The moonlight sliced through the broken skylight above, painting pale streaks on the cracked concrete floor of Yuri's hanger. The space was vast and cold, cluttered with the debris of another life—rusting machinery, old toolkits, and stacks of warped wooden crates. Hopper sat on a battered crate near the corner of the room, elbows resting on his knees, his breath visible in the icy air.

The hum of a generator droned faintly from across the space, the only sign of life besides the occasional shuffle of boots as Murray and Antonov moved in the background, working in hushed tones. Joyce stood at the far end of the hanger, pacing as she anxiously scanned a map spread out across the hood of a rusted truck.

But Hopper was alone in his thoughts.

His mind wandered to her—El. The last time he'd seen her, she was so small, fragile yet defiant, with a strength that had brought him back from the brink. She had saved him as much as he had tried to save her.

"Does she know how much I think about her?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the generator's hum. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes drifting toward the skylight, the cold light casting his face in sharp relief. "How much I'd give to see her again?"

He ran a hand through his hair, letting the silence press down on him. Somewhere out there, she was fighting—he knew it, felt it in his bones. And she was doing it without him.

His gaze shifted to Joyce, still deep in conversation with Antonov. Memories surfaced, unbidden and bittersweet: sneaking cigarettes behind the gym in high school, her laugh breaking through the awkward tension of his teenage years. The way she'd somehow managed to hold everything together when the world was crumbling around her.

"Maybe I've always loved her," he admitted to the empty air, his voice low and rough. "Maybe I just didn't know it until it was almost too late."

But he wasn't going to let it be too late—not again.

His jaw tightened as his thoughts turned, as they always did, to Sara. Her laughter echoed faintly in his memory, a sound that used to light up his world. He could still feel the small weight of her hand in his, the way she would tug at his sleeve when she wanted him to notice something.

The ache in his chest was sharp, but it only solidified his resolve. He had failed her—he would never forgive himself for that. But he wouldn't fail again.

"Never again," he murmured, his voice firm now. "I can't lose anyone else. Not Joyce. Not El. No one."

He stood, his breath coming out in visible puffs as he moved toward Joyce and Antonov. His steps were slow, deliberate, but his determination was palpable.

The cold air of Yuri's warehouse nipped at Joyce's skin, but she barely noticed it. She stood by an old metal workbench, its surface covered in a thin layer of grime and scattered with rusted tools. Her arms were crossed tightly against the chill, her fingers gripping her sleeves as though holding herself together.

The faint hum of the generator filled the cavernous space, mingling with the soft shuffle of footsteps as Hopper moved nearby. Moonlight poured through the shattered skylight above, casting fractured patterns of light and shadow across the cluttered remnants of the hanger.

Her gaze drifted to the moon, its pale glow a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart.

Her thoughts turned first to her boys. Jonathan and Will. Her lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile as she pictured them—Jonathan as a lanky teenager, carefully cradling a baby Will in his arms, rocking him to sleep with a tenderness that had always seemed beyond his years. The bond between her sons had always been unshakable, each of them watching out for the other in ways that often left her in awe.

"I just want them safe," she murmured to herself, her voice quiet but firm. "I just want them home."

The image of them waiting for her, worried but strong, filled her with equal parts longing and determination. She could almost hear Jonathan's steady reassurances, see Will's tentative smile as he tried to hide his fear.

Her thoughts shifted, unbidden, to Eleven. El had become so much more than the strange, quiet girl who had appeared in their lives. Joyce thought of the nights she had stayed with her after a nightmare, brushing her hair and humming softly until she fell back asleep. She thought of the way El had let her guard down in those moments, revealing the vulnerable child behind the fierce exterior.

"She's my girl, too," Joyce whispered, her voice catching slightly. "I'll protect her with everything I've got."

Her gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers digging into her arms as the weight of it all pressed down on her. She couldn't afford to fail—not now, not with so much at stake.

Her eyes flicked to Hopper, who sat a few feet away, lost in his own thoughts. She watched him quietly for a moment, her chest tightening as she imagined a future that still felt fragile, almost too good to hope for.

