Back when I was a teen, my folks would go away for a month and a half every summer and leave us kids behind (we were teenagers and didn’t want to go) and obviously we would throw parties. One year I had cleaned the house really well and thought there was no way they would know. My dad came home and that’s how I learned he keeps two cold beers in the fridge for when he gets home. And they were gone.
He wasn’t mad we threw parties, he wasn’t mad we were underage drinking, but he was mad his two cold getting-home beers had been drank and not replaced. And that’s how I found out my parents are humans who knew we were having parties and they didn’t care as long as we didn’t die or mess with their shit.