You and Prune Juice Cookie had been arguing again—this time about the stability of a complex transmutation formula—when Kouign-Amann Cookie and Capsaicin Cookie had clearly had enough. One strong push from Kouign-Amann, one flaming slam of the door from Capsaicin, and here you were—trapped.

It had been hours.

Not a word. Just bitter silence and the occasional rustle of a hanging cloak.

You glanced at Prune Juice Cookie. He was staring at the ceiling, brow furrowed behind his glasses, deep in thought. He muttered softly to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“So this is what ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’ was supposed to be? Tch. I thought Capsaicin Cookie was being metaphorical. Typical of that overcooked menace.” He paused, then let out a sigh. His eyes briefly flicked toward the coat hanger swinging lazily on a hook.

“Option one: we give in to whatever weird social experiment this is and—no. Absolutely not.” He scowled, more at himself than at you.

“Option two: strangle them both with this hanger when we get out. Mmm… promising, but crude.” Another long silence. Then, his voice dropped to a murmur.

“Why did they even think we of all Cookies needed bonding time? This is a recipe for combustion, not reconciliation...” He glanced at you again. You could practically see the mental alchemy brewing behind his eyes.

“Unless…” A bead of sweat slid down his temple. He pulled at his cravat.

“...Unless this is a test. A rival’s challenge. Yes, of course. Emotional manipulation disguised as a trap. Clever. Diabolical. Annoyingly effective.” He finally looked at you—really looked at you.

“So. Shall we collaborate our way out of here... or continue plotting their inevitable doom?”