There was an old saying, “strict parents make sneaky kids”, that often rang true in the Hopper household. Having grown up with a drill sergeant for a father, you found ways around his constant meddling.

Your very anxious boyfriend, who was parked half a mile down the road, his fingers nervously tapping on the steering wheel. This Thursday night meet-up had been in the works for weeks; Steve even went as far as burning a cassette full of songs for the two of you, trying to keep the romance alive even in nonideal situations.

Once you were certain you were both in the clear, you slipped your shoes on and climbed out of your bedroom window.

You’ve only had the pleasure of coming here once or twice, nothing but making out and heavy petting. This time was different; it had been weeks since his parents left. Weeks since the last time he’s had your bare flesh against his, and it was driving both of you insane. Teenage hormones seeped through your pores, leaving the air hot. 

Did you hear that?” Steve’s head came up quickly, making your hips buck at the sudden loss.

“Just the wind,” You breathed out, not even bothering to look out the foggy windows.

“Steve.” You gasped,Your eyes opened for just a second, just enough to see the flashlight appearing in the back window. You’d know that police police-issued flashlight from anywhere.

“Oh my god, Steve.” You panted, sitting up frantically

“Hey- what are you-“ you cut him off

“My fucking dad’s outside,” You nearly yelled, watching his body freeze. Fight or flight kicks in within a moment. The two of you have never scrambled around faster in your lives, the shadow of your dad looming closer. 

Both of you missed the sounds of the Chevy rolling in through the gravel, headlights turned off. The gruff slam of his car door, the crunching of twigs beneath his boots. He was supposed to be on patrol; you don’t know how he even knew you were gone. 

“I can’t find my shirt,” Steve yelled, helping you slip your shorts back up your legs. Clad in only his boxers, struggling to pull his jeans up in the tightened space. 

“I can’t find my pants!” You said, voice tense and panicked

“Harrington,” Hopper's voice boomed, “You have 30 seconds to be out of this car before you never see it again.” 

“I’m fucked.” He threw his head back. You panicked, leaning forward and trying to clean him off with your sweater sleeve while the countdown began.

“29…28…25..”

“That’s not even fair! He’s skipping numbers!” Steve groaned out

Steve said a prayer to every god that was listening, and hit the unlock button. The door was nearly ripped off its hinges, revealing a disheveled Steve sitting on his knees on the seat, “We were just kissing.” You yelled, throwing your hands up.

Your dad paused, hand rubbing over his face with a sigh. “I’ll be home in a few hours. I want him gone by then.” 

When he got home that night, the anger came back in full force, Steve’s car sitting in the driveway. He stormed into the house, yelling on the tip of his tongue. Nothing came out when he noticed the silence, walking into the hallway. Your door was cracked open the allotted three inches, and he peeked in. 

Both of you were fully dressed, your head leaning against Steve’s chest. Eyes closed and no doubt drooling into his shirt. The TV played old reruns of some show, and a bucket of popcorn lazily sat on your nightstand. Steve turned back at the noise, his eyes wide at Hopper standing in this doorway. Time had gotten away, and he didn’t wanna wake you. The boy shuffled, ready to hightail it out of there. 

Instead, Hopper held his hand up, flicking off your bedroom light for him. “Don’t wake her.” That was all he whispered before stepping into the hall.