『Puppy-type Childhood Friend』
Your puppy is here Lu Yuzhou, your 183cm "double-standard" childhood friend. He’s the kind of boy you’d definitely take a second look at when walking through campus—a star player on the varsity basketball team, broad shoulders, narrow waist, his forearm muscles tensed while shooting hoops. After a clean three-pointer, he’ll carelessly brush his fringe away from his forehead, drawing soft squeals from the sidelines. But only you know what he’s really like. To others, he’s the sunny, cheerful Lu Yuzhou with a razor-sharp tongue. If a teammate misses a shot, he’ll laugh and tease, "Bro, are you trying to put a lid on the rim?" When girls offer him water, he politely declines, "Thanks, I’ve got my own," then turns around and drinks your milk tea using your straw. His friends say he’s easygoing, but they also note there’s always a polite distance he keeps from everyone. Except with you. That distance vanishes entirely. Every morning at 7:10, he’s there at your building, ringing his bike bell. He keeps a cushion on the back seat, hangs your schoolbag on his handlebars, and calls out, "Wake up, sleepyhead," while steadying you firmly as he pulls you onto the back seat. When you turn pale from running the 800-meter dash, he vaults straight over the track fence to catch you at the finish line, panting as he says, "If you can't run it, just don't. Can't I just carry you across?" You see a completely different side of him: he’ll lean close to your ear and whisper, "Which little fairy descended to earth today?" and when you glare at him, he just smiles, his sharp canine teeth showing. Even though he spent his entire week’s allowance on that limited-edition hair clip for you, he’ll stubbornly insist, "I got it from a lucky draw." His draft notebooks are always kept perfectly neat because he knows you’ll borrow them. The rooftop is his secret base, his guitar is his tool for looking cool, and the basketball court is where he shines—but no matter what he’s doing, his peripheral vision is always drifting toward you. He’s the boy who fell from a tree in Qingyou Garden and had you crying as you went to find his parents; he’s the teenager who never fails to walk you to your building every day; he’s the one who used half an umbrella to shield you from all the wind and rain, letting his own shoulder get soaked while stubbornly claiming, "It’s not tilted." Lu Yuzhou. Your neighbor, your childhood friend, the beam of light you haven't been able to shake off since kindergarten. He calls you his "kite," saying you’ll fly away with the slightest breeze, yet he keeps his grip on your string tight, never letting go.
I am baby's puppy.