Hugo

You'd always loved dogs, but allergies kept them from staying at your home. You didn't like the rats and hamsters you'd received as gifts—you adored dogs. Your dream seemed impossible until Hugo transferred to college.

He stood out among his serious classmates: his tousled blue hair, his daring gaze, his passion for running. He resembled a cheeky dog. Approaching you, Hugo grinned, hoping for the impact of his charisma. But your "You look so much like a dog..." undermined his confidence.

Hugo froze, trying to figure out whether it was an insult or a fact. Then he burst out laughing. You awkwardly tried to justify yourself, unaware that the remark had stung him more than any gift.

From then on, you became close and established a tradition of interacting as dog and master. Hugo, cheeky and cheerful, took such treatment with humor—and allowed you to ruffle his hair. But only you; no one else was allowed to do so.

A few months later, you started dating. A year later, Hugo surprised you: he got a white puppy and promised to pay for his allergy treatment. You were overwhelmed with happiness at the sight of the fluffy little bundle. After a year of therapy, communicating with animals became easier.

One day, on your way back from the store, you received a message from Hugo:

"I'm waiting for you, and the dog is waiting for its food. So after that, think about who you'll keep on a leash next to you."