The five of them—her boys, El, and Hopper. A family.

It wasn't something she had ever dared to dream of before. But now the thought stirred something deep within her, a longing for a life she had never believed she deserved. A life that suddenly felt just within reach, if only they could survive long enough to seize it.

Her gaze returned to the moon, its glow spilling across the floor like a silent promise.

"We've made it this far," she said softly, her voice steadying as resolve hardened in her chest. "I won't let anything take this away from us. Not Vecna. Not anyone. I'll see this through, no matter what it takes."

The generator hummed on as the moonlight bathed the hanger in its cold glow, illuminating Joyce's unwavering expression.

Inside the Surfer Boy Pizza van, the atmosphere was tense and quiet, broken only by the hum of the engine. Jonathan slouched in the corner, his head resting against the cool metal wall, a half-empty drink cup balanced on his lap.

His thoughts drifted to Nancy. She was everything he wasn't—focused, determined, destined for a future he couldn't follow. He thought about the college paperwork he'd never submitted, the opportunities she deserved, and the weight of the lie he'd carried.

"She's going places I can't follow," he thought bitterly. "It's not fair to hold her back… but I can't imagine life without her."

His hand brushed the pocket where the last ten OxyContin pills were stashed. The count echoed in his mind, a reminder of how little was left. "If we get back to Hawkins in time, I'll figure it out," he told himself. "Just enough to take the edge off."

He stared out the window at the moonlit desert, his jaw tightening. "We've been through worse," he resolved. "I'll do right by Nancy. By Will. By everyone. Just get me home, and I'll figure it out from there."

Argyle leaned his head against the window, the glass cool against his cheek as his long hair caught the faint flashes of passing headlights. Across from him, Eden sat with her feet propped up on the seat, her body angled slightly away as she flipped lazily through The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket by Edgar Allan Poe.

His eyes drifted to her again, his heart doing that weird little flip it always did whenever she adjusted her hair or smirked at some private thought. She was engrossed in her book, her lips occasionally quirking into a half-smile that made him lose track of whatever half-baked thought had been floating through his mind.

"She's so mean," he thought, his grin widening. "And scary. And… beautiful. How does that even work?"

Memories of their earlier exchanges flashed through his mind—her sharp comments, her cutting wit. Instead of wounding him, they only made him smile.

"I mean, yeah, she said I looked like a homeless werewolf that time," he mused, his grin turning sheepish, "but she said it, like… lovingly, right?"

He chuckled softly, imagining her in a Surfer Boy Pizza uniform, scowling as she handed out pizzas with that same sharp tongue. It was a ridiculous image, but the thought filled him with an unexpected warmth.

"Dude, this girl could yell at me for the rest of my life, and I'd be happy."

Eden, catching his not-so-subtle glances in the reflection of her window, shifted deliberately, throwing him off. She smirked to herself as she flipped another page, her movements slow and exaggerated.

"He's so easy to mess with," she thought, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "It's almost too much fun."

But then her gaze flicked back to his reflection, catching his goofy, dreamy grin. Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest, fleeting but undeniable.

"He's kind of… sweet, isn't he?"

The thought came unbidden, and she shook it away as quickly as it had appeared, her eyes snapping back to her book. Her fingers drummed against the cover absently before settling back into the well-worn pages.

"Nope. Not doing this," she told herself firmly. "Poe's brooding looks way more fun."

Argyle shifted slightly, leaning closer to the window as he let out a dreamy sigh. The moonlight danced across Eden's face, illuminating her sharp features and the subtle curl of her lips.

"Mean, scary, and totally perfect," he thought, his grin softening. "I'm so doomed."

Eden glanced up briefly, catching him watching her again. She didn't say anything, but her smirk widened as she let the book fall into her lap for a moment.

For just a second, a fleeting thought crossed her mind: "Maybe… nah."

Her smirk grew sharper as she turned the page, letting Poe's dark, poetic words pull her back into familiar territory.

Argyle, oblivious to her internal conflict, sighed again, utterly lost in his own thoughts.

