61: Cream Puffs

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Word Count: 2,944

Whether it was due to exhaustion from traveling or from dealing with your parents who were giving you a hard time, you woke up late the next morning—if it could even be called morning, since it was almost noon by the time you got out of bed.

You picked up your terrycloth blanket from where it had fallen onto the floor at some point in the night, and as you began folding it, you let out one big yawn.

"I don’t think we have any plans for today."

There was Rosé's request for the four of you to go on an outing together, but you hadn't told your parents about that yet, as you had been planning to stay at home for the first few days to rest. It was summer vacation, so you figured it was alright to get up close to noon, though you couldn’t help feeling like you were being lazy.

You changed your clothes at a leisurely pace. Once you finished dressing and made it down to the living room, you saw that of course Rosé had made it there before you.

She was sitting at the table with your mother and father. Rosé was peering down at some large object that resembled a book, and what she saw was making her eyes sparkle.

"Good morning. Whatcha looking at?"

"Oh, good morning," Rosé greeted you, without a shred of sleepiness to be found in her expression. Then she lowered her gaze to the book on the table again.

You looked down, too, curious as to what it could be, then covered your face with your hand "...Wait a minute, why are you looking at a photo album without me...?"

You saw a picture of a familiar, mud-caked little girl and groaned.

Your parents were the type to take commemorative photographs, and they treasured their memories, so it wasn't surprising that they kept photo albums. The problem was that they were showing one to Rosé.

The pictures in the album, which was lying wide open, were of you when you were young. It was filled with photos of a charming and cherubic little girl, who was doing something embarrassing in most of them.

You felt annoyed as you glared at your mother, who had been showing Rosé photographs of you covered in mud or on the verge of tears with obvious delight.

"Oh, did you want to see your cute photos, too? You should have said something earlier."

"No, I meant don't show her without my permission!"

"...Was it wrong of me to look?"

"It's not, but...it's just embarrassing."

"But you're so adorable."

"That's not considered a compliment for me, you know."

If she had called you cool or something, that would have been better, but adorable was not what you wanted to hear. Even though you knew she meant your childhood antics were cute, you weren't happy about it.

You turned away in a huff and could practically feel all three of them smiling at you.

“Come on, it’s fine, isn’t it?” your mother prodded. “Rosé's clearly crazy about you!”

“I’m sure she just meant that the pictures were cute,” you scoffed.

“O-only because of how different you are now.”

“Rosé here must really like you, Y/N. As your father, it makes me happy that you have such a levelheaded girl by your side.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rosé staring at the floor, hunched over. You figured that she must be embarrassed by your parents’ praise. However, you were preoccupied with your own shame over the humiliating photos your parents had shown off without your permission.

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