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Keith lets out a groan of discomfort as he rolls over, expecting to collide with the warm, solid weight of Shiro’s body, but a decidedly empty bed meets him instead. The sheets are cold as ice, alerting Keith to the fact that Shiro hasn’t gotten up for a glass of water or to pee, but has likely been out of the bed for a long time. Keith sighs as he rolls back over the onto his stomach, turning his head to the right to squint at the blinking red clock on the bedside table. 2:17. Keith wrinkles his nose in distaste, kicking his legs out to dislodge the mountain of blankets piled on top of him.
“Fucking freezing,” he grumbles, twisting around and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He yanks a red blanket off the top and pulls it up around his shoulders as he slides his feet into his slippers, making his way out of the bedroom. This late—or early, depending on how you look at it—there are two places Shiro is likely to be.
Keith goes to Hana’s room first, or at least what will be Hana’s room. It takes him a few seconds to get to the first door at the end of the hallway, which used to house their shared office and library, but over the last few years, has slowly transformed first into a child’s room and, once they got the news the adoption was official, Hana’s room.
Keith reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers across the purple letters they’d affixed to the door not a week after the adoption agency had given them the good news. Keith had woken up the next morning to find Shiro in their garage, hand painting some wooden letters he’d gone out to buy at the crack of dawn from the local hardware store on Main Street. He’d painted them purple—“the same color as her eyes,” he’d mumbled—finishing the last letter with a flourish of the paintbrush. Once the paint dried, Shiro had added a few glittering silver stars around the edges. Keith had grinned, retrieving the toolbox and following Shiro upstairs where they’d promptly hung them on the bedroom door that was no longer for a child but for their child. The room that was now Hana’s.
The pieces came together slowly as they dealt with months of interviews, paperwork, and home visits. Then once the adoption became official the waiting. The waiting had been the hardest. Without even discussing what they were doing, both Keith and Shiro began to take turns returning home with random items for her—a new bed, little glow-in-the-dark stars for her ceiling, a soft blanket with constellations Shiro couldn’t resist ordering online, and an oversized stuffed hippo Keith claimed looked lonely at the toy store.
Although no light shines from the crack beneath the door, Keith opens it anyway. He rucks up the blanket around his shoulders and reminds himself to check the vent in this room tomorrow, because it feels at least ten degrees colder than their bedroom, and there’s no way he’s letting Hana freeze. Keith darts his hand out to flip on the light switch, and the room is bathed in a warm glow. His eyes dart around the room as he takes in the perfectly made up bed with the stuffed hippo, smiling to himself when he realizes Shiro must’ve tucked it under the covers the last time he was in here alone. Keith swallows down the lump in his throat as he stares at the framed photos on the wall—an exact computer-generated replica of the solar system in which the adoption agency is pretty sure Hana was born sits proudly in the center. Keith and Shiro had talked about it at length and though they never wanted Hana to doubt she was their family, they also wanted to make sure she always knew where she came from.
Keith is startled from his thoughts by the sound of a crash and several choice expletives, and he turns on his heel, not bothering to turn off the light as he swiftly crosses the hallway and hurries down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The second he’s on the bottom floor, he sees the light from the kitchen streaming into the living room and jogs the rest of the way until he’s standing in the doorway. Shiro rests on his hands and knees, his head bent as he grumbles quietly to himself and tinkers with something Keith can’t see from his current vantage point.
“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he leans against the doorframe.
“Shit,” Shiro blurts out, dropping a screwdriver to the floor with a clang and turning to look at Keith with a sheepish look on his face. “Did I wake you?”
Keith shakes his head, watching the screwdriver roll across the floor towards his feet. He bends down to retrieve it, then crosses the kitchen and drops to sit on the floor beside Shiro. “No, I couldn’t sleep,” he says, not technically lying since it wasn’t Shiro, but Shiro’s absence that had woken Keith up.
