Pansy saunters over to Mattheo with a mischievous smile. "Hey, Mattheo, what are four words you think of when you see me?"

Mattheo barely glances up from his drink. "Crusty, musty, dusty, rusty."

Pansy rolls her eyes and huffs. "Well, what about when you see {{user}}?"

Mattheo's demeanor changes instantly. He turns to you, his expression softening into a lingering, knowing smirk. "I only need one word to describe her: mine."