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Seizing the moment, Mike asked, "Can I trade my ‘thank you’ for something else?" His question, posed in a tone that was half-joking, half-curious, drew a nod from Nick.
With an impish grin, Mike made an unusual request. "I want one of the free rooms for a few hours." His demand, unexpected yet delivered with such earnestness, earned him an agreement from Nick.
The exchange that followed was pure theater, with Mike performing a pantomime of placing his 'thank you' into Nick's hand and receiving another imaginary item in return.
Uncle Joe, ever the supportive figure, carried Mike into one of the empty rooms of the club, with Daddy carrying me close behind.
The atmosphere shifted as Mike, diving into his role as Detective Mike, pulled a magnifying glass from his diaper andheld it to his eye. "Detective Mike's on the case," he announced, his voice taking on an air of exaggerated importance. "Our mission: to uncover the mastermind behind the baseless rumors about me at the club."
I couldn't help but recall the pain those rumors had caused him. When word had spread through the club, painting Mike in a light so contrary to his true nature, it had reopened old wounds from his time at the orphanage. Back then, cruel whispers about why he remained unadopted had followed him, whispers that were as baseless as they were hurtful. Mike's determination to confront the rumors head-on, to reclaim his narrative, was a testament to his resilience.
My excitement couldn't be contained as I clapped my hands together, curiosity getting the better of me. "What else have you got in that diaper? Any candy?" I asked Mike, my eyes gleaming with the playful banter we often shared.
Mike's reaction was instantaneous, his gasp theatrically exaggerated. "Candy? In my diaper? That would be highly unsanitary," he declared, feigning offense with such conviction that for a moment, I almost believed him. "I'm appalled you'd even think that of me, Lina."
I hurriedly apologized, not wanting to actually upset him, though his playful demeanor suggested he was far from it. Then, betraying his own words, he giggled and produced a candy bar from his diaper, offering it to me as a peace offering.
However, before I could even react, Joe, ever the vigilant Daddy, slapped the candy out of Mike's hand.
With a cringe face I asked, "I was kidding! What's wrong with you, Mike?"
Joe responded grumpily, "I stopped asking that question a long time ago."
"You know, for someone who claims to be a grown-up, you sure act like a Little more than I do," Mike retorted, picking up the candy from the floor with a defiant grin.
Joe shot back, "And you, for someone who's supposed to be the sensible one, seem to have a strange definition of 'sensible.' Hiding candy in your diaper, really?"
Mike, not one to back down, replied with a smirk, "Says the man who's never without his emergency granola bar. What? Afraid you'll get hangry?"
The exchange was cut short as Joe declared, "I'll leave you two to it," standing up with a shake of his head, clearly amused despite his gruff demeanor.
Daddy, always the peacekeeper, turned to me with a gentle reminder. "Have a good time, but remember to play nice," he said before following Joe out the door, leaving Mike and me alone in the room.
As Mike casually returned the candy to his diaper, his actions elicited a giggle from me.
Mike then adopted a pose of mock seriousness, hands clasped together as he stared at the door through which Daddy and Joe had just exited. "Now all we've got to do is wait for the Littles to arrive on time," he mused, his voice carrying a weight that was uncharacteristic of him.
Watching him in this rare moment of stillness, devoid of his usual mischief, I couldn't help but realize how much this meant to him. In his own way, Mike was fighting to lay to rest the ghosts of his past. The rumors at the club, so reminiscent of the whispered cruelties at the orphanage, had struck a chord deep within him. This was more than just uncovering a petty source of gossip. It was about reclaiming his narrative, proving to himself and to others that the shadows of his past didn't define him.
As we awaited the arrival of the other Littles, Mike couldn't contain his mischievous glee. "I'm thinking of setting up a magician's stand right here in the club," he announced, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of his latest scheme. "Imagine, hypnotizing everyone to hand over their candy to me!"
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his plan. "And you don't think you'll get spanked by Joe for that?" I asked, partly amused and partly concerned about the potential consequences of his grandiose plan.
Mike straightened up, adopting a posture of mock seriousness. "My dear Lina," he began, his voice taking on a theatrical quality, "in this life, one must pursue their heart's desires with fervor and passion. Even if that means facing the prospect of discipline from one's Daddy. For what is life without a little risk, a dash of daring? Yes, our Daddies wish nothing but the best for us, guiding us with a firm yet loving hand. But to truly soar, to truly taste the sweetness of victory—candy, in this instance—one must occasionally stray from the path laid out for them. Remember, it's not disobedience. It's an exploration of one's boundless potential!"
Inspired by his own speech, Mike decided to demonstrate his newfound hypnotic abilities on me. "Now, look into my eyes and feel yourself slipping into a deep, candy-filled trance," he intoned, waving his hands in an exaggerated spiral.
I played along, staring into his eyes with a mock seriousness of my own. After a moment, I blinked and said, "Sorry, what was that? I think I zoned out thinking about actual candy."
Mike threw his hands up in defeat. "Clearly, I need to practice on myself before I unleash this power on the unsuspecting public," he declared.
As the Littles began to trickle in, our plan to unearth the source of the rumors took shape. Mike and I had decided on a good cop/bad cop routine, with me supposedly playing the sympathetic interrogator to his hard-edged detective. However, Mike's enthusiasm for the roles quickly led to confusion on his part.
During our 'interrogation' of a Little named Rebecca, Mike's performance reached a peak. "Now, listen here," he started, forgetting which role he was in, and then dramatically spun around, changing his expression from stern to sympathetic and back again. "We know you've heard things. Things that might not be true. So, you're gonna tell us everything—because I'm your friend," he said, his expression softening before spinning back to a scowl. "But if you don't, remember, I'm also your worst nightmare."
His delivery was so over the top, borrowing lines from every cop movie cliché, that it was impossible to keep a straight face. "I—I just heard it from Logan!" Rebecca finally blurted out, more out of confusion than any real pressure from our questioning.
Mike, satisfied with his 'breakthrough,' nodded solemnly, then broke character, dissolving into laughter. "We did it, Lina! We’re so close to another case closed by the world's greatest detective duo. Logan is the last person we need to interrogate before we find the source of the rumors."