Will sat near the back of the van, pressed against the window, his knees drawn up. His sketchbook rested on them, but his pencil hovered motionless above the blank page. The moonlight reflected faintly off the paper as the van's vibrations hummed softly in the background.

He glanced toward Mike, who sat laughing quietly at something Jonathan had said. Will's chest tightened, the ache both familiar and confusing. "He's my best friend," he thought. "He's always been my best friend. That's all this is, right? Just… best friends?"

His gaze shifted to Eleven, leaning against Mike with her head on his shoulder. A faint smile tugged at Will's lips, even as a quiet pain stirred deep inside. "They're good together," he thought. "They love each other. I love her like a sister. I want them to work out. I really do."

His eyes dropped back to his sketchbook, but the abstract image he'd been working on suddenly felt meaningless. His pencil froze as his thoughts spiraled. "Why can't I just be happy for them?" he wondered. "Why does it feel so… wrong to even think this?"

Taking a shaky breath, Will turned his gaze to the window. The moon hung high and distant, impossibly far away.

"It's okay," he thought, gripping the pencil tightly. "I'll figure it out. This is just a phase. It has to be. As long as they're happy, I'm happy. That's all that matters."

Mike sat slouched in his seat, his arm draped loosely around Eleven as her head rested on his shoulder. The faint hum of tires on asphalt blended with the rhythm of her quiet breathing, grounding him in the moment.

He glanced down at her, her face peaceful despite everything they'd been through. "She's been through so much," he thought, his chest tightening. "More than any of us. And she still looks at me like… like I'm enough."

His mind flashed back to Will's words before they found her: "You're the heart." Mike swallowed hard, the weight of it hitting him anew. "He's right," he thought. "She needs me to be strong, and I will be. For her."

Looking back down at her, a wave of clarity swept over him. "I love her," he realized. "I've loved her since the moment I met her, and I'm never letting her go. Not Vecna, not anyone, is going to take her away from me. And I'm going to tell her—every day."

Tightening his arm around her, Mike leaned his cheek against her hair, the faint scent of her shampoo calming him. "Whatever comes next, we'll face it together," he promised silently. "She's my world, and I'll protect her with everything I have."

Tucked close to Mike, Eleven rested her head on his shoulder. The steady rumble of the van and the rise and fall of his breathing were the only sounds she focused on. The warmth of his presence was a comfort—a stark contrast to the cold, sterile world she had just escaped.

Her mind replayed the moment he appeared in the desert, the van screeching to a halt like something out of a dream. "He always comes for me," she thought. "When I'm scared, when I'm lost… he's there. He always has been."

Her thoughts shifted to Brenner. His so-called love had been cold, conditional, suffocating. But Mike's love? It was different. It was selfless. "He doesn't want to control me," she realized. "He wants me to be free. To be happy. He'd do anything for me."

A small shock ran through her chest. Tilting her head slightly, she looked at him through her lashes as if seeing him in a new light. "And I… I would do anything for him too," she thought. "I didn't know love could feel like this."

Closing her eyes, Eleven pressed closer to him, a small, contented smile forming on her lips. "This is real," she thought. "This is love. No matter what comes, I'll fight for him. Just like he fights for me."

The faint reflection of the moon shimmered in the van's window as Susie leaned her head against the cold glass, her breath fogging the surface. The desert sped past in a blur, but her thoughts stayed fixed on Dustin.

She toyed with the edge of her sweater, remembering the first time he called her his girlfriend, his goofy grin making her heart swell.

"I love you, Dusty Bun," she thought with a sigh. "Why can't you just let me in?"

She had glimpsed his struggles, the way he carried everyone's burdens without complaint. "He's trying to protect me," she realized. "But doesn't he see? I'd do anything for him. Anything."

Her fingers traced a heart in the fogged window, her chest tightening with resolve. "We're a team, Dustin. Let me help."

As the moonlit desert rushed by, she whispered to herself, "I'll be there for you, Dusty Bun. We'll get through this. Together."

