Every movement was agony. Jim stood in front of his small bathroom mirror, trying to button his work shirt with trembling fingers. His chest felt like it was filled with broken glass, each breath a careful negotiation. The face that stared back at him in the mirror was pale, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of more than just a bad night's sleep.
He managed three buttons before a coughing fit doubled him over, his hands gripping the sink as water he didn't know he was still carrying fought its way out of his lungs. The coughs were wet, painful, and when he straightened up, there were spots of blood in the sink.
"Jim?" Rory's voice came through the door, followed by a knock. "I brought coffee, but I heard coughing. Are you okay?"
He quickly wiped the sink clean. "I'm fine. Just getti……
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