He was twenty-five when the paperwork was finished. It was nearly a year that he waited to take Mirio home with him. Months of pacing back and forth, months of being too hard on himself. Months where he felt as though every breath he took dictated whether or not he would be allowed to become the legal guardian of the boy his dreams had foretold years in advance.
The things he forgot about his dreams were... vital.
Mirio was the happiest little boy he had ever seen, and now he would raise him into an outstanding young man. The worst part of raising a child, especially after molestation charges had been paid off by a wealthy family member, is that hands wander. There were many times where Kenma lifted Mirio into his arms, internally shuddering at the soft feel of Mirio's growing body.
Many times, Kenma kept himself up all night. Pacing back and forth. Wondering how he had ever made the mistake of subjecting Mirio to a horrible parental figure like himself. Sometimes, he even wondered how cruel the people who worked with Mirio previous to him must have been to let him adopt him.
...
It was on Mirio's sixth birthday that he stood in the backyard, his swimming trunks hanging low on his hips, worried blue eyes gazing up at his legal guardian.
"Daddy, are you sick?"
Kenma sighed out of his nose softly.
More than you would ever understand, sweet boy.
"...Yes, I am."
Mirio's curious gaze changed, a frown pulling at his lips and his eyebrows knitting together in a worried expression.
"Will daddy ever get better?"
Lifting his gaze from his beloved son, he pushed his glasses up and shook his head.
"I don't know."