The van rattled along the dark highway, the moonlight spilling through its windows, casting soft, silver streaks across Eleven and Mike as they leaned into each other. The moon hovered high and steady, its glow cutting through the desert night, watching silently over them.

The view shifted upward, tracing the moon's light as it stretched across miles, over winding roads and dense trees, until it reached the suburbs of Hawkins. Its pale glow spilled through the picture window of Steve Harrington's living room, illuminating the quiet scene inside.

Dustin leaned against the railing of Steve Harrington's back porch, his hands gripping the wood as he stared at the glowing moon. The crickets chirped faintly in the cool night breeze, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass.

His thoughts drifted to Susie—her sparkling eyes, the way her laugh could light up his darkest days. He smiled faintly, but the memory of Ursula's warnings crept into his mind, darkening his expression.

"She deserves the best," he thought grimly, "not… whatever future they say is coming."

The fragments of tragedy Ursula had shown haunted him, but one thought was clear: "Not her. Not Susie. I won't let her get hurt. No matter what it costs."

His grip on the railing tightened, his gaze lifting to the moon. "We're gonna win this, Susie-Poo, I swear. I'll protect you. Always."

Lucas sat on the couch in Steve Harrington's living room, the warm glow of a lamp softening the shadows. Max was asleep in his arms, her red hair spilling across his chest, her steady breaths a calm contrast to the chaos outside. The silence in the house felt fragile, but for now, it held.

Looking down at her peaceful face, Lucas tightened his arms around her. "She's so strong," he thought. "Stronger than anyone I know. But she doesn't have to face this alone. I'll protect her, no matter what."

His mind drifted to her decision to be the bait in Ursula's plan. He hated it, but he understood. "That's who she is," he thought. "Always putting herself in danger to save everyone else. I get it. I just wish she didn't have to."

His throat tightened as darker thoughts surfaced. He didn't need her to tell him about her past—he knew. "She's never said it, but I see it in her," he thought. "I know what's been done to her. Little girls don't act the way Max does unless someone's hurt them. Whoever did this to her? I hate them. I'll hate them for the rest of my life."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his heart swelling with a love that felt almost too big to contain. "I've loved her since I saw her initials on the Dig Dug machine. She's my player two. My everything."

The future from Ursula's video flashed in his mind—and he overlayed older versions of himself and Max dancing at their own wedding as Ursula sang The Hounds of Love by Kate Bush. The image filled him with a fierce longing.

"I'll fight for that future," he vowed. "For her. For us."

Pressing a soft kiss to Max's hair, Lucas lifted his gaze to the moonlight streaming through the window. His jaw tightened, resolve hardening in his chest.

"No matter what, I'll make sure she sees that future," he thought. "She's not just my past or my present—she's my forever."

Max lay curled up on the couch, her head resting against Lucas's chest. His arms wrapped securely around her, the soft rhythm of his breathing grounding her in the moment. The lamplight filled the room with warmth, but her eyes stayed closed, feigning sleep as her thoughts raced.

She felt the light press of Lucas's lips on her hair, and her chest tightened. Memories flickered—his laugh when she beat him at the arcade, the goofy way he'd try to impress her during basketball games, the quiet moments when he just was, no questions, no pressure.

"God, I've been such a jerk to him," she thought, guilt cutting through her. "I thought pushing him away was the only way to keep him safe. To keep myself safe. But all I did was hurt him. Hurt us."

She shifted slightly in his arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "But he's still here," she realized. "After everything, he's still here."

The warmth of his presence wrapped around her like a shield. He never made her feel small, even at her worst. "He's such a dork," she thought with a faint, hidden smile. "But he's my dork. My Lucas."

Opening her eyes just a crack, she glanced at his face—etched with determination, holding her like she was the most important thing in the world.

"I'm not pushing him away again," she thought firmly. "We're stronger together. I love him. And I'm not letting him go."

Robin sat cross-legged on the counter in Steve's kitchen, twisting a dishtowel in her hands. The hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet as she stared out the window at the moonlit backyard, her thoughts miles away.

