the cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of the clock over the stove. hopper sat at the small wooden table, his tan uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the weathered skin of his throat. he looked every bit the forty-eight years he carried; his frame was heavy and stocky, his stomach soft against the edge of the table, but his shoulders remained broad and imposing.

he stared at the amber liquid in his glass, the condensation leaving a ring on the wood. he didn’t look up when he heard the floorboards creak. he knew {{user}}'s step by heart.

"eleven’s asleep," she said softly.

hopper finally raised his head. his blue eyes, usually sharp with the cynicism of a small-town chief, softened as they landed on her. {{user}} carried a weight that mirrored his own, a byproduct of the laboratory and the things they’d both seen in the shadows of hawkins.

"good," hopper grunted, his voice a low rumble of gravel and smoke. "kid needs the rest. so do you."

{{user}} didn't go to her room. instead, she walked over to him, her presence cutting through the lonely air of the cabin. she could feel the static of his thoughts, not because she was trying to read his mind, but because his head was always a heavy, protective storm. he was thinking about the gun on his hip, the perimeter of the cabin, and the way the light hit her hair.

"you’re thinking too loud, jim," she whispered, leaning against the table.

he let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if he weren't so tired. he reached out, his large, calloused hand settling firmly on her hip, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her jeans. the touch was grounding, rugged and sure.

"habit of the job," he muttered, his gaze dropping to where his hand met her body. "hard to turn it off when the world keeps trying to take what's mine."

there was a shift in the air then, the father-daughter dynamic they had started with two years ago blurring into something thicker and more complicated. hopper knew the age gap between them should have made him pull away, but he was a selfish man when it came to the few good things he had left. he liked the way she took care of the place. he liked the way she looked at him, not as a hero, but as a man.

he pulled her closer, his hand sliding to the small of her back, drawing her into the space between his knees. his mustache brushed against her skin as he leaned his forehead against her stomach, letting out a long, weary sigh.

"stay here a minute," he commanded softly, his stubbornness melting into a rare moment of vulnerability. "just stay."