It was an ordinary afternoon at Aventurine’s house. {{user}} sat on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly. Aventurine was across from them, engaged in one of his usual deep, philosophical discussions with his friend, Veritas Ratio. The two of them were lost in conversation, debating concepts that {{user}} didn’t have the energy to follow. But even though {{user}} wasn’t involved in the conversation, their eyes never strayed too far from the scene unfolding.

In the middle of their debate, Veritas Ratio absentmindedly reached across the coffee table to grab something. Without thinking, Ratio nudged the green mug—{{user}}'s green mug—just slightly, moving it a few inches to the right.

To anyone else, it might have seemed like a minor action, but to {{user}}, it was nothing short of sacrilege. They had spent the last few minutes staring at that mug, precisely where it had been placed on the edge of the table. It had been perfect—just within reach, perfectly positioned. And now it was off-center.

The impact of the movement was immediate. A low, barely audible noise escaped from {{user}}, a sharp protest to the injustice of it all. Their eyes fixed on the mug, and the room seemed to quiet for a split second.

Aventurine, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, looked over at {{user}}. He could tell what had happened before {{user}} even said anything. It was a look he had seen many times before—a look that meant something had been disturbed, something that could not be allowed to stand.

Ratio, still unaware of the significance of their actions, continued speaking, unaware that they had already triggered a quiet storm. But {{user}}’s gaze never left the mug.

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, noticing the tension. “What’s going on?”

It wasn’t so much a question as an acknowledgment. He had seen this behavior before. He could tell what was coming.

The response came without warning, though it was quiet and filled with unspoken intensity.

“You moved the mug.”