Tracing the scent backward through time, Yi-hyeon spotted a student under the glow of a streetlamp, picking up flyers that had fallen to the ground. As he watched that scene, information he’d briefly forgotten—buoyed by the happiness of having grown close to Han Jun—came flooding back, and a wave of guilt swept through his chest.
There’s no way he’d be okay…
The companion animal he’d loved so dearly had vanished.
Come to think of it, that night he’d walked him home, too—the time Han Jun had left in a taxi—hadn’t it been around this hour? It seemed Han Jun had been searching for the places he used to walk with Louis, without missing a single day.
Because Han Jun looked like he was getting along fine with him and more or less adjusting to school life, Yi-hyeon had assumed he was managing his emotions well. His fingertips, clenched tight with guilt, tingled sharply.
What do I do…
No matter what he said if he approached him now, Yi-hyeon felt it would inevitably be a lie—a deception. But he also couldn’t just ignore him and walk past. Han Jun’s crouched figure beneath the chilly night sky looked unbearably lonely, and Yi-hyeon couldn’t bring himself to move his feet.
Yi-hyeon pressed his lower lip firmly between his teeth. Unable to do this or that, he lowered his head—when suddenly, a familiar voice called his name.
“Yoon Yi-hyeon.”
Should he pretend he hadn’t heard and walk away? Or stop and turn back to him? And after turning back, what would he even say? Why are you here instead of going home? But he already knew the answer to that. Then… Should I offer to help you look for the puppy? That, too, felt like deception. While Yi-hyeon hesitated, Han Jun approached and spoke first with a smile.
“Evening self-study just ended?”
Why did that smile feel so uncomfortable? Yi-hyeon couldn’t bring himself to meet Han Jun’s eyes. Letting his gaze drift downward, he nodded slightly.
“Yeah. I skipped it this month. I’ve got something important to look for.”
As if to say you know what I mean, Han Jun lightly shook the flyer in his hand. Seeing the torn flyer, creased with footprints, made Yi-hyeon’s chest ache so badly he couldn’t say a word.
“I got so frustrated that I posted about it on Byulstar, and someone DM’d me. They said I should look for the place the puppy was most familiar with.”
He said that was when he started adjusting his self-study and academy schedule.
“Thanks to you carefully putting up the flyers back then, I actually got a lot of tips. But they were all different dogs.”
When Han Jun said that at this point, he’d even wondered if Louis had gone back to his original owner, Yi-hyeon finally lifted the head he’d been keeping lowered all this time.
“Owner?”
“Yeah. He seemed like a dog who had an owner. He was way too clean to be a stray, didn’t have a single injury, and he was really used to people’s touch.”
“Ah…”
“If not that, then maybe he was an angel.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll probably think I’m an idiot for saying this, but Louis never seemed like an ordinary dog to me.”
Han Jun said he’d first met Louis at his mother’s funeral hall. Louis had appeared on the hospital rooftop, where dogs weren’t allowed. He was too well-groomed to be a stray, with no wounds and no signs of starvation.
“He was standing near the railing, and maybe he thought I was about to do something stupid, because he bit onto my pant leg and whined. It felt like he was trying to stop me.”
He hadn’t been an ordinary dog, but rather the manifestation of Joo Mi-yeon’s lingering thoughts. Worried that her beloved son, shattered by her death, might impulsively harbor dark thoughts without ever getting the chance to bloom, she might have appeared in the form of a dog. And still anxious, perhaps she’d intended to stay by his side at least until his birthday.
“I asked around everywhere to find an owner, but no one ever came forward, so I was keeping him temporarily.”
It didn’t make sense for the owner to suddenly appear and take him now—but Han Jun said it made even less sense that Louis had vanished so completely, without a trace. Yi-hyeon listened in silence.
“I don’t know how he escaped, but they say smart dogs sometimes find their way back home on their own. If it’s not that, then there’s only one explanation for disappearing without a trace like this.”
That Louis had really been an angel. Saying that, Han Jun stared quietly at the flyer in his hand.
“Louis wasn’t just smart—he was ridiculously smart. He knew how to use the remote, and I never taught him to go to the bathroom outside, but he did it on his own. He was like a person.”
Yi-hyeon’s head, which had been hanging low with guilt, snapped up.
He flinched.
“I checked every police station and animal hospital within a ten-kilometer radius, and they said there hadn’t been any recent accidents involving a Pomeranian. No strays like him either. If he really went back to his owner, that’s at least reassuring… but it’s not certain. So I’m just—restless, I guess. To the point where I almost want someone to tell me a lie. Just tell me Louis is doing well. That he simply went back to where he belongs.”
What should I do? Is this where I should tell him the truth—that Louis was your mother, and that she passed on after I helped fulfill her wish? No. There’s no guarantee Han Jun would even believe me. And what if he thinks I’m sick for bringing up his mother like that? Think about it. Who would honestly believe that their mother was a dog? And even if he did believe it—can I be sure he wouldn’t resent me for sending her off, when he’d only just reunited with her?
Yi-hyeon didn’t want to drift away from Han Jun now that they’d finally grown close. And so, even knowing it was wrong, driven by that paltry, selfish feeling, he chose to lie.
“……That’s probably it. Louis was a smart dog.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt far more uncomfortable than he’d expected—his chest burning hot. But contrary to Yi-hyeon’s fears, the anxiety on Han Jun’s face eased noticeably.
“Then if we run into each other on the street someday, will he pretend he doesn’t know me? His real owner will be with him, so he’ll probably only like them. That’d really sting.”
“He won’t. You treated him like family—really. So even if he went back to his original owner, he’ll never forget the time he spent with you.”
“How do you know I treated him like family?”
Han Jun asked.
“Well…”
Because the words had slipped out impulsively, the conversation stalled for a moment as Yi-hyeon scrambled to come up with an excuse.
“Just… the way you miss him this much says it all.”
He answered quickly, sneaking a glance at Han Jun’s expression.
“You know how to comfort people?”
Han Jun’s lips curved into a soft line—somewhere between a smile and tenderness. Seeing him accept those words without a shred of doubt only made the weight of Yi-hyeon’s lie press heavier on his heart.
I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve for lying like this—so please, just stay by my side as my friend, like this, Han Jun.
Swallowing his utterly selfish desire, Yi-hyeon matched his steps with Han Jun, who—unaware of anything—said it was late and offered to walk him to the bus stop.
