The lighter stops mid-play, the fire a bright little beacon in the falling dark. "Imagine not. Duìbùqĭ, Jack -- I've really owed you a visit in person for some time. Still..."

Desire scuffs his foot against the rail, as if knocking away loose clumps of imaginary mud. It's a stalling tactic, plain as the snap shut of the lighter. "Got something to tell you that can't wait 'til we're next in Milliways."

Beat.
Casting a wry grin at the skyline, Desire even looks away from Jack and down, as if sheepish.
Does Desire get sheepish?

"Imagine you won't want to talk to me if I don't tell you. That important."