[It happens so fast he doesn't have time to react-- just Jotaro, taking his cigarette, inhaling without missing a beat, and handing it back. Like it's nothing. Like they do it all the time-- which they do, actually, easily and without comment. He reaches for it, takes it, puts it back in his mouth-- and then offers a weak sort of smile. It doesn't last, but it's there, and it's meant for Jotaro.]

I don't even know him.

[And then, because that's not fair--]

Not the way he knows me. He looks at me like I'm-- I'm somebody, I'm his famiglia, and here I only just found out who his father is. I just found out, Jotaro, and--

[It's hard to vocalize everything swirling through his head. It isn't usually; usually he just blurts out whatever he's thinking, angry or sad or happy-- but there's too much, too many threads to follow, too many ways he's being torn.]

What did he tell you, when he met you.