Her mind drifted to Vickie—her bright smile, the soft laugh that made Robin's chest ache. She thought about the glimpse of a future from Erica's wedding video, where she and Vickie were together, happy. "It felt so real," she thought. "Like maybe, for once, this world might give me something good."

But the memory twisted. She saw Dan kissing Vickie at the military supply store, and her heart clenched painfully. "Why does it matter?" she wondered. "It's not like I ever had a chance. People like me don't get happy endings. Even if I saw it… I don't know if I believe it."

Her thoughts shifted to Steve—his relentless encouragement, his insistence that she go after Vickie, the way he looked proud when she admitted her feelings. "It's almost weird how much he cares," she mused with a small smile. "Like, seriously, Harrington, chill out."

But the smile lingered. Steve Harrington—King Steve—had become the best friend she'd ever had. He listened, he believed in her, and he was always there when the world felt too heavy. "Of all the people I could've ended up with in this mess, I got Steve freaking Harrington," she thought, shaking her head. "The most unexpected, annoying, amazing person I've ever met."

Her gaze returned to the moon as she twisted the towel tighter in her hands. Her jaw tightened, but a flicker of hope stirred in her chest. "Maybe it's not impossible," she thought. "Maybe I could have that. With Vickie. With Steve. Just… people who get me. People who stay."

Steve sat on the floor of his living room, his back resting against the couch. The house was quiet, the soft murmur of voices from the others barely audible. He stared up at the ceiling, where faint moonlight filtered through the curtains, a half-empty beer bottle dangling loosely from his hand.

His thoughts turned to Robin. Her chaotic energy filled the silence in his head, making him smile. "She's my best friend," he thought. "The kind of friend I didn't even know I needed." He remembered the people he used to hang out with—shallow and self-centered, just like he'd been. "God, I couldn't spend five minutes with those people now. Not after her."

He thought about the confusion he'd felt when he first met Robin, how easy she made everything. "I thought there was something there," he admitted. "But it's different now. Deeper. And it's just… not that."

His gaze shifted toward the group beyond the walls. "How the hell did I get this lucky?" he wondered. "These weirdos, this team… I don't deserve them, but I'd be lost without them."

Lifting his beer bottle, he silently toasted Eddie across the room. Eddie raised his own bottle with a grin and an exaggerated flourish, making Steve chuckle. "Of all the people," Steve thought, shaking his head. "I didn't think we'd end up here. Friends."

He thought back to how he used to mock Eddie, rolling his eyes at his nerdy theatrics. Now, though, he got it. "I was a total dick," he admitted. "Ursula was right. This guy's awesome."

Then his mind landed on Nancy, and the rest faded. Her laugh, her fierce determination, the way she used to look at him. "Of everything I've lost," he thought, his chest tightening, "she's the one thing I regret the most. Not the college, not the pool job… just her."

Ursula's video flickered in his mind—the future he'd seen with Nancy, their children, their grandchildren. "Maybe it was a mistake to see it," he thought. "How am I supposed to live if that's not what happens? If I don't get her back?"

Taking a deep breath, Steve tightened his grip on the bottle. His jaw clenched, resolve hardening in his chest.

"I'm not letting her go again," he vowed silently. "No matter what it takes. That's my future."

Nancy sat cross-legged on the carpet in Steve's living room, her notebook open in front of her. The pen in her hand hovered uselessly over the page. The faint sound of laughter drifted in from another room, but Nancy was lost in thought.

Her mind wandered to Steve—his easy smile, his steady support, the way he had quietly become the person she could always rely on. "I see it now," she thought. "He's always been there, hasn't he? Waiting for me to figure it out."

Jonathan's face flickered in her mind—the familiar connection they shared. But comfort wasn't enough anymore. "Jonathan was a mistake," she admitted to herself. "We've been holding on for the wrong reasons. Steve is my future."

She thought about the future Ursula had shown her—their family, their grandkids, her son playing the keyboard in Erica's wedding video. The sense of belonging in those moments was overwhelming. "This is what I want," she thought firmly. "A family. A future with Steve. I'd tear the Upside Down apart with my bare hands to make that happen."

