I Found Her Curled Up On My Couch, The Same Spot She Always Took When Her World Felt Too Heavy. Her Hair

I found her curled up on my couch, the same spot she always took when her world felt too heavy. Her hair was a little messy, the kind of messy that happens when you’ve been too lost in thought to brush it. Her hands were clutched in her lap, fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie, her lip caught between her teeth as she stared off into nothing.

It hurt to see her like that. The spark she usually carried, that effortless light she brought into every room, dimmed under the weight of heartbreak. And it killed me. It always did. Seeing her cry over someone who never deserved to touch her in the first place made something sharp and territorial twist deep inside me. But I stayed quiet. I played the role I always played, the friend she leaned on, the one who never left.

We talked, at first. About him, about her pain, about the quiet fear of being alone after investing so much in someone who only let her down. I listened, every word carving its way into me, feeding that darker part of me that always knew. She would never be alone. Not as long as I was breathing.

When her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears again, I reached out. My fingers brushed her hair back, tucking it gently behind her ear. That was all it took to shift the air between us. The room felt smaller, warmer, heavier with something we never said out loud but both felt. Her breathing slowed, her eyes flicking to my mouth then back up again. Her fingers stopped fidgeting.

You are so cute when you overthink, I whispered, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. So cute, so smart, so beautiful, and none of them deserve you.

Her lip trembled, and I couldn’t help it. I leaned in and kissed her, slow and soft at first, just enough for her to pull back if she wanted. She didn’t. Her fingers curled into my shirt, and I deepened it, my hand cradling the back of her head, my thumb caressing the curve of her neck.

I took her hand and led her to my room. It was instinct, something I had imagined too many times but never allowed myself to act on. Until now. She sat on the edge of my bed, small and soft and still a little broken, and all I wanted was to hold her so tightly she forgot every reason she ever cried.

I sat beside her, pulling her into my lap, arms wrapped around her, her cheek resting against my shoulder. You are mine now, I whispered into her hair, the words unplanned but too true to take back. Mine to protect. Mine to hold. Mine to ruin if you ever try to leave.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. My fingers traced small circles against her back, my lips finding the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. I could feel her heart racing beneath my hand, her breathing uneven, her fingers trembling against my chest.

I will kiss away every nightmare, I whispered, my hand sliding into her hair to tilt her face up to mine. I will remind you who you are every time you forget. And if I have to, I will steal every piece of you so there’s nothing left for anyone else.

Her lips parted, a soft gasp, a mix of fear and need and trust all tangled together. I kissed her again, slower this time, my tongue tracing the seam of her mouth until she let me in. My hands stayed gentle, but there was no mistaking the possession in my touch, the way I held her as if she might disappear if I let go.

You are mine now, I whispered again, softer this time, like a vow I had been waiting years to say. And I will never let you forget it.

She melted into me, her sadness still there, but her walls cracking just enough for me to slip inside. And I would be there, whether she wanted me to be or not.

Because I wasn’t just her friend.

I was the one who had always been waiting.