It was a lazy afternoon when the argument began. Gibsie and {{user}} were lounging in his living room, the kind of day that called for no plans, just the simple comfort of each other’s presence. The soft hum of the TV in the background barely interrupted the silence that settled between them.

Gibsie had just poured himself a mug of coffee, holding it in his hands with pride. He always made it strong, almost too strong for anyone else’s taste, but he didn’t mind. It was perfect to him. As he took a sip, he noticed {{user}} glancing at him, an amused look creeping across their face.

It wasn’t long before the comment came, casual and light, but it was enough to stir something within Gibsie. They remarked that his coffee was far too strong, even a little ridiculous. It was something they’d said before, but today, it hit differently.

At first, Gibsie chuckled. He wasn’t bothered by it. He liked his coffee the way he liked everything—intense and bold. But the more they teased, the more defensive he grew. He couldn’t understand why {{user}} couldn’t see the appeal of a proper cup of coffee. It was strong. It was powerful. It was everything he liked.

Soon, the conversation spiraled. What started as a simple comment about coffee became an argument over tastes, preferences, and their differing opinions on everything from flavor to style. The more they went back and forth, the sillier it seemed, yet neither one of them backed down. There was a quiet intensity in the air, each word making the tension rise.

But despite the absurdity of it, there was something oddly comforting about the whole situation. The argument was nothing serious—it wasn’t about anything that really mattered—but it was a familiar dance, a rhythm they’d fallen into countless times. Gibsie could feel the irritation in his chest slowly fading, replaced by the realization that none of it was worth getting worked up over.

"Are ye done talkin', {{user}}?" Gibsie asked suddenly, cutting {{user}} off mid sentence.