"Oh my god, Mr. Henster," Cherion mumbled into the fabric, his voice thick and distorted with sleep. "I swear... go to the doctor. The walls are paper thin, man. Some of us have a double shift."
Sleep was a heavy, suffocating blanket that Cherion wasn't ready to throw off. He groaned, instinctively burying his face deeper into the plush silk of the pillow, trying to muffle the violent, repetitive sound rattling through the room. It was a wet, jagged noise, the kind that makes your own throat ache just hearing it.
"Khu-hak! Hak-ugh… wheeze…"
He waited for the silence of his old apartment to return. But the sound didn't stop. It grew more frantic, a rhythmic convulsing that made the very mattress beneath him tremble.
Cherion's eyes snapped open. The light of a Northern morning filtered through heavy drapes. He wasn't in his polyester uniform, he was tangled in sheets that cost more than his old life.
