Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 105: Almost

The hospital smell hit me the second we stepped into the corridor—bleach, antiseptic, and something faintly metallic that always put me on edge. I hated hospitals. They felt far too sterile. Way too much Too many things out of your control.

Cameron was beside me, silent now. We passed a nurse’s station where one of the nurses looked up and did a double take; maybe recognizing me or whatever, I could care less.

We made it to Room 207.

I didn’t knock.

I pushed the door open—and there she was.

Isabella.

She was sitting up on the bed, her left ankle wrapped and propped on a pillow. There was a faint bruise just under her knee. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled up to her elbows and her hair was in a loose, tired, knot.

Aria was beside her, halfway through opening a snack cup of jelly.

A nurse was in the corner, checking something on the monitor.

Her head snapped up when I entered.

"Adrien." Her voice was soft, surprised.

I crossed the room in three strides. My hands hovered over her—shoulders, face, legs. Looking for signs of something worse. Something hidden.

"I’m fine," she said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Why is everyone being dramatic."

I didn’t answer. My fingers brushed her chin gently, turning her face slightly left, right. A scrape on her cheek. Faint. But it was there.

"You call this fine?"

"I’ve had worse," she muttered, eyes rolling. "Leo nearly had a heart attack. I just got a sprain from how hard he pulled me."

"Pain level?"

"Three," Isabella lies, lifting her chin.

"Five," the nurse corrects, passing us with a chart. "She winced during rotation."

I shoot Isabella a look; she sticks her tongue out at me.

Cameron chuckled quietly and aria glared at him. She set the jelly aside, popped up, and turned toward the nurse and him.

"You," she says suddenly, pointing at Cameron.

He blinks. "Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, eyes narrowing. "Mr. I-Wear-Earrings-In-Both-Ears-And-Stare-Like-I-Know-Everyone’s-Social-Security-Number."

Cameron blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"You’re Adrien’s... what? His secret agent? Friend? Wallet holder? Lip balm distributor?" she waved a hand. "Whatever. Come with me."

He just stared. "Are you talking to me?"

"Duh." She widened her eyes dramatically. "Unless you’re hiding another dude with suspiciously good bone structure and an air of vaguely annoyed competence behind you, yeah, I’m talking to you."

The nurse choked on a laugh.

"I—what?" Cameron looked vaguely alarmed.

Aria pointed toward the door again. "We’re getting ice cream. You and me. And Nurse Maria. Come on."

The nurse, Maria, instantly caught on. She placed down the chart she’d been holding and smiled, a genuine, amused smile. "That sounds like a good plan," she said, folding her hands neatly.

"Which floor is the cafeteria on again?"

Cameron looked utterly confused, his eyes flicking between Aria’s determined expression, Maria’s cheerful compliance, and me. He looked as if he were silently begging for help. Aria’s nicknames for him did not help.

I just watched. Aria is kind of right, the room was getting a little crowded. A chance to talk to Isabella alone, without witnesses, would be valuable.

I gave Cameron a slow, almost unnoticeable nod. Go.

Cameron released a long, drawn-out sound of defeat and said, "Okay" while raising his hands in surrender. "Ice cream it is. Lead the way, Chief of Dessert Acquisition."

Aria beamed brightly, a victorious glint in her eye. "That’s more like it, Wallet Holder she replied, grabbing onto Nurse Maria’s arm. "Let’s roll. Mission: Vanilla-Chocolate Swirl."

Cameron gave one last semi-horrified look in my direction before walking behind, shoulders slumped in defeat. Aria gave a wink over her shoulder as the door closed behind the three of them.

I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into her injured ankle.

"She’s... a lot," I finally said, nodding toward the door.

Isabella managed a weak smile. "Aria? Yeah. She doesn’t filter. Ever." she said, and her expression fell in to a tired expression. "I apologize for making you come all the way out here. It’s just a... sprain."

I took her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

She studies me, lashes still damp from earlier tears she swears were only "shock."

"You’re hovering," she murmurs.

"I’m breathing," I correct, brushing my thumb over her hands. "If that’s hovering, I’ll hover until I’m ninety."

A laugh slips out of her. "You’d be unbearable at ninety."

"True." I shift closer, unable to stop tracking every micro‑expression on her face. "You scared me."

"It’s just sprained. No break." Her eyes flicked to mine.

"I thought something happened to you," I admitted quietly. "Your number... the silence..."

"I dropped my phone," she said. "Leo had to carry me half the way. It wasn’t cute."

"You could’ve been hit." My voice dropped, darker now. "You nearly were."

"But I wasn’t."

"But you could’ve been."

Her expression softened. "Adrien..."

I leaned in, my forehead gently brushing hers. "Don’t do that again."

"Do what?" she whispered.

"Scare me like that."

She smiled slightly, teasing. "Isn’t that what girlfriends are for?" She smiles. "I’m sure you broke three traffic laws getting here."

"Four." My free hand finds hers.

Her smile turns shy, almost wonderstruck.

"Does it still hurt?" I ask.

"Less, now that the human heating pad is here." She pokes my chest.

She bites her lip, shaking with laughter.

I stare too long at the curve of her mouth, too long enough that the air changes again. My hand moves to her cheek and she leans in with half-lidded eyes.

I traced the soft line of her jaw with my thumb. The sterile hospital room faded away, from our consciousness, replaced by the quiet intensity between us. Her eyes held mine. There was a question in hers - one that glimmered back in mine.

We were so close. I could feel the pulse beating faintly at her temple beneath my fingers. The smell of antiseptic was still in the air, but now it was overlain with the smell of her hair - familiar and comforting. The world was limited to this space, this breath, undeniable pull taking us together.

My head fell the last fraction of an inch. Her lips parted slightly.

Then──

The door swung open

"Bella?"

A guy stepped in. Tall. Athletic Probably early twenties. Holding a lunch box. He looked at me and froze.

Behind him, a man that looked to be in his late 50s or 40s stopped at the door frame, looked from me to Isabella and to our hands clasped together.

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