If Desire notices the fade, he makes no comment: Matter of fact, he picks this moment to look away, fiddling in a suddenly present cellophane pack for a fresh cigarette.

"Here," he says, shaking the filtered end out of the paper. "Bet you could use one of these."

He lights up one-handed, not waiting to see whether Jack to take one or not: There's a pause where the flame remains dancing in the golden lighter, warm light flickering in those familiar eyes.