Rewrite the scene with Jim and the boy from another point of view.

The door creaked and a rectangle of light fell onto the magazine that Jim was reading. He looked up. The boy who had come into the lobby was a stranger, about nineteen, tall and thin.
"Looking for someone?" Jim asked.
"No," the boy said. His long fingers trembled as they fumbled with the buttons of his coat.
"Well, may I help you with something?"
"No." The boy dropped his coat onto the worn tweed sofa and sat down slowly. In the light from the window his pale cheeks gleamed as if wet.
He's sick, Jim thought, going over to him. A narrow hand reached out and seized his wrist, cold, strong fingers twining around his arm like vines or snakes. Jim fought the impulse to pull away, looking down instead into the boy's troubled, grey eyes.