He watches Jack in his muzzy sort of haze, smiles just slightly as he looks over at the daylight. It's a pleasant butter yellow glow that spreads over the cold linoleum, warms the room, or maybe that's just him. When Jack looks back at him, it's a look that wants to speak and he knows.

Instead, he lifts a hand, carefully avoiding the stitches near his brow and smoothing some of his hair back. It's a private smile that he gives him, something intimate. He shifts, rests lips against an unmarred part of his brow, a soft kiss.