Her gaze drifted around the room, softening as she took in the group around her. Lucas with Max. Dustin joking with Eddie. Robin gesturing wildly as she talked to Steve. They were kids—but they were hers now. "My kids," she thought, her chest tightening. "They're all so brave, but they shouldn't have to be."

Her thoughts turned to Ursula, trapped in Vecna's grasp. A wave of fierce protectiveness surged through her. "She's not just some kid we picked up," Nancy thought. "She's ours. I love her too. We'll get her back. We have to."

Flipping the pen in her fingers, Nancy stared at the blank page before snapping the notebook shut. Her gaze hardened as she looked toward the moonlight streaming through the window.

"We'll find Ursula. We'll stop Vecna. And I'll get the future I saw. Nothing—no monster, no Upside Down—is going to take that from me."

Eddie stepped out onto the porch, craving solitude. He fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it. The orange glow briefly illuminated his face, highlighting his furrowed brow and tired eyes. Distant laughter filtered through the door behind him, but out here, it was just him, the moon, and the chaos swirling in his mind.

His thoughts pulled him back to Hopper's porch, to quiet nights under the stars with Ursula. He remembered the way she'd sit beside him, tucking her legs up, her voice soft but steady as she shared pieces of herself she'd kept hidden from the world.

"She just… gave me her trust," he thought, a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Like she decided from the start that I was worth it. Like I didn't have to prove anything to her. We just were."

He took a shaky drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the night as he chuckled softly. "Destiny," he murmured. The word felt ridiculous and perfect all at once. Ursula would have rolled her eyes at it, called it stupid—but Eddie loved it. "It's what we are, though. Me and her? We were written before we even met."

The smile faded as Nancy's recounting of Ursula's psychic assault crept into his mind. His grip on the railing tightened, and he blinked hard against the burning in his eyes.

"I wasn't there," he thought bitterly. "I couldn't stop it. She got hurt because I wasn't there."

A tear slid down his cheek, and he swiped at it roughly, his voice cracking in the quiet. "She deserves better," he whispered. "She deserves someone who can protect her."

But another thought rose, fierce and unyielding. "No. She's stronger than anyone I've ever known. If anyone could escape that, it's her. She's gonna be okay. She has to be okay."

Eddie took another drag, the weight of his emotions settling heavily in his chest. "How is it possible to love someone this much, this fast?" he wondered. "She's completely wrecked me. I didn't even know I could feel this much."

His lips curled into a bittersweet smile as he looked up at the moon. "She makes me bold. She makes me scared. She makes me feel like the universe finally gave me permission to love someone this big, this real."

Eddie wiped his face with his jacket sleeve, his gaze still locked on the moon. "We'll be together again," he promised. "We have to be. And when we are, I'll take care of her. Of her heart, of her pain, of everything. She's my everything."

The memory of Hopper's porch tugged at him—its creaking boards, the spot on the steps where he and Ursula would sit, the coffee-can ashtray they'd fill together. He remembered the first night they shared that space, the quiet broken only by crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. Ursula's hands had trembled slightly as she lit her cigarette, but her voice was steady as she told him things she hadn't shared with anyone.

Her vulnerability had struck him then, a raw honesty that had woven a bond between them he felt in his bones. From the moment they met, it had been different. Ursula didn't need him to prove himself, didn't need him to earn her trust. She had just… let him in.

"She trusted 'Eddie the Freak,'" he thought. "She trusted me. Like we were meant to find each other."

Eddie stared down at the glowing ember of his cigarette, Ursula's laugh echoing softly in his mind—raspy and warm, lighting up her face every time she teased him. She had a way of filling the empty spaces in his heart without even trying, and now, the thought of her made his chest tighten.

"She gave me her trust, her faith, her everything," he thought. The memory of it terrified him. He'd been so afraid of screwing it up, but the idea of life without her now was unimaginable.

His mind drifted back to that morning in the blanket fort, the warmth of her body tangled with his under the quilt. He could still feel the quiet tension in the air, the way her trembling fingers traced his jawline, memorizing his face like she knew their time was running out.

