The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV

As much as I hated to admit it, staying here any longer was crossing a line—even for me. It was already midnight, and there I was, sitting in her living room, watching her sleep. Her face had softened, the usual tension gone as her chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. She looked peaceful, angelic even, and for a moment, I forgot all the sass, the glares, and the walls she constantly put up.

But as beautiful as she looked, I knew it wasn’t right. Hell, I felt like the biggest creep in the world just sitting here, staring at her like some love-struck idiot. I needed to leave. Now.

Except... I didn’t want to wake her.

That was the dilemma. Ella was the kind of person who valued her personal space more than anything, and I was already skating on thin ice by barging into her home tonight. Waking her up now, especially with me hovering like this, would only make things worse.

Then I noticed how uncomfortable she looked.

Her head was tilted at an awkward angle, her arm wedged between her body and the couch cushion in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. I frowned, guilt pooling in my chest. Was it wrong to move her? Would she freak out if she woke up halfway through? I was walking on eggshells here, and with Ella, one wrong move could mean total disaster.

Still, I couldn’t just leave her like that. Her couch looked stiff, her position worse. With a deep breath, I made a decision.

Carefully—so carefully—I slipped my arms beneath her. One under her knees, the other supporting her back. She was surprisingly light, and for a moment, I stood there, cradling her in my arms like some knight in a cheesy romance novel. Not that I was complaining.

Her head lolled slightly, her cheek brushing against my chest, and I froze, waiting for her to stir. But she didn’t. She just let out the softest sigh, and I swear my heart skipped a beat.

With slow, deliberate steps, I moved to the couch I’d been sitting on earlier. It was bigger, more comfortable, and I figured it’d be better for her than that rigid piece of furniture she’d originally curled up on. I gently set her down, adjusting her so her head rested against the armrest, her body stretched out and relaxed.

And then came the next challenge.

She didn’t have a blanket on the couch, and I couldn’t in good conscience leave her without one. But going into her bedroom to grab one felt... wrong. Like I’d be invading her privacy in a way she wouldn’t forgive. I looked around desperately, my eyes landing on something draped over the armchair—a large piece of fabric that was either an oversized scarf or a throw.

Good enough.

I picked it up and shook it out, carefully draping it over her sleeping form. She shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, and I froze again, praying she wouldn’t wake up. When she settled back into stillness, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

But just as I was about to step away, I couldn’t help myself.

Her face was so calm, so serene, and for a moment, I was overwhelmed by the urge to do something I knew I shouldn’t. My heart pounded in my chest, my thoughts racing as I bent down, hesitating when I was just inches away.

"This is a bad idea," I whispered to myself, knowing full well it wasn’t going to stop me.

And then, with a softness I didn’t know I was capable of, I pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

It was quick, barely even a brush of my lips, but it felt like everything in the world had stopped. She didn’t stir, didn’t wake, and for a second, I let myself soak in the moment.

When I finally straightened, my heart was still hammering in my chest, and I knew—I knew—that if she ever found out, she’d kill me. But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. Not for a second.

I grabbed my bag and quietly made my way to the door, glancing back at her one last time before I left. She was still there, bundled up in that makeshift blanket, her lips parted slightly as she slept. Locking her door I chuckled that was a close one.

And as I stepped out into the cold night air, I couldn’t stop the stupid smile spreading across my face.

Yeah, I was a goner.

I went to my car, happier than I had been in years, maybe ever. This night, despite the awkwardness, the sass, and the precarious tightrope I had walked, had been worth every ounce of effort. I felt like a teenager who had stolen a kiss from his crush and was now floating on air. Except this wasn’t just a schoolboy infatuation, and that kiss wasn’t even meant to happen. It wasn’t even a real kiss—it was a stolen whisper of a moment. But God, it felt different, monumental.

As I sat in the driver’s seat, my hands gripping the steering wheel but my mind far away, I couldn’t stop replaying the evening in my head. That stolen kiss, as fleeting as it had been, carried a weight I couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t like the other kisses I’d stolen in the past—those impulsive, thoughtless moments where arrogance, jealousy, or some childish need for dominance had driven me.

No, this one was different.

I couldn’t help but think back to that day I’d barged into her apartment, completely uninvited, and let my jealousy dictate my actions. That was one of my lowest moments, and the memory of it still made me cringe. I had been a complete idiot then, a selfish, narcissistic jerk who couldn’t admit to himself that he liked her—really liked her. Instead of being honest, I had cornered her, literally and figuratively, and forced her to react to me. I had relied on her body’s reflexes to satisfy some insecure part of me that just wanted to prove she felt something for me, even if it wasn’t by choice.

And sure, her body had reacted. But that didn’t mean she wanted me. That didn’t mean she liked me. It certainly didn’t mean she respected me.

That day had been a wake-up call, though it had taken me a while to process just how badly I’d screwed up. It was easy to pretend it was just banter, playful teasing, or some harmless flirtation, but deep down, I knew the truth: I’d crossed a line. I’d been more than a jerk—I’d been a fool. And Ella? She’d seen right through me.

She didn’t just dislike me because I was cocky or pushy; she disliked me because I was the very thing she despised—an entitled, spoiled rich boy who thought the world owed him something. And to make matters worse, I’d made sure to prove her right with my actions.

But tonight... tonight was different.

Tonight, I hadn’t barged into her life like a bull in a china shop. Okay, maybe I’d still shown up uninvited, but I’d tried. I’d tried to respect her boundaries, tried to show her I could be better. I’d been patient (well, as patient as I’m capable of being), I’d listened, and I’d done my best to let her take the lead.

And when she’d finally fallen asleep, trusting me enough to let her guard down, I’d felt something shift.

It wasn’t just the quiet gratitude of being allowed into her space; it was a determination, a promise I silently made to myself as I carried her to the couch and tucked her in.

I was going to be better for her.

No more barging into her life like some hormonal idiot. No more pushing her into situations she didn’t want to be in. No more letting my jealousy or insecurities get the better of me.

I was going to knock, not just on her door, but on her heart. And if she let me in—even just a crack—I was going to prove that I could be the man she deserved.

Because Ella wasn’t just another girl. She wasn’t someone I could charm or tease into liking me. She was the kind of person who demanded respect, who saw through the bravado and the games. And for her, I was willing to leave all of that behind.

As I started the car and drove off into the night, I couldn’t help but smile.

I didn’t know what the future held for us—whether she’d ever see me as more than the spoiled, annoying guy who constantly got on her nerves. But for the first time in a long time, I was willing to be patient.

Because Ella wasn’t just worth the fuss.

She was worth everything.

That night, as I finally slid into my car, I couldn’t help but feel like the universe had finally thrown me a bone. I leaned back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling of my car, replaying every second of the night over and over again. From the way her stubborn resolve had cracked just enough to let me in, to the way her lips had twitched in amusement despite herself at one of my stupid jokes. But most of all, the way she looked as she slept.

I knew I was treading dangerously close to becoming a hopeless romantic sap, but who could blame me? Ella was... mesmerizing. And not in the cheesy, "she’s so perfect, she’s an angel" kind of way. No, Ella was all fire and ice. She was sharp, sarcastic, and stubborn to a fault. She had no problem telling me off and putting me in my place—something most people wouldn’t dare do. But there was a softness underneath, one she worked so hard to bury that catching a glimpse of it felt like finding a treasure.

And tonight? Tonight, I got more than just a glimpse.