The baby was quiet, but Blaine hadn’t returned to bed, so Kurt got up and crept into the makeshift nursery-slash-office that they’d put together on the fly. The only light in the room was what entered through the door from the hallway, but it was enough to see Blaine standing next to the crib, watching Colin sleep.

Kurt walked up to stand right beside Blaine, their shoulders lightly touching. They both looked down at Colin’s sleeping form, wrapped tightly in a swaddling blanket so that he resembled a human burrito, his chest lightly rising and falling with each breath.

“Hey,” Kurt said softly, leaning in to Blaine’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Blaine turned and looked at him, his face unreadable in the darkness. “He’s just so vulnerable,” Blaine said. “Barely a week old, and completely dependent on the help of others for survival. He can’t even eat without help. Even if someone put a bottle right in front of him, he couldn’t even reach it or get it to his mouth on his own. Or if there was something dangerous, he couldn’t run away, or even crawl away, or even roll away, or even tell someone what kind of danger it is, all he could do would be just lie there and cry. It’s so scary, thinking about how truly helpless he is.”

Kurt slid his arm around Blaine’s waist. “I guess that’s what growing up is about. Learning little by little how to take care of yourself. And maybe … trying not to forget that sometimes it’s okay to depend on other people. When they’re people who love you.”

“That’s … almost profound,” Blaine said. He rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder, smiling a little bit.

“I don’t know, it’s three in the morning. Best I could do.”

Blaine took a deep breath, reveling in the feeling of his chest pressing into Kurt’s side as his lungs expanded. “Okay. Back to bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”