The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

JASON POV:

Okay, waking up to Ella screaming in my face and then being shoved off the bed? Yeah, I’ll admit, not how I pictured this morning going.

One second, I was dreaming of, I don’t know, something nice—probably involving chocolate and that weird laugh Ella has when she thinks no one’s listening—and the next thing I knew, I was airborne. The ground was surprisingly less forgiving than I expected.

I hit the floor with a loud thud, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, and groaned. "What the hell?!"

And then Ella, in full-blown morning outrage mode, screeched, "What the hell?! What the hell?!"

Her face was a mix of confusion, fury, and sheer disbelief, and honestly, I was still trying to figure out what had just happened. I rubbed my shoulder and looked up at her. "What are you doing in my bed?!" she demanded, clutching the covers like I was some kind of intruder.

"What am I doing? You told me to stay!" I shot back, my voice defensive but still groggy.

"I told you to stay, not to sleep in my bed!"

"Well, I wasn’t exactly snuggling, Ella! I stayed on top of the covers."

Her eyes narrowed like she wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was the truth. I’d stayed above the barrier of her blanket, even though it had been tempting to slide under just for the extra warmth. But I figured waking up to Ella freaking out because we were sharing the same blanket wasn’t on my list of survival goals. Clearly, even my precautions hadn’t been enough.

"You were in pain, crying, practically cursing out your entire existence," I explained, sitting up and stretching out my arm, which now felt sore thanks to my impromptu flight. "What was I supposed to do? Leave? What if something happened?"

She didn’t respond right away, but her scowl softened just a fraction. That’s how I knew she remembered everything from the night before. Gotcha, I thought smugly.

"The couch exists, you know," she muttered, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, and it’s lumpy as hell. Besides, what if you woke up and needed me? I wasn’t about to risk missing the call of duty because I was on the other side of the apartment."

Ella groaned, flopping back onto the bed with dramatic flair, her frustration radiating off her in waves. I was tempted to laugh, but I figured that would earn me a second trip to the floor, and I liked my bones unbroken.

"Jason, you can’t just—" She stopped, clearly searching for the right words. "You can’t just... ugh, whatever." She threw her hands over her face like she was ready to give up on this conversation altogether.

For some reason, that made me smirk. "You know, for someone who begged me to stay—"

"I didn’t beg!" she snapped, glaring at me from under her hands.

"—you’re acting pretty ungrateful," I finished, ignoring her outburst.

She peeked at me, her death glare full force. "Ungrateful? Ungrateful?! Jason, you’re lucky I don’t throw you out right now!"

"Fine," I said, shrugging as nonchalantly as I could. "Next time you’re crying and clutching your stomach in pain, I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. Sound good?"

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as if she was trying to come up with some kind of retort. Finally, she groaned and flopped back on the bed again, her frustration giving way to what I could only describe as reluctant defeat.

I crouched down slightly, softening my voice. "Look, Ella, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t mean to overstep."

For a second, she looked at me, her expression less furious and more... tired. Vulnerable, even. She sighed, finally giving up the fight. "Fine. But next time, you sleep on the couch. Got it?"

"Got it."

"And don’t smirk at me," she added, narrowing her eyes.

"No promises," I said, grinning just wide enough to make her roll her eyes and groan again, pulling the covers over her head.

Mission accomplished, I thought as I stood up and stretched. Sure, I’d probably get a lecture later about boundaries or whatever, but seeing her slowly relax—even if it meant I’d have to dodge flying pillows in the future—was worth it.

Now, I just needed to figure out how to make it through breakfast without getting shoved again. Small price to pay for sticking around.

Cooking breakfast for Ella? Easy. Winning her trust while doing it? Not so much.

When I offered to make her breakfast, her immediate skepticism hit me like a punch to the ego. Did I deserve it? Maybe. But that didn’t mean I was going to let her dismiss me without a fight.

"You? Cook?" she asked, clutching her blanket tighter like I was about to poison her. "Forgive me if I don’t jump up and down with excitement at the thought."

Ouch. That one stung. But I wasn’t about to back down. "Why does everyone think I’m useless in a kitchen? I can cook!" I protested, puffing my chest a little for effect.

Her look was pure disbelief. "Define ’cook.’"

Okay, that was fair. I might have overplayed my hand. I placed a hand dramatically over my chest, feigning offense. "Ouch, Ella. That cuts deep. I’ll have you know I can make an omelet, toast, pancakes, and..." I paused for effect, shooting her a smug grin. "Instant ramen."

Her response was immediate and unimpressed. "Instant ramen doesn’t count. Even toddlers can do that."

"Wow. No faith at all," I muttered, shaking my head. But inside, I was enjoying this. This back-and-forth? It was almost normal, and after seeing her cry last night, I’d take normal. "Fine. You just sit there and relax. I’ll prove to you I’m not just a pretty face."

"Pretty face, my foot," she mumbled under her breath, but I caught the faintest twitch of a smile. Progress.

