He gave me his less-than-hygienic habit of blowing one’s nose on a dirty T-shirt from the laundry pile. One day he was blowing his nose into an old gray tee when I felt my nose starting to run, and I grabbed the same shirt and started blowing, too. When I realized we were both standing in his room, unshowered, sick and blowing into the same snotty T-shirt, I knew.
Postscript: Nine months in!
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