“So what are you doing that couldn’t wait until, you know, the sun was up?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Shiro shrugs, clearly trying to block the bottom cabinet door with with his girth, but Keith smiles and jerks his head to the side. Shiro purses his lips together in an adorable pout that any other time might have Keith close to caving, but Keith shakes his head. “Let me see. Please.”
Shiro’s shoulders fall, and he scoots to the side enough that Keith can see that the cupboard that houses all of their oversized pots and pans no longer closes. Squatting down, he squints and peers at the cupboard, eyes darting back and forth from the package on the floor to Shiro’s face before he reads the words on the front of the package—Easy Install Invisible Latch Cupboard Locks.
“The cupboards aren’t safe,” Shiro says as if it were obvious.
“The cupboards aren’t safe?” Keith echoes, wondering how it is his husband can pilot an aircraft to outer space but can’t install cupboard locks. Truthfully, Keith finds the fact that Shiro is so smart and capable but not at all handy around the house oddly endearing, though he usually refrains from saying it out loud since it seems to rankle Shiro’s insecurities a bit. Keith knows it has more to do with Shiro’s fear of being unable to take care of himself and others rather than simply wanting to be good at everything.
“Hana’s coming in a week,” Shiro says, inching closer to Keith, “and we didn’t put the safety locks on the cupboards yet even though its been on our to-do list for three weeks. There are cleaners under the sink and the knife drawer is accessible and I couldn’t sleep after you went to bed, so I picked up my phone to play a game and somehow started reading the news instead and I came across a story about a kid who drank an entire bottle of soy sauce and ended up in the hospital.”
Keith blinks, willing his still sleep-addled brain to catch up with the anxious timbre of Shiro’s voice. “Soy sauce,” he repeats without really thinking, regretting the words immediately when Shiro’s face takes on a pinched look.
“It’s not funny,” Shiro says quietly as he sits on his heels and rubs his hand on the back of his neck, making the hem of his black sleep shirt rise up to show off a strip of his flat stomach. His tuft of white hair is sticking up sideways from sleep, and Keith is assaulted by a wave of fondness for him. Fuck but he loves Shiro.
“I’m not laughing,” Keith says gently, lifting up his arm and the blanket in a silent beckoning for Shiro to join him.
Shiro licks his lips and eyes him for only a few seconds before crawling across the floor to sit beside Keith. It takes a bit of adjusting and the right side of Keith’s thigh — clad only in a pair of black boxers — is now exposed to the chilly air, but the right side of Shiro is pressed against his body from knee to shoulder, the blanket tugged around them, and Shiro’s face turned to the side and buried in Keith’s neck so he doesn’t quite mind.
Keith doesn’t speak, just waits for the subtle tension to bleed out of Shiro’s shoulders as he continues to breathe hot and heavy against the top of Keith’s head. Shiro’s left hand remains fisted in the blanket and his right grips Keith’s thigh, the metal thumb rubbing circles just above his knee.
“Sorry,” Shiro whispers minutes later.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Keith answers, letting his left hand drift over to rest on the top of Shiro’s thigh. Shiro clearly had more forethought, and his legs are clad in a pair of warm grey sweats. He squeezes hard enough that Shiro will feel it through the thick material. “Although I thought we agreed we could do the kitchen this weekend on our day off. Together. What changed?”
Shiro inhales deeply before lifting his face from Keith’s hair. “Are you scared?”
“Scared of what?”
He feels Shiro tense beside him. “Of fucking up. We keep waiting to pass tests and have paperwork approved, but the truth is none of that can really prepare us for being parents. What if we’re horrible? Well, you won’t be horrible, you’re a natural. Kids always love you.”
Keith snorts. “The neighbor kids like me because I didn't tell their parents when they kicked a soccer ball through our kitchen window the same weekend we moved into this house.”
“You know what I mean, though. You just…you’re good at loving people.”
