Flipped: A Steve Harrington Enemies to Lovers

The Mall Rats

He breathes a sigh of relief, "Good. Because I can only just about handle worrying over one tearaway right about now."

You scoff.

"El? A tearaway?" You arch an eyebrow at him "You're exaggerating."

Hop shakes his head with an exasperated exhale, "I've just never done the whole teenage thing before."

"Well, I'm a teenager."

"You're 18. And I inherited you only recently because you were too goddamn stubborn to let me look out for you earlier," He slumps onto the hood of your truck beside you and crosses his arms. "Hit me, what am I in for? Parenting a girl through adolescence?"

You place a finger to your chin in contemplation.

"Hmmm, a young teenage daughter with a horrible early upbringing? Let's see... there'll be boys, booze, cigarettes, tattoos, tantrums. I'll spare you the super gory details." You count on your fingers, a wry smile creeping in the more horrors you rattle off, seeing the chief's characteristically red features begin to drain of their colour, like a plug has been pulled on his face.

"Great. That's just great." He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Releasing a snort, his attention snaps back to your direction, and beholding how amused you look, the colour rises to his face again.

You say, "I'm pulling your leg, Pop. She's going to be just fine - you're her dad."

Then, you draw away to fade into yourself, and the smile melts down to nothing.

You finally speak again, "You know? I think if I had you when I was her age, I would've turned out okay."

His typically stone-like expression softens.

"Don't be so hard in yourself. You did turn out okay. It might've taken you a little longer than kids in normal circumstances, but you're here now. And you have got me."

He places a tentative arm around you, mindful not to overstep.

But you welcome it, nestling your head into his shoulder and he rumples your hair with his massive hand before placing a gentle peck to your temple.

You chuckle, "Your cologne is super overpowering, by the way. Going to see Joyce by any chance?"

Hopper, also laughing, awards you a squeeze.

"Smart-ass."

***

By the time you get to work, Robin is already at the front of Scoops being her usual sunshiney self - the epitome of stellar customer service.

"Have a nice day." She deadpans like a zombie to a pair of customers as she impassively hands them two ice-creams. Actually, zombies probably have more life in them than Robin right now, who opened the store at the ass-crack of dawn.

Behind these two customers, a boy patiently awaits his turn, beaming at the freckled girl in an overly familiar fashion.

She raises her eyebrows, puzzled, when the boy proudly strides up to the counter.

"I'm Dustin." The boy explains.

"I'm Robin?" She blinks, bemused.

"Pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you already, that I forget we've never been properly introduced."

"Really?"

He goes to speak again, but you burst from the staff-room door.

"Dustin!" You exclaim with arms open wide.