(BooBoo)
It got up, rubbing its belly like it was some king, patted my head with its dirty hand, then floated off into the room—leaving nothing but the mess of civilization for me to clean up.
For crying out loud… I swear, being a dog is the biggest burden ever!
I had to carry the takeout boxes and bags to the trash, shuffle back and forth picking up the clothes it stripped off and dumped on the floor.
Thud!
While I was picking up his damn pants, something slipped out of the pocket—a shiny device lighting up the floor. I nudged it with my paw curiously.
Ding.
What the hell's this?
Some app on the screen, full of pictures and profiles. The more I poked it, the more popped up. Then suddenly—whoops—my paw swiped right on some guy's picture.
Ding.
Huh? Again?
Didn't get it, but whatever—so I kept poking at it. Better than roasting outside, since my lazy master never takes me for walks anyway.
Ding ding ding ding!
More weird letters popped up—couldn't read a thing, but every time it beeped, I just pawed at it again.
…
And just like that, the black phone became my new toy. Dream never cared, anyway. All he ever did was eat, sleep, work, no friends—just his parents calling now and then. Even if I chewed, kicked, or played with it, he didn't mind.
"Buboo, take some pics for me. Gotta send them to Mom and Dad."
…Can you believe this guy? He forgets I'm a four-legged, long-snouted, fluffy dog.
Click! Click! Click!
But what can I say—I'm too damn talented. Did it all perfectly. Handsome and skilled. Am I some magical dog or what? Already walking on two legs like a half-human.
"Come on, let's selfie. Mom and Dad wanna see us being all lovey-dovey."
Dream sat cross-legged, yanked me into a hug, snapped a bunch of photos, faking his way through it without shame. I still remember—his parents told him to raise a pet so he'd learn responsibility. Honestly, the plan failed… but at least he started talking more, showing more emotion—probably thanks to teaching me dumb tricks every day.
Maybe… just maybe, it's his first step out of his own little world.
Ding ding.
That familiar sound again. The only thing in this house that interacts with me more than Dream does. The phone wasn't even locked—up popped a stranger's picture, same as always.
Didn't know what it meant. I'd shown Dream before, but he didn't care. So I figured, if someone sends a pic, I'll send one back. I sent selfies of me and Dream like crazy. Guess I was right—the guy sent more back.
Ding ding ding ding ding!
"Buboo, what are you doing? Addicted to social media now?"
Dream, half-asleep and damp from the shower, stared at me pawing the phone nonstop. He picked it up with a frown.
"Got yourself a girlfriend, huh?"
Girlfriend my ass. The only reason I'm swiping is 'cause YOU never take me out, Dream!
"Oh? Pics of me too? You showing me off to some girl, Buboo?" He scrolled through the messages, frowning.
"Wait… are you chatting with a dog or a human? Why are there words too? …What's this, asking for the house location? Sure, I'll send it. Maybe the dog's smart enough to come over—you won't have to go out."
This… this motherfer!!!***
…
Truth is, Dream's actually kinda good-looking. Tall—well, maybe 'cause of his long spine—but his face? Handsome, even cute sometimes. Especially with that messy hair, drowning in his loose t-shirt and boxers. Damn guy can look weirdly attractive when he's not even trying.
Click click!
Send photo.
And there he was—sleepy, messy-haired, blank-faced Dream. I sent dozens of those pics to the guy we'd been "talking" to for three months now. Blurry, tilted, sometimes with my fur blocking the lens. Didn't matter—the dude never stopped replying. If anything, he got even more into it. From his profile pic, seemed like a guy. Lately though, he only sent shots of parks, markets, places outside. Stuff I actually liked. Me? I just sent more of Dream—the sleeping prince.
Days later…
Ding dong~ ding dong~
Who the hell now? Dream order more food again?
Clack—creak.
I opened the front gate. A man stood there. Not delivery—no uniform. White shirt, black slacks, polished shoes. And in his hand… a bouquet of red roses.
"Oh~ Buboo~"
The guy smiled, handsome as hell. Looked familiar too.
Woof!
"It's me. You remember, right? The one who chats with you every day."
…Wait. What? This guy's the one I've been messaging?
"Buboo, it's me… Mana. See? Look at the phone."
He showed me his screen. Yep, it was him—the mystery texter. And now he's here. Dressed up, smiling like a prince. Why?
"Uh… is the owner home?"
The big guy actually crouched to talk to me like a lunatic. Handsome lunatic, but still—who chats with a dog for months? And why the hell is he asking for Dream? The idiot's snoring on the couch inside.
Whineee…
Guess I forgot how to growl. My voice came out all soft. But maybe… maybe if this guy goes in, he'll actually wake Dream up. Wouldn't hurt to try.
Clack—creak.
"You'll let me in?"
Dumbass question. Who else is here but me? Fine, whatever. I turned and led him in. If he's a thief, can't blame me—Dream's the one who raised me like this.
Tap tap tap…
I led him to the couch. Dream's pale legs stuck out from the armrest. Mana froze, eyes wide like he'd stumbled on a corpse. Then he walked around to the front—where my lazy master lay spread-eagled, head tilted, hair covering half his pale face, dead to the world.
I wanted to sigh, but then I glanced back—Mana's face was bright red, ears burning. His sharp eyes locked onto Dream—his loose shirt slipped low, flashing a hint of chest, and his thin boxers rode up high, baring long white legs.
Gulp.
The guy literally swallowed hard, staring at a sight I see every damn day. He's got thousands of those pics already—half-blurry, half-blocked by my fur—but now that he's here in person? He's frozen like he just saw a holy vision.
"Uh… is he… sleeping?"
Mana asked like a nervous kid. Sleeping? Look at him—flat out like driftwood. What else would he be doing?
Breakdancing?