You keep snapping pictures, and I roll my eyes, pretending I’m annoyed.

“Yah, stop staring at me like I’m your baby,” I tease, pouting on purpose. But when you lower the camera just to grin at me, my chest does that stupid flutter again. I want to act like the unnie, the one in control, but the truth? I like being your baby. Especially when you whisper “mine” under your breath before taking another photo.