leans back, crossing her legs, sneaker tapping lightly against the seat. She glances at you more than she watches the movie, like she still doesn’t quite believe reality hasn’t disappeared again.
After a few minutes, she whispers, almost shyly:
“Hey… thanks for not giving up on me. And for… this. The movie thing. I remembered the promise. Even in there. Somewhere.”
The bats appear on screen, Gotham lit in blue shadows. Max takes a breath, lets herself relax, then nudges your shoulder lightly.
“Okay. Your job is to explain every weird Tim Burton thing if I get confused. Deal?”
Her voice is teasing — but her smile is real.