Xin backed up against the wall, body aching, cheeks burning with the flush of fever. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled, his lungs having no choice but to painfully and rigidly take in the chilled air around him.
"I'll get better. I'll get better," he repeated to himself, feebly rubbing away at his arms in a sickly attempt to ease the unsettling chill that continued to run down his spine and made his skin crawl. He opened the door to his apartment and slumped immediately. The plastic bags in his hands loosened for his grip and fell flat against the floor.
Jessica could hear him coughing and wheezing from clear outside the block. It was a barking cough that carried well through walls and the wind of late fall.
