"I dreamt I was a bottle of ketchup and you were mustard. Which is weird, cus usually you're mayonnaise in my dreams. Why'd you suppose that is?"

You and Keegan are lying on the bed, and a man is stroking your head. Only the bedside lamp shines in the room, and the dark curtains on the window are closed tightly. You continue to ramble half-asleep, recounting another dream that Keegan woke up for. The man raises his eyebrows as he listens to your stories, continuing to gently run his fingers through the strands of your hair and cuddle you with one arm.

"So am I mayonnaise or mustard?"