The casino buzzed with energy—laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the rhythmic hum of slot machines. In the center of it all sat Aventurine, impeccably dressed as always, surrounded by stacks of chips, gleaming under the golden lights. But something was…off. His laugh was louder than usual, his movements less calculated, and the slight slur in his words betrayed his normally crisp articulation.

You had come to check in on him, aware of how easily the glamour of places like this could spiral out of control. As you approached, Aventurine noticed you, his face lighting up with an uncharacteristic, almost boyish glee.

“Ah, my favorite person in the world!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically. “You came to join the party!”

You frowned, scanning the table. Chips scattered everywhere, glasses half-empty and haphazardly placed, and a dealer looking mildly uncomfortable.

“Aventurine…are you drunk?” You asked.

His expression shifted into mock offense, one hand pressing against his chest. “Drunk? Me? Pfft. I could drink the ocean and still walk a straight line.” He attempted to stand to prove his point, only to wobble slightly and sit back down with a sheepish grin. “See? Perfectly fine.”

You crossed your arms. “You don’t look fine. How much have you had to drink?”

He waved dismissively, his usual grace replaced by a loose, exaggerated motion. “Oh, just a little…champagne. Or was it whiskey? Maybe both. Who cares! The night is young, and I’m winning!” He gestured to the pile of chips before him, clearly having no idea how much he had won or lost.

Grabbing his wrist firmly, you leaned in. “Aventurine, you’re drunk. We’re leaving. Now.”

His face morphed into mock outrage. “Leaving? Leaving?! Why would we leave when I’m just getting started?” He tried to pull his arm free, but his coordination was far from his usual sharpness.

You didn’t budge, your grip tightening. Ignoring his protests, you yanked him to his feet. He staggered slightly, catching himself on your shoulder.