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"We've got some rumors," Mike answered, his words heavy with sadness.
"About what?" Hank asked, crossing his arms and settling into a stern stance.
"Well," I began, taking a deep breath, "Apparently Mike is an alien and I eat my boogers."
A stunned silence fell upon us, broken only by Hank's attempt to stifle a chuckle. "You what now?" he managed to say between suppressed laughter.
"It's not funny," Mike retorted, his brow furrowed.
But despite his protest, Joe joined in, chuckling before he quickly sobered up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh," he apologized. He then reached out, pulling Mike into his arms, his grip tight and comforting. "Listen, you're a good boy. And whatever these baseless rumors say doesn't change that."
Joe's words seemed to reassure Mike, his tensed posture melting into Joe's embrace.
Meanwhile, Hank turned his attention to me, his expression sincere. "And you," he began, his voice steady. "Don't let these rumors get to you. Stay strong, and always remember that people who matter won't believe in these baseless whispers."
Hank's words brought an unexpected comfort. I nodded, appreciating his advice.
Mike, the perpetual light of any gathering, started to dim. "I think we should leave," he declared, a somber note in his voice that contradicted his usually exuberant demeanor.
"What? Why?" I queried, my surprise manifesting as an abrupt, high-pitched squeak.
"Maybe if we're not here, the rumors will die down," he explained, staring blankly at the lively activity around us. I could see the discomfort etching its way onto his face as he continued, "Maybe by the time we come back, they will be forgotten."
Turning his gaze to Joe, he began to reconsider. "But I don't want to ruin your night by leaving so early, Daddy." His voice was laced with a sense of guilt that didn't sit well with me.
Joe took him by the shoulders, locking their gazes together. "Mike," he started, his tone gentle yet firm. "Where you're happiest, that's where I want to be. Don't worry about me. If you want to go, we go."
A flicker of relief sparked in Mike's eyes at his Daddy's words, a slow smile curving his lips. "Okay," he mumbled before pressing an affectionate peck on Joe's lips, eliciting a soft chuckle from his Daddy.
And so, our departure came earlier than anticipated, leaving behind the lively chaos of the club for the quiet solace of the car. As we settled into the backseat, our binkies snugly in place and our stuffies held close for comfort, a profound silence engulfed us.
Hank stood by the curb as Joe started the car, a subtle smile gracing his lips as he waved us goodbye. My gaze lingered on him, something akin to longing swirling within me. I watched as he turned around, heading back into the loud, vibrant world we had just escaped.
Settled into the backseat of the car, amidst the familiar hum of the engine, something felt different. A tension clung to the air, electric and unsettling, originating from Mike's unusually quiet form beside me. He was staring out the window, lost in the mesmerizing rhythm of the rain streaking down the glass.
"Mike?" I asked, reaching over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his onesie was cool beneath my palm, and I could feel the slight tremor that rippled through his body. His gaze drifted from the window to meet mine, and my heart lurched at the sight of unshed tears pooling in his vibrant eyes.
The sight was jarring - Mike was always the beacon of energy and laughter, his spirit infectious. Seeing him now, his eyes dull and his binky firmly nestled between his lips for comfort, it felt as though I was looking at a stranger.
"Hey," I coaxed, my voice soft as I nudged him lightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"
His eyes flicked to me, then back to the rain outside, the movement punctuated by the fervent sucking on his binky. After a moment, he pulled the binky from his mouth, letting it hang against his chest, suspended from his onesie.
"No," he mumbled, a stubborn tilt to his chin. "I'm not crying. I'm a brave boy. Brave boys don't cry."
From the front seat, I saw Joe's gaze catch ours in the rearview mirror. His eyes held a concern that mirrored my own, the corners of his mouth tugged down into a frown.
"Mike," he began, his voice reaching us over the soft patter of rain on the roof of the car. "It's okay to cry. Being brave doesn't mean you can't show how you're feeling. It's good to be honest, especially with the people who care about you."
Mike sighed as his eyes now bore into mine. "I think it's time I told you something," he started, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drifted away from me, settling on the teddy bear clutched in his lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing over its worn-out fabric.
"I've never talked about this much," he continued. "Just Daddy knows, really. But you're my friend, Lina. I trust you."
I reached out to squeeze his hand, encouraging him to continue.
"Well," he began, casting a nervous glance in my direction before looking away. "I guess it starts with the orphanage."
A soft gasp escaped my lips. The orphanage?
