"They are," Simon agrees as he takes a drag on his own cigarette. That's better. Good old chemical stimulants.

He takes out his lighter again and examines it. It's metal and rather embarrassingly emblazoned with a Union Jack, very much the kind of thing you buy that one uncle you forgot to get a souvenir for at the airport duty free. "I think this one might actually belong to my flatmate, but I'm keeping it unless he asks for it back. Found it in the kitchen a couple weeks back." It seems like something Matt would like. Matt's still in the Anglophile phase of his life as an expat--a few more weeks in London and Simon figures that'll be beaten out of him.

After a beat, he adds, awkwardly, "I'm Simon, by the way."