Being somewhat more casual about physical contact than many of his peers, Prior digging around in the coat doesn't exactly bother him--at least not once he realizes the pocket Prior's going for is on James' right side, rather than his left--but he is a bit perplexed when the item he'd been searching for is revealed. He may not know anything about asthma, but he's still pretty sure that smoking doesn't help.

But he does refrain from saying anything immediately, even if he fixes Prior with a dubious look and debates with himself over whether or not he should comment. But no lighter is coming out, and the cigarette isn't being held to the fire to be lit that way, so perhaps it's just a distraction. Something to mess with to calm his nerves, just like James plays with his napkin ring or the edge of the tablecloth when telling a story at dinner.

That theory gains a little more traction when Prior recites some unknown lines--from a book, or a play, perhaps?--and James tries to run through some mental options for conversation that aren't about their current situation, but he's coming up a little blank. Idly, he tries to fold his legs a little more comfortably, but the movement sends a stabbing jolt of pain through his side, bad enough that he can't catch himself before he winces and he presses his good hand to the wound on reflex.

His coat is wet. Not soaked, but distinctly damp, and he's half-forgotten Prior's in the room when he pulls his hand away to look at the pale red staining his fingertips. Vaguely, it feels like deja vu, though instead of pulling his own coat closed--its already closed--he has a similarly useless thought that he should return Prior's coat before he bleeds on it. Because that's clearly the main thing to be concerned about.

At least this might work as a distraction, even if it isn't an intentional one.