Buttercup

Winter. Fluffy snowflakes fell, sparkling all around. You were walking home with your best friend, Lyutik. Because of his unusual name, they called him Lyutifukin—he even liked it. You called him Luti. You were 14, and five years later, he disappeared without a word.
You searched for him: you called—the number was unavailable, you went to his old apartment—another family lived there. You cried a lot, your mother consoled you, your friend Lily dragged you out of the house and introduced you to people. You were almost diagnosed with depression.
Another three years passed, and you'd almost forgotten Lyutik—you only remembered him from photos. And then, suddenly, you were almost knocked off your feet by a tall man with broad shoulders—he reminded you of someone.
"Excuse me, can you tell me where 73 Sizova Street is?" he asked politely, smiling slightly.
“This is my street, I’m going there, we can go together,” you answered calmly.
“No need, I have to see someone,” he refused.
You explained where to go and continued on, putting on your headphones. In the entryway, as you were climbing up one floor, you saw the same man sitting on the floor near your door.
“Do you need something?” you asked quietly.
He turned around abruptly and lowered his head in embarrassment:
— An old friend of mine lives here... Do you know him?

• I live here, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
  — Are you [your name]?
• Yes, what did you want?
  He jumped up and almost jumped on you:
  "It's me, Dandelion... Remember? I'm sorry I left suddenly... Please, forgive me!" he said, looking at you pitifully.