Chapter Text
You were walking to the subway station to get to your hostel, when you realized your sugar was going down. And kind of fast too, judging by how you were feeling. Still, you thought without breaking your stride in the crowded sidewalk, you could get there before you needed to actually take some sugar. You've been living with diabetes for over 26 years now, and knew your symptoms well enough to know if you could delay taking some sugar, or if you needed it right away.
It's not that you wanted to prolong the hypoglycemia, it's just that the process would slow you down, fishing for the packets of sugar in the bottom of your crammed bag, finding a place you can stop and not disturb the flow of people, and take that damn sugar. And you really wanted to get to the hostel before it got dark.
You barely registered that, as you took each step, your consciousness was shrinking, until you could only focus on your breathing and the feeling of the pavement hitting your feet (or were your feet hitting the pavement? You couldn't tell the difference). You kept your eyes just a few steps ahead of you, to avoid running into someone, but also because if you looked up, your brain wouldn't be able to process anything, and you could stumble. Keeping your focus somewhere close was all you could do right now.
You've miscalculated how long the walk was. By a lot.
You weren't used to these long ass city blocks, what was up with this weird grid? What happened to the reliable square, all-sides-the-same-length blocks when people planned this place?
It had always intrigued you, wondering if there was a reason for this urban planning, but now with your brain running on low sugar, you were pissed. At New York City's streets' grid.
That's when you realized you were really low, and stopped in your tracks. Someone bumped into you, and you mumbled a broken apology, moving to a doorway on the side. You dumped your backpack on the pavement, opened the zipper and started fishing for the pouch where you kept your sugar packets. You found them, fished 4 out, ripped them open all at once, and dumped the contents in your mouth, some of it spilling over your shirt.
You were looking for your water bottle in the black hole that was your bag, to help you get the sugar down, when someone's knee suddenly connected to your shoulder, hard, simultaneously stepping over you as if they were jumping a puddle. Your addled brain couldn't grasp what was happening, and the shock of the kick made you spurt most of the sugar out of your mouth.
If you weren't running on fumes right now, you would've been appalled at the situation.
As you were, your inhibitions were down, and you were mad that your life-saving sugar was forced out of you.
"Pendejo" (asshole), you blurted, not even thinking the insult would make you spray some more sugar, furious with whomever kneed you, all while looking for more sugar packets. You really couldn't afford to focus on anything else than getting more sugar in your system.
But there were no more sugar packets left in the pouch, and after some more rummaging you gave up. You swallowed the sugar you still had in your mouth, licking the granules you felt stuck to your lips, closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gauge how you felt.
You were not at your 100%, but strong enough to think about getting up and looking for a place to buy a regular soda, or some juice. You looked around your legs, now extended on the pavement, feeling your consciousness stretch around you once more, noticing the contents of your bag were thrown on the floor, around where you were sitting. You didn't know when you had decided that sitting on a nasty NYC sidewalk was a good idea.
You started picking things up, putting them back on your bag while trying to stand, when a hand grabbed your upper arm, and helped you up. That startled you, and you took a step back, trying to keep some personal space.
"I'm sorry for being in the way" you babbled, "my sugar's running low and needed to take a minute." Your eyes hit a broad trunk clad in a black leather jacket, one of the sleeves made of some kind of metallic fabric. "I, um... I don't think I'm totally OK, so I'm gonna go now, ok bye sorry"
You hoisted your bag to your shoulder, and tried to sidestep the wall of leather in front of you.
"Esperá, ¿qué necesitás?" (wait, what do you need?)
The use of spanish made you snap your head up. Pale blue eyes looked at you, with... was that worry? You answered automatically, without thinking
"Azúcar, coca, jugo de naranja, algo de eso" (sugar, coke, orange juice, something like that)
Blue eyes nodded and walked away. You slumped against the wall and took a couple of steading breaths. And then your mind caught up.
What the hell had just happened? And also, who was that?!
You only had time to look around frantically, trying to decide what to do, drying your sweaty palms against your shorts, when leather jacket came back, a can of coke and a bottle of orange juice in each hand. Before a moment of indecision trying to determine which was safer to accept from a stranger, you grabbed the bottle, checking the seal of the top before cracking it open, and chugging half of the bottle before taking a breath. You thought you heard a chuckle when you inspected the bottle top, but couldn't care less.
Now that you knew you were out of danger of passing out, you allowed yourself to look at your saviour in the face.
Strong jaw, some stubble, short brown hair, light blue eyes watching kindly.
Yum
What? Where did that come from?
You looked down, sheepishly, and saw the top of your shirt was glinting with sugar crystals. 'Right, you are looking like a mess, nothing new there' you thought as you brushed the front of your tee.
"So, spanish?" you ask, wincing at your own words. Eloquent, much?
"You called me 'pendejo' when I almost stepped on you" he smirked.
"Shit, sorry" another sip of the orange juice "insulin shock usually means no inhibitions, and lots of insults. I was actually cursing Manhattan's city grid before I realized how low my blood sugar levels were, so please don't take it personally."
He looked like he almost snorted.
"And, uhm... sorry, again, for standing in your doorway, I thought I would be out of the way there".
He nodded, and just watched you. You became nervous under his watch, noticing that it was already dark.
"Well, I should really get going, but thanks for this. Oh, how much did it cost?" You started checking your pockets for money, not wanting to open your backpack in front of a stranger, but he stopped you.
"No, it's on me. Sure you're ok?"
You smiled for a second, almost comfortable in his presence, but then your spine straightened up, eyes became guarded.
"Yes, thank you very much. Have a good night" you said firmly, and he nodded.
You felt his eyes on your back as you walked away, hoping that he wouldn't make a move to follow you. He was way bigger than you, a stranger, and you were a tourist alone in the city. He hadn't given you a bad vibe, but better safe than sorry.
Even if you were a bit sorry, he looked good. But you really couldn't risk it.