"Fine," she relented, still skeptical. "But if I hear so much as one fire alarm, you’re banned from the kitchen forever."

"Got it. One five-star breakfast coming right up!" I saluted her like a soldier going into battle and headed for the kitchen.

Once inside, I started rummaging through her cabinets. Okay, maybe I was winging it a little. But I wasn’t about to let her know that. Luckily, there were eggs, bread, butter, and some cheese in her fridge. Omelets and toast? I could handle that.

I got to work, cracking eggs and whisking them like I was on a cooking show. The smell of buttered toast filled the air, and I could only hope it smelled as good to her as it did to me.

"Ella!" I called out, flipping the omelet with more flair than necessary. "Your royal breakfast is almost ready. I expect a five-star Yelp review!"

I heard her shuffle closer, and when I glanced over, she was standing in the doorway, wrapped in her blanket like a grumpy burrito. The sight made me grin.

"What?" I teased. "Couldn’t resist watching a master chef at work?"

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You’re lucky I don’t have my phone. This would be prime blackmail material."

"Go ahead," I said, smirking as I plated the omelet. "You’d only be showing everyone how amazing I am."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t leave. Small victories.

I set the plate in front of her with a flourish. "Your breakfast, madam."

She poked at the omelet like it might come to life. "If I die, I’m haunting you."

"Noted," I said, sitting across from her with my own plate.

When she finally took a bite, I watched her face for any sign of disgust, but instead, she looked... surprised.

"Okay," she said reluctantly, taking another bite. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" I repeated, grinning. "That’s all I get?"

"Don’t push it," she warned, but there was a smile on her face, and I couldn’t help feeling ridiculously pleased with myself.

For a while, we ate in comfortable silence. I wasn’t sure why, but watching her eat something I made—it felt good. Like I’d done something right.

"Thanks," she said softly, barely looking at me.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but inside, I was beaming. "Anytime, Ella."

She didn’t say anything else, but the faint pink on her cheeks was enough to make my morning.

If this was what it took to see her smile, I’d make breakfast every damn day.

I wasn’t expecting a medal for cooking breakfast, but I also wasn’t expecting Ella to look so... skeptical. I mean, I’d just saved her from what looked like the worst night of her life. A little gratitude wouldn’t have hurt.

Instead, she watched me sit down with my own plate like I’d committed some crime.

"What? You think I was going to slave away in the kitchen and not eat too?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I started on my omelet.

She rolled her eyes, the universal sign of Ella-annoyance. "Slave away? You cooked for all of fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen glorious minutes of artistry," I shot back, gesturing dramatically to my plate. "Michelangelo didn’t rush the Sistine Chapel, Ella. Respect the craft."

Her sarcastic snort told me she wasn’t impressed, but I caught the tiniest twitch of a smile as she took another bite. Victory.

"So," she said, her tone challenging, "do you always crash into someone’s apartment, take over their kitchen, and make yourself breakfast?"

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "Nope. Only for you."

She froze mid-bite, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she scowled at me. That scowl was as close to flattery as I was going to get, and honestly? I’d take it.

"Lucky me," she muttered, though her usual venom was missing.

"Very lucky," I replied, grinning as I shoveled more omelet into my mouth.

For a few minutes, we ate in companionable silence. I kept glancing at her, trying to gauge if she was still mad at me for, you know, existing in her bed. But she seemed... calm. Calm for Ella, anyway.

"So, what’s the verdict?" I asked, nodding toward her plate.

She made a big show of chewing thoughtfully, her expression serious. "It’s edible."

I gasped, clutching my chest like she’d just insulted my ancestors. "Edible? That’s all I get? This is gourmet, Ella. G-o-u-r-m-e-t. You should be bowing in gratitude."

She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched. "Keep dreaming."

I laughed and let it go. For someone as stubborn as Ella, that half-smile was the equivalent of a standing ovation.

As we finished eating, I noticed how much more relaxed she looked. The tension from last night had eased, and even though she’d never admit it, I knew she appreciated having someone around.

When her plate was empty, she leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Okay, I’ll admit it. You can cook. Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," I said with a smirk, because, let’s be real, compliments from Ella were rare and deserved to be milked for all they were worth.

I got up to clear the plates, and as I gathered them, I felt her eyes on me. Not in the usual you’re annoying, please leave way, but something softer. It made me pause for a moment, wondering what was going through that sharp, brilliant, slightly terrifying mind of hers.

"Hey," she said suddenly, her voice quieter than usual.

I turned to her, curious. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," she said, her eyes flickering to the table. "For, you know, everything. The chocolate, breakfast... being here."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I knew Ella—letting her guard down wasn’t easy. Hearing her say those simple words felt like winning the lottery.

I smiled, soft and genuine, because that’s what this moment deserved. "Anytime, Ella."

She looked away, muttering something I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t need to. The color rising in her cheeks told me enough.

And just like that, I realized staying up until 2 a.m., getting shoved off a bed, and enduring her death glares had been worth it. Every second of it.