Fake Date, Real Fate
Chapter 159: Coffee vs. Cookie

Chapter 159: Coffee vs. Cookie

ISABELLA’S POV

"Okay," I said, eyes narrowed at Aria. "Final answer. You can only keep one: chocolate chip cookies or coffee."

Aria gasped like I’d asked her to pick her favorite kidney. "What kind of cursed question is that? Why are you like this?"

"I’m like this because these are the questions that define us," I said, smiling weakly. "This reveals your soul, Aria. Are you a creature of pure, unadulterated comfort, or one of ritual and necessity?"

"Okay. Okay," she whispered, closing her eyes as if in deep meditation. "Let’s be rational about this."

I snorted. "Too late for that."

She ignored me. "Coffee," she began, her voice low and reverent. "Coffee is the starter pistol for the day. It’s the smell of ambition. It’s the warm mug on a cold morning, the bitter kick that says, ’You can do this.’ It’s conversation, its focus, it’s... it’s the infrastructure of my personality."

She opened her eyes and looked at the cookie. Her face softened instantly.

"But the cookie," she breathed. "The chocolate chip cookie is a hug in food form. It’s buttery and soft, with just enough crisp at the edges. It’s the gooey, melted chocolate that sticks to your fingers. It’s nostalgia. It’s what you eat when you’ve had a bad day, or a good day, or just... a day. It asks nothing of you. It simply is."

She was pacing in her mind, I could see it.

"This is impossible," she declared, slumping on the bed. "It’s a violation of my rights. One is my engine, the other is my reward. You can’t have a journey without a destination!"

"The genie is tapping his foot, Aria. The cosmic clock is ticking," I said, barely suppressing my grin. "One. Word."

She threw a pillow at me, gently. "Fine. Coffee. But I reserve the right to regret that answer during PMS week."

"Fair."

We were both curled up on the hospital bed—well, she was sitting cross-legged beside me, carefully avoiding the IV lines. My head rested against the raised headboard, and she was careful to keep her weight off my legs. Her fingers, long and cool, were tracing patterns on the starched white blanket that covered me.

"Okay, your turn," she said, her voice soft now, the game a cobweb thread connecting us in the quiet of the room. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only percussion.

"My turn?" I asked, my own voice a little rough.

"You can only keep one," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "The ocean or the mountains."

I didn’t have to think. "The ocean."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because it’s honest," I said, looking away from her towards the window. "It doesn’t pretend to be anything but vast and powerful and indifferent. It can hold you up or it can pull you under, and it doesn’t care which. There’s a peace in that. In knowing where you stand."

Aria didn’t respond for a moment. Her fingers stopped tracing patterns and came to rest on my hand, her thumb stroking the back of it, right over the blue-taped catheter for the IV.

"I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard you say," she said, her voice thick.

"Yeah, well." I tried for a shrug, but it came out as more of a twitch. "Hospital lighting isn’t exactly conducive to cheer."

We sat in silence for a few more beeps of the machine. It was a sound I was starting to hate, a constant, electronic reminder of the faulty wiring in my own chest.

"You know," she said, her voice barely audible, "if I had to choose between you and coffee..."

I turned my head to look at her fully. The joke was gone. Her face was pale, her expression stripped bare.

"I’d choose you," she finished, a single tear breaking free and tracing a path down her cheek. "Every single time. I’d drink lukewarm tap water for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t even complain."

A lump formed in my throat, hard and painful. "Even during PMS week?" I managed to croak out.

A small, watery smile touched her lips. "Even then. Though I might be significantly more murderous." She squeezed my hand. "The cookie," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"The answer to your question. The real one. It’s the cookie." Her gaze was intense. "Because coffee is about what you have to do. It’s about facing the world. The cookie... it’s about being. Just being. And that’s enough. That has to be enough."

I squeezed her hand back, my eyes stinging now. Not from pain. Not even from her words. But from the realization that, for all her theatrics and snark, Aria knew exactly what parts of me were cracked—and she never looked away from them.

A soft knock on the door made both of us freeze.

Before either of us could speak, it opened—slowly, as if whoever was on the other side knew this wasn’t a room they could just barge into.

Leo poked his head through the gap, his curls flattened on one side like he’d just woken up. His shirt was inside out. "Are you guys... crying again?"

Aria groaned and flopped backwards onto the bed. "He ruins everything."

"We were not crying," I said, my voice a little too sharp. I wiped a hand across my face, feeling the dampness under my eyes. Damn hospital lighting.

"Okay, then why are you both sniffing? And why does it smell like raw emotion in here?" He paused, sniffing the air dramatically. "And... disinfectant? Classic."

Aria sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "We were having a discussion, Leo. A very important philosophical debate about the nature of existence."

"Uh-huh." Leo pushed the door open properly, revealing a paper bag clutched in his hand. He stepped inside, his mismatched socks peeking out from beneath the cuffs of his slightly-too-short jeans. "Behold: muffins. From the place that doesn’t use fake vanilla. I made the barista show me the bottle."

I laughed—an actual, full laugh—and it hurt my ribs a little, but I didn’t care.

"You’re a menace," I told him.

"Yeah, but I’m your menace," he replied, dropping the bag on the bedside table and eyeing the IV drip like it might explode. "Also, that machine keeps beeping in a judgmental way. I don’t like it."

"It’s keeping me alive, genius."

"Yeah, well. Can it do it more quietly?"

Aria rolled her eyes. "He has the emotional depth of a teaspoon."

Leo blinked. "Excuse you. I cried when I watched La-coco."

"You cried because you thought the grandpa was possessed."

"He was making weird noises!"

We were all laughing now, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the hospital walls, the bruising fatigue, and the chaos of everything. Just the three of us. Me, my best friend, and my brother with a muffin crusade and zero self-preservation instincts.

The door swung open again—this time without a knock.

I didn’t even have to look up. I felt it. That shift in the air, like someone had opened a window in my chest.

"I was gone for eighteen hours," Adrien said from the doorway, voice smooth and low, "and my girl looks alive again."

Aria sat up straighter. Leo stood like someone had just pulled him from sleep and tossed him into a board meeting.

Then aria smirked, slow and wicked. "Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Lover Boy himself. Here to claim his patient."

Adrien ignored her entirely, his eyes locked on mine. But I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, just a little. That almost-smile that meant he was too tired to sass but not too tired to be amused.

I sat up straighter, heart tripping over itself. "Hey," I whispered, suddenly breathless for no medical reason.

"Hey," he returned softly. And just like that, my whole body relaxed.

He walked over to my side of the bed and looked me over, like he didn’t trust the machines to tell him the truth.

Then, without asking, he took my hand from where it rested on the blanket and pressed his lips to the back of it. A small, simple gesture.

But my heart nearly forgot its job.

Aria cleared her throat loudly. "Well, that’s our cue to exist. We’ve been here since yesterday, and I need a shower, a nap, and probably to reintroduce myself to the sun."

"Definitely," Leo said as he picked up the muffin bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out two slightly squashed blueberry muffins. "Here," he said to me, offering one. "Emergency rations. Don’t let the IV trick you into thinking you don’t need real food." He then handed the other to Adrien, surprising him. "And you. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Just... don’t let the machines win."

Adrien took the muffin, a flicker of genuine surprise and gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks, Leo."

"Yeah, yeah." Leo shrugged, then turned to leave, bumping into the doorframe on his way out. "Oh, and try not to cry too much while we’re gone. The air gets thick."

Aria rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips as she followed him out, pulling the door almost shut behind them.