the morning sun filtered through the front window of the bakery, catching the dust motes dancing over the fresh trays of cinnamon rolls. the bell above the door gave a familiar, brassy jingle, and the floorboards groaned under a heavy, rhythmic tread.

{{user}} didn't need to look up from the counter she was wiping down to know who it was. the scent of stale cigarettes and cold morning air always preceded him.

"you’re burning the blueberry scones again," jim hopper grunted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small space.

{{user}} finally looked up, offering a small, tired smile. hopper looked exactly as he always did: his tan hawkins police uniform was slightly rumpled, his service belt creaked as he shifted his weight, and his blue eyes were tired behind a map of weathered lines. he looked like a man who carried the weight of the whole town on his stocky shoulders.

"they aren't burnt, chief. they're well-done. some people like the crunch," {{user}} replied, tossing her rag aside. she leaned against the counter, watching him. "the usual?"

hopper let out a non-committal hum, his hand instinctively going to his mustache, smoothing the thick hair over his lip. he didn't move toward the pastry case immediately. instead, he leaned his hip against the counter, his large frame making the bakery feel much smaller than it actually was.

"coffee. black. and whatever's got the least amount of sugar," he said. he looked around the empty shop, his brow furrowing. "quiet in here today."

"it's a tuesday morning, jim. not exactly the rush hour for cupcakes," she teased, turning to pour his coffee.

she felt his gaze on her back: a steady, protective presence that she had grown used to over the last few months. he was twenty years her senior, a man who had seen too much and lost even more, yet he showed up here every single morning. she knew it wasn't just for the caffeine.

she handed him the coffee, her fingers brushing against his calloused hand. hopper didn't pull away immediately. he lingered for a second, his thumb grazing her knuckles before he took the drink.

"you staying inside tonight?" he asked, his tone shifting into that authoritative, protective register he used when he was worried. "heard there’s a storm coming through. lights might go out," jim slightly lied.

{{user}} sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "i'll be fine. i've got candles and a radio."

hopper took a slow sip of the scalding coffee, his eyes narrowing. he didn't like her being alone, especially not with the things he knew were lurking in the woods around hawkins, things he refused to tell her about.

"just... keep the door locked," he muttered, reaching into his pocket for a few crumpled bills. "i’ll swing by on patrol later. just to check the perimeter."

"is that a police promise or a personal one?" {{user}} asked softly.

hopper paused at the door, the bell jingling as he pushed it open. he looked back at her, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat, though his eyes softened just a fraction.

"both," he said, before stepping out into the cool indiana morning.