The contractions started at three in the morning on a Tuesday in early June. Adrian woke to a sharp, twisting pain in his lower abdomen that made him gasp. For a moment, he lay there in the darkness, confused and disoriented. Then another wave hit, stronger this time, and he understood.
"Dad! Papa!" he called out, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
His bedroom door burst open within seconds. His parents appeared, both in their pajamas, immediately alert. His mer father took one look at Adrian's face and sprang into action.
"How far apart are the contractions?" he asked, moving to help Adrian sit up.
"I don't—this is only the second one," Adrian gasped as another wave of pain rolled through him. "Oh god, it hurts."
"It's okay, sweetheart. We're here." His fer father grabbed the hospital bag they'd packed three weeks ago, hands shaking slightly. "We're going to get you to the hospital. Everything's going to be fine."
The drive to the hospital was a blur of pain and fear. Adrian sat in the back seat, his mer father beside him, coaching him through breathing exercises while his fer father drove faster than was probably legal. Each contraction felt like his body was being torn apart, and they were coming closer together now, barely two minutes apart.
"We're almost there," his mer father kept saying. "You're doing great, Adrian. So strong. So brave."
At the hospital, nurses descended immediately. Adrian was whisked into a wheelchair, his parents jogging alongside as they rushed him to the labor and delivery ward. Everything happened so fast—changing into a hospital gown, being hooked up to monitors, an IV inserted into his arm.
Dr. Chen appeared, calm and professional. She examined him quickly. "You're already seven centimeters dilated. These babies are in a hurry."
"Is that normal?" Adrian asked through gritted teeth as another contraction hit.
"For twins, yes. Your body knows what to do. Just try to relax between contractions and save your energy."
Relax. As if that were possible. Adrian gripped his mer father's hand so hard he was probably leaving bruises, but his father didn't complain. His fer father stood on his other side, wiping his forehead with a cool cloth, murmuring encouragements.
The hours blurred together. Pain and pressure and fear. The monitors beeped steadily, tracking the babies' heartbeats and Adrian's contractions. Nurses came and went, checking his progress, adjusting equipment. Someone offered him ice chips. Someone else helped him change positions.
"I can't do this," Adrian sobbed after what felt like days but was probably only six or seven hours. "I can't. It's too much."
"Yes, you can," his fer father said firmly. "You've already survived so much, sweetheart. You're the strongest person I know. You can do this too."
"The babies need you," his mer father added. "They're counting on you. Just a little longer."
Dr. Chen checked him again. "You're fully dilated. It's time to push."
Terror flooded through Adrian. This was really happening. In minutes, he would be a parent. Would hold his sons. Would be responsible for two tiny lives completely dependent on him.
"I'm scared," he whispered.
"That's normal," Dr. Chen said kindly. "Every parent is scared. But you're going to be amazing. Now, on the next contraction, I need you to push."
Adrian pushed. And pushed. And pushed. The pain was indescribable, worse than anything he'd imagined. Sweat poured down his face. His throat was raw from crying out. His parents held his hands, whispered encouragements, told him how well he was doing even though Adrian felt like he was dying.
"I can see the first baby's head!" Dr. Chen announced. "One more big push, Adrian. Come on!"
Adrian gathered every ounce of strength he had left and pushed with everything in him. There was a moment of impossible pressure, and then suddenly—release.
A baby's cry filled the room.
"It's a boy!" Dr. Chen held up a tiny, squirming infant covered in vernix and blood. "Your mer son."
Adrian sobbed as a nurse quickly cleaned the baby and placed him on Adrian's chest. He was so small, so perfect. Dark hair plastered to his head, his face scrunched up and red from crying. Adrian touched his tiny hand and the baby's fingers wrapped around his immediately, gripping tight.
"Hi," Adrian breathed. "Hi, baby. I'm your papa."
But there was no time to rest. Another contraction hit, and Dr. Chen was already preparing for the second baby.
"He's coming quickly," she said. "Two more pushes, Adrian. You've got this."
Adrian didn't think he had anything left, but somehow he found the strength. Two pushes later, another cry joined the first.
"Another boy!" Dr. Chen announced, holding up the second baby. "Your fer son."
This baby was smaller, his cry softer but no less insistent. He had lighter hair and more delicate features. The nurse cleaned him and placed him on Adrian's other side. Both babies now, one on each side of Adrian's chest, and the love that flooded through him was so overwhelming he could barely breathe.
"They're perfect," his fer father sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Adrian, they're perfect."
His mer father was crying too, taking photos with shaking hands. "You did it. You really did it."
Adrian looked down at his sons—his sons—and felt his entire world shift. These tiny beings had existed inside him for nine months, and now they were here, real and alive and wholly dependent on him. It was terrifying. It was miraculous.
"Hi, babies," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on each of their heads. "I'm your papa. I love you so much already. I'm going to take such good care of you. I promise."
The mer baby stopped crying and turned his head toward Adrian's voice. The fer baby made a small, mewling sound. Adrian's heart felt like it might burst.
Dr. Chen and the nurses worked efficiently, delivering the placentas, stitching Adrian up where he'd torn, checking the babies' vitals. The mer baby weighed six pounds, two ounces. The fer baby was smaller at five pounds, eight ounces.
"They're both healthy," Dr. Chen assured them. "Good weights for twins. Strong lungs, good color. You did beautifully, Adrian."
A nurse helped Adrian try to nurse the babies. It was awkward and difficult—two babies, two mouths, not enough hands. But with help, they both managed to latch. The sensation was strange and uncomfortable but also somehow right.
"What are you going to name them?" his fer father asked.
Adrian had been thinking about names for months. "The mer is Eli. The fer is Luca."
"Eli and Luca," his mer father repeated, testing the names. "They're perfect."
The rest of the day passed in a exhausted blur. Adrian was moved to a recovery room. His parents took turns holding the babies while Adrian tried to sleep, though he couldn't stop watching them even when his eyes were closing from exhaustion. Every few hours, a nurse would come to help him feed them, to check his bleeding, to monitor his recovery.
By evening, Adrian was alone with his sons for the first time. His parents had gone home to rest and would return in the morning. The hospital room was quiet except for the soft sounds of the babies sleeping in their bassinets beside his bed.
Adrian looked at them—Eli with his dark hair and strong features, Luca with his lighter coloring and delicate beauty—and saw Kai in both of them. Eli especially looked like his father, with the same bone structure, the same set to his mouth even in sleep. It hurt, seeing Kai's face in his son's. But it also didn't matter. These were his babies. His sons. Kai had given them life, but Adrian would give them everything else.
"Your father doesn't know about you," Adrian whispered to them. "He doesn't know you exist. And maybe that makes me selfish, keeping you from him. But I'm protecting you. He's not a good person. He would hurt you the way he hurt me, and I won't let that happen."
Eli stirred in his sleep, his tiny face scrunching up. Luca made a small sound, like a sigh.
"I'm going to give you the best life I can," Adrian continued, tears sliding down his cheeks. "It won't be easy. We don't have much money, and I'm just seventeen, and I have no idea what I'm doing. But you'll be loved. So, so loved. By me, by your grandparents. You'll never doubt that you matter, that you're wanted."
A nurse peeked in, checking on them. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah," Adrian said softly. "We're okay."
And surprisingly, in that moment, it was true. He was exhausted and sore and terrified of the future. But he was also filled with a fierce love he'd never known he was capable of. These babies had changed everything. Had given him purpose when he'd thought he had none.
He would protect them. Raise them. Love them.