Eddie gets a text from Steve at around 10:30am saying that he forgot his lunch. Eddie, being the ever doting husband he is, grabs the light green lunchbox out of the fridge and makes his way over to the school.
What Steve failed to mention was that his blood sugar was a 60, going down. Eddie got the notification from the dexcom app just as he pulled into the parking lot.
“That little bitch,” Eddie mumbled to himself.
After fretfully getting a bright yellow visitor’s sticker placed on his black Corroded Coffin tee, Eddie practically sprints (as fast as he can in his platform boots) to Steve’s classroom.
Eddie yanks the door open to see Steve sitting behind his desk, classroom empty, and his diabetes bag open with things spilling out. The sharps container Steve keeps on his desk for his finger pricking needles is open and looks significantly fuller than usual.
“Hey baby.” Eddie walks over to Steve and crouches in front of him. “I brought your lunch, are you feeling alright?”
Steve lifts his gaze to meet Eddie’s eyes and huffs out a breath.l, snatching the lunch bag from his grasp.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “It’s just been a low day. No matter what I seem to do, my number keeps dropping.”
Eddie hums, already pulling out his phone. “Want me to call your endocrinologist? Your glucose levels have been too low all week.”
All Steve does is raise his left eyebrow in defiance and Eddie puts his phone back in his pocket. He pulls over a comically small chair and sits in it, knees crunched to his chest as he watches Steve take care of himself. Eddie knows not to interfere unless Steve asks him. Just the fact that he asked Eddie to bring him his lunch? A huge step.
About thirty minutes pass and Steve’s number is at a steady 105, his sandwich and apple helping bring his blood sugar back up.
His students are almost done with gym and Steve will have to go pick them up in five minutes, but Eddie is just glad to have been able to do whatever Steve needed.
Steve wound up having to pull Eddie out of the small chair because Eddie got stuck. He planted a quick kiss to his lips and smacked his ass, telling him to, “Get out of here, my love. I’ll see you at home.” And then, punctuated with another kiss, he whispers, “Thank you.”
If anyone asks, Eddie walked out of that school with a strong gait and a neutral expression on his face. But if you were to ask Ms. Nancy, a fourth grade teacher, she would say that he looked like a love struck fool.
dededos
2087
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