“So are you,” Keith says, turning to press a kiss to Shiro’s shoulder, feeling Shiro’s entire body relaxes at the action. “So what exactly is this about?”
“I don’t know. I was just lying there and I couldn’t sleep and I kept thinking about the things we need to finish before Hana can come home. I wished I could ask my parents some of this stuff, or my grandparents, but they’re gone. And all I could think was that I don’t have a clue about what having parents is like. Mine died when I was too young to really remember them, and my grandparents cared about me and did their best, but… it wasn’t the same.”
“They loved you,” Keith says softly.
“I know. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Keith cuts him off. “Don’t you dare apologize because I don’t have parents either. We’ve been over this before. Just because I might’ve had it worse in some ways doesn’t mean however you’re feeling—about your family or lack thereof—is less real. This isn’t a who-was-a-more-traumatized-orphan competition. You can tell me how you feel without worrying about me, okay?”
“I always worry about you, baby.”
“I know you do. It’s one of the things I love about you even if it drives me mental sometimes. It’s also one of the things that's going to make you such an amazing father. You look out for the people you love. You always have. But sometimes you need to let the people who love you watch out for you too.”
“When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been this smart, thank you very much.” Keith laughs and pinches Shiro playfully on the leg. “Seriously though, you know you can tell me anything.”
Shiro nods, the side of his jaw rubbing against the top of Keith’s head and ruffling his hair. “I’m just nervous. I don’t remember what it was like to have a parent, and sometimes when I go to sleep all I can do is remember how even though my grandparents loved me they weren’t my parents and —” Shiro blows out a breath, “and it wasn’t always enough. What if we’re—what if I’m—not enough?”
Shiro’s grip on the blanket loosens, and it slips from their shoulders. Rather than fix it, Shiro places his hands in his lap and stares at them.
“You’re worried you won’t be what she needs?” Keith asks.
“What if I’m shit at being a dad? What if she’s scared of me? What if she likes you better? I like you better.” He tries to laugh, but Keith recognizes the hollowness and knows the words hold more truth than jest.
“Hey,” Keith whispers, sliding his hand to rest it over Shiro’s. “Hana is going to love you. How could she not? You’re the greatest person I’ve ever known. Loving you, being loved by you, makes me stronger. It’ll make her stronger too. We might fuck up and make mistakes, but everyone does.”
“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, turning his hand over so that his palm is flush with Keith’s, linking their fingers.
“You make me feel safe, Shiro. You make me feel like who I am is perfect, as if it's the best thing that could ever hope to be.”
“That’s because you’re amazing, baby. You’re so handsome and smart and loyal. You amaze me with your dedication and bravery. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”
“That,” Keith says a bit louder than he meant to, squeezing Shiro’s hand. “That’s what I’m talking about. You love people exactly as they are. Fuck, you don’t have a goddamn clue how perfect you are, how lucky the people who love you feel to be loved by you.”
“Keith.” It’s a whisper, not an answer or a question.
“I mean it, Takashi.” Shiro exhales a shuddering breathe and lifts their joined hands, pressing several chaste kisses to the back of Keith’s knuckles. “You’re going to love Hana the way you love me—as if we’re the most important people that ever existed.”
“You are the most important people who ever existed. To me.”
“I know,” Keith answers. He always knows. Shiro’s every action lets Keith know how cared for and valued he is, even when Shiro’s words don’t always. For all Shiro’s pep talks, he often has a harder time with the type of emotional intimacy when words are needed. But Keith has never needed Shiro’s words—only needed his heart—something Shiro gives to him over and over.
“How did I get so lucky?” Shiro asks.
“I love you,” Keith whispers, “and so will Hana.”
“I love you, so much,” Shiro says with an audible swallow, dropping the blanket to throw his arm around Keith and pulling him against his chest in a warm embrace. Keith exhales, burying his face in Shiro’s neck and delighting in the way he fits with Shiro in every possible way.
And, soon, so will Hana.