"I'm scared… Don't leave me," her voice had cracked, and the vulnerability in her words had shattered him.

Eddie's heart clenched as he remembered how close they'd come to crossing a line neither of them had dared to approach before. Her lips on his, her hesitant but insistent touch, the way she clung to him—it had felt like a confession. "I've never… been with anyone before. Not like this," she'd said, her fear trembling in her voice, but her determination clear.

"She was burning for me," Eddie thought, the haunting echo of her words filling his mind. The longing in her had been overwhelming, a perfect storm of love and fear that left him breathless.

But now, as he stood there, he saw the truth. She hadn't been ready—it wasn't about being ready. It was about fear. She'd been terrified of losing him, desperate to hold onto him in any way she could.

"She wasn't ready," he murmured, his voice rough and low. The thought twisted in his chest like a knife. "She was just scared. She didn't want to waste the time we had left."

Eddie's fingers tightened on the railing, the weight of regret pressing heavily on him. "She trusted me with everything—her body, her heart, her fears. And I almost…" He let the thought trail off, the unspoken words hanging in the night air.

His jaw clenched as his mind shifted to Vecna. "He hurt her again," Eddie thought bitterly. "He took that trust and twisted it. It's going to take her a long time to heal, to feel ready for anything like that again."

With a deliberate motion, Eddie crushed the cigarette under his boot and exhaled slowly, his gaze lifting back to the moon.

"I'll wait," he whispered, his voice steady and certain. "For as long as it takes. I'll wait, and I'll make sure she feels safe again."

The song had surged to its crescendo, the combined sound of her violin and his guitar reaching a height that left him breathless. It hadn't just been a performance—it had been magic.

Even after everything, that shared magic was what Ursula had called the best night of her life. Eddie's heart tightened at the memory of her voice, the sincerity in her words.

"She was right," he thought. "It was the best night of mine too."

Eddie took a slow drag from his cigarette, his mind drifting back to Hopper's porch, to the moments that had defined them.

He remembered how she'd opened up to him, her voice quiet but unguarded, her defenses falling like dominoes as she let him see the parts of herself no one else ever had.

"God, the way she looked at me," Eddie thought, his chest tightening. Her gaze had been filled with so much trust, so much certainty that he wouldn't hurt her. That he'd take care of her.

His heart clenched as he recalled that morning in the blanket fort—the closeness they'd shared, the trembling of her hands against him. He could still feel the weight of her trust, the way she'd looked at him, unguarded and raw, as if pleading for more time.

"She was trusting me to be her first," he murmured, the memory vivid, almost tangible. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared."

A soft laugh escaped him, dry and self-deprecating. Eddie wasn't exactly inexperienced, but he wasn't far from it either, though he'd never admit that.

"I mean, it's not like girls were exactly lining up outside my door. 'Eddie the Freak' wasn't exactly a hot commodity."

But with Ursula? It was different. She wasn't just any girl.

"She's kept herself for this long," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "And she was ready to give that to me. Fuck, man. I'd have to make it perfect for her. It'd have to be the greatest experience of her life."

Eddie exhaled a plume of smoke, his chest tightening as the weight of his emotions crashed over him.

"I'd cut off my ears," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly, "and never hear another riff if she asked me to. I'd burn my guitar, give up everything I've ever loved, if it meant keeping her safe."

The enormity of his feelings pressed down on him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and absolute.

"I've never loved anything like this," he admitted silently, his gaze fixed on the glowing tip of his cigarette. "Not music, not my friends, not anything. She's my heart, my everything."

With deliberate care, Eddie crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and lifted his gaze to the moon. The glow of the night surrounded him, but his thoughts stayed fixed on her.

"We'll get through this," he whispered, his voice trembling with quiet conviction. "She'll get through this. And when we do…"

His words faltered, his breath catching before he steadied himself.

"I'm gonna love her like she deserves," he said softly, his voice resolute. "Like the universe wrote us to be."

The moonlight bathed the porch in a soft glow. The air was crisp, and the faint smell of Eddie's cigarette lingered in the stillness.