Ethan stepped out of his house. He wore casual clothes, some dark jeans and an oversized hoodie.
A black messenger bag hung across his shoulder.
Noah gestured toward the waiting taxi.
"Sorry, I was late."
Ethan said as he slid into the backseat, adjusting his bag.
"I had to get my medication organised."
"Medication?"
Noah didn't take it seriously, he guessed it was some kind of antibiotic or paracetamol, nothing too serious.
None of his guesses prepared him for Ethan's matter-of-fact response.
"I've been recently diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Need to keep my insulin pens with me, coupled with fast and slow-acting glucose in case of hypo or hyperglycemia."
Ethan spoke like someone discussing the weather rather than a life-altering medical condition that would shadow every decision for the rest of his existence.
Noah's eyes widened.
Aunt Mei didn't tell me about this...
