By fourteen weeks, Adrian could no longer hide the changes in his body. His clothes were getting tighter, especially around his waist and hips. He'd started wearing his mer father's old sweatshirts, baggy and shapeless, but even those were starting to stretch across his growing belly.
At school, people were beginning to notice. Adrian caught the stares, heard the whispers that cut off when he walked past. Riley had figured it out first, cornering him gently after class one day.
"Adrian, are you... I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but are you pregnant?"
There was no judgment in her voice, just concern. Adrian had nodded, exhausted from hiding.
"How far along?"
"Almost four months. Twins."
Riley's eyes had widened. "Twins? Oh my god. Does the father know?"
"No, and he's not going to." Adrian's voice was firm. "He's not... he's not a good person. I don't want him in their lives."
Riley hadn't pushed for details, but she'd become a fierce ally after that. When other students whispered or stared, Riley would glare at them until they looked away. She started bringing Adrian crackers for his morning sickness and would save him a seat at lunch where he could sit quietly if he wasn't feeling well.
But as Adrian's pregnancy became more obvious, the school administration had to get involved. Mrs. Patterson called him to her office with a sympathetic expression.
"Adrian, we want to support you through this," she began carefully. "But we need to discuss practical matters. As your pregnancy progresses, attending classes in person may become difficult. Have you thought about alternatives?"
"Like what?"
"We offer independent study programs. You could complete coursework from home, come in for tests and major assignments. It would give you more flexibility, especially once the babies are born."
Adrian felt tears prick his eyes. Independent study meant graduating alone, missing out on whatever small social connections he'd started to build. But what choice did he have?
"When would I need to switch?"
"That's up to you and your doctor. Most students transition to independent study around the beginning of their third trimester, but some go longer. It depends on how you're feeling and whether there are any complications."
"Okay. Thank you."
Walking home from school that day—his parents couldn't always pick him up, and the bus ride made him sick—Adrian felt the first flutter of movement in his belly. So faint he almost missed it, like butterflies or bubbles. He stopped walking and placed both hands over his stomach, waiting. There it was again. One of the babies, moving inside him.
Tears streamed down his face, but for once they weren't sad tears. Despite everything, despite the fear and uncertainty and crushing weight of responsibility, there was life inside him. Two lives. His sons. And in that moment, they felt real in a way they hadn't before.
"Hi," he whispered. "I felt you. Both of you, I think. I can't wait to meet you."
An elderly fer walking past gave him a kind smile. "How far along?"
"Almost four months."
"Twins," the fer said, somehow knowing. "You have that look. My sister had twins. Double the work, but double the love too."
"I hope so," Adrian said quietly.
"You'll be fine, young one. Being a parent is terrifying, but it's also the most important thing you'll ever do. Those babies are lucky to have you."
Adrian wasn't sure he believed that, but he appreciated the kindness. It was more than most people offered these days.
At twenty-two weeks, Adrian's doctor put him on modified bed rest. The twins were healthy, but carrying multiples was putting strain on his body. His blood pressure was higher than Dr. Chen liked, and he was exhausted constantly. Getting through a full school day was becoming impossible.
"I think it's time," his fer father said gently one evening after Adrian had fallen asleep at the dinner table for the third time that week. "Time to switch to independent study. Maybe even take a break from school entirely."
"I can't," Adrian protested weakly. "I'm so close to graduating. Just one more semester—"
"Your health comes first," his mer father interrupted. "The babies' health comes first. School will always be there. You can finish your diploma later, online or through night classes. Right now, you need to focus on staying healthy."
Adrian knew they were right, but admitting defeat hurt. Dropping out—even temporarily—felt like letting Kai win. Like proving that Adrian really was nothing, just like Kai had implied. Someone whose dreams didn't matter, whose future could be thrown away.
But when he felt the babies kick, stronger now and more frequent, he knew what he had to do.
Mrs. Patterson was understanding when Adrian came to her office. "I'm so sorry you're going through this," she said, signing the necessary paperwork. "But you're making a responsible choice. Your health and your babies' health are what matter. Education can wait."
Riley cried when Adrian told her, hugging him carefully to avoid his swollen belly. "Promise you'll text me? I want to know how you and the babies are doing. And after they're born, I want to meet them."
"I promise," Adrian said, grateful for the friendship even though it was ending almost as soon as it had begun.
His last day at Northfield was quiet and anticlimactic. He cleaned out his locker, turned in his textbooks, and walked out of the building knowing he might never walk back in. At seventeen, he was a high school dropout with two babies on the way and no prospects.
At home, Adrian converted his bedroom into a nursery of sorts. His parents had bought two secondhand cribs from a neighbor, and Adrian spent hours painting them a soft blue-green color. His mer father assembled them while his fer father sewed simple curtains. They couldn't afford much, but they were making do.
Adrian started reading to his belly every night—classic novels, poetry, even the newspaper. "You should hear good language," he explained to his parents when they found him reading aloud. "Studies say babies can hear in the womb. I want them to know my voice."
What he didn't say was that reading kept his mind occupied. Kept him from thinking about Kai, about the life he'd lost, about how different things could have been if any of it had been real.
Late at night, Adrian would lie in bed with his hands on his enormous belly, feeling his sons move and turn. The mer baby—he'd started thinking of them as separate people now—was more active, constantly kicking and pushing. The fer baby was gentler, his movements subtler but no less present.
"I'm sorry," Adrian whispered to them in the darkness. "I'm sorry your father is who he is. I'm sorry I can't give you everything you deserve. But I promise I'll love you enough to make up for it. You'll never doubt that you're wanted."
The babies couldn't answer, but sometimes when Adrian spoke, they would settle, as if they recognized his voice. As if they knew they were safe.
And maybe that was enough. For now, it had to be.