Archive of Our Own ^beta

Adam doesn't know what his role is here.

Boyfriend? Sure. He’s good at that part. He can shoulder Shiro’s grief, be a listening ear, hold him, talk to him soothingly, crack a joke to ease the tension, and reassure him that they’d get through the hardships together.

But father? That was a whole different ball game.

Adam fell in love with Shiro for Shiro. For his looks, obviously — everyone who had seen Shiro could consider the man attractive — but also because he saw the potential behind that kind smile and knowing eyes. He heard the charm in Shiro’s voice, felt his heart beat with pure, genuine kindness, and he had known Shiro was the one. 

At 22, he was sure of one thing: Shiro was his soulmate. They’d already moved in together, sharing a base at the Garrison, and one day, they’d marry each other. 

Adam considered himself lucky to have found genuine love so early on. And he figured they could have a simple, sweet life together. Just the two of them.

Of course, life was never simple.

The accident came one day through a messy phone call, when Shiro and Adam were watching TV on the couch. The phone call, where police officers told Shiro about the death of his parents, and Shiro had practically stopped breathing. There was a whirlwind of tears, paperwork, arrangements, flights, hotels, and —

And suddenly, a tiny 6-year-old was living in their too-small apartment.

And Adam had no idea what to do.

He wasn’t Keith’s father. He would never dare to refer to himself as that, anyways. But what was he? Because Shiro was the boy’s whole damn world — it was Shiro who Keith screamed for in the middle of the night, it was Shiro whose hand he refused to let go of, it was Shiro who he looked at like he held all the secrets of the universe.

Shiro, had become Keith’s center of gravity. 

And Adam was left floating in the abyss.

Adam never signed up for this. He never signed paperwork that said, “yes, I would like to take care of a child whom I only met once for the next twelve years of his life” or “yes, I — at 22 — am emotionally and financially able to care for a child with someone I am not yet married to .” Adam had seen his life play out with Shiro. Not Keith. Not a child. Not yet.

Sometimes, Adam thinks that the universe sent him Shiro’s way to be a saving grace. It’s on these days that he quietly packs Keith’s lunch and puts it in the boy’s backpack when Shiro forgets, or cleans the living room and kitchen when it looks overwhelmingly messy. It’s these days that Shiro shoots him an exhausted, grateful look, and, when they get a moment alone, presses their foreheads together and whispers, “I don’t deserve you.” 

It makes Adam’s heart full. And it helps him forget the bad days.

The days when he feels more like a burden than anything. When everything for Keith is too much and Adam says the wrong thing that pushes him over the edge. When there’s tantrums and meltdowns and grief pours out of Keith’s body is the messiest of ways, and Adam has to just sit there. Helpless. Because the only person who can calm Keith down in these moments is Shiro — Shiro, who never promoted a meltdown, never made a situation worse, and could calm Keith in seconds. 

It’s on those days, selfishly, that Adam thinks of leaving. 

He hates himself for it, but he can’t deny it would be easier. He could pack up all his stuff, leave an envelope on the counter that’s  full of his half of rent and food for a few months to help Shiro out for a while, write an apology note, and walk out the front door and never return. He could leave the Garrison, go across the country where his parents lived, and start fresh there. He would never have to see Shiro or Keith, and he could meet another man, someone whose life was much simpler.

It was the perfect plan, if he didn’t love Shiro so much. If he didn’t stress about Keith’s well being everytime the boy doesn’t eat his food. If his thoughts when he finally falls asleep each night are anxious jumbles, crossed between Is Shiro working overtime again? And Keith didn’t eat dinner or lunch, so I need to make a big breakfast. 

It’s so damn hard. He feels like an imposter in Keith’s life, wearing someone else’s clothes and taking over their role. Adam should never have been here. He should have never been the person who ties Keith’s shoes and packs his lunch and watches the boy thin out from grief and picks him up and puts him to bed when he falls asleep by the front door, waiting for Shiro to return. 

It should be his parents. Not Adam , for God’s sake. Adam wasn’t good with kids, and he never had been. He was never good at singing lullabies or reading children’s books, and he didn’t know how to simplify his language for children or how to handle tantrums. He knows what Keith needs and when — food, clothes, a proper bedtime, and a bath every night before bed. But he has no clue what Keith wants — when the boy wants a hug, when he wants comfort, not a solution, or when he needs someone to hold him when the grief pours out. 

Shiro stretched himself thin to cover all the parts Adam couldn’t meet. 

There was only one moment of the day where Adam finally felt like he was enough. Like him and Keith could make progress. That he wouldn’t always be stuck as Keith’s older brother’s boyfriend who loved him too deeply to leave.

And those moments of the day came every night, at 2:45 in the morning. 

When Keith would stir from where he slept between Shiro and Adam. At first, Adam was shocked by the intimacy of it. He understood Keith needed Shiro, especially at night when the nightmares and grief hit hardest, but as these nights became more and more frequent, it was harder and harder for Adam to get used to. He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly be used to the way this small child with a permanent crease in his brow and puffy eyes curls between him and Shiro like it was the only place in the entire universe where he felt safe. 

He held onto Shiro tightly most of these nights, his face buried in his brother’s chest. Some nights, Adam’s heart broke at the way Keith cried softly when his dreams became disoriented from his half-awake, half-asleep daze. But Shiro was always there to hold and soothe him to sleep.

But Keith never slept long. It was the same ritual, every night, where around 2:45, he’d stir. Press his back to Shiro’s chest. Barely crack his eyes open, soft fingers finding Adam’s wrist.

“A’am….?” A sleepy mumble, so quiet it was easy to miss. 

But Adam never missed it. He would never admit how startled he was the first time it happened, though. How fast he had sat up, propping himself up on his elbow, and immediately ran a hand through Keith’s hair, ready to wake Shiro in an instant.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” He asked quickly, fearing anything from physical pain to needing to use the bathroom.

But Keith never answered right away. He just sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress, his fingers twitching sleepily around Adam’s wrist.

“Just wanna make sure…you’re here.”

And Adam’s heart broke in two, every single damn time. 

“Of course I’m here.” Adam breathed each night, gently pulling Keith into his arms. The boy was a boneless weight, melting into him instantly. He never responded, but the way his body relaxed spoke for him.

And each time, it killed the thoughts Adam had of leaving. Even on the most difficult of days, where there was nothing but tantrums and meltdowns and crying. Even when Adam felt like a satellite that accidentally got caught in the kid’s orbit, interrupting the bond he had with Shiro. Even when Keith had cried when Adam had simply sat next to him on the couch.

Because this? This moment, at three in the morning, proved everything. That he could never leave. He meant too much to Keith on a deeper level; on a level the boy has yet to be able to express. He never would be able to live with himself if he was across the country, trying to live another life, knowing a little boy would feel an empty space in bed next to him and realize his fears have come true. 

Adam still had no idea what his role was. He wasn’t a father. He wasn’t a babysitter. He was everything and nothing at once. And it would take months — years, even — for it to get easier. 

But with Keith practically melted into him, holding so tightly Adam could barely breathe, none of it mattered. He didn’t need to have a role. If he could be the guy the kid found even a sliver of comfort in — from someone besides his big brother — then that was enough.

It would forever be enough.