It's such a strangely formal gesture. John's a little slow, not quite on the ball today, because Kurt manages to redirect him before he can give him any shit about it.

He looks down at his zippo, turning it around and around in his hand. The metal is warm from the constant contact with his palm, and he gives the other boy a slow smirk. "Yeah. Mine."

Click. Flick. Hwa-ush. He lights up, only to call the fire into his other hand, his palm cupped and waiting.