[ He squeezes back, gently. Inhales, holds the smoke, exhales. Is he doing this right... he can't really tell, but it doesn't seem important right now. Maybe smoking won't work on him. Maybe he'll feel it once he finishes this cigarette. The rhythm, though — sharing the action with Shoko — that part helps, he thinks. ]

I... yeah. I know that. I have people back home, I have people here... you, right now. [ He tries for a little smile, isn't entirely sure if he feels it. He wants to, though. Is that enough? ] It's just that sometimes... I mean, if the circumstances align, and I forget...

[ He looks away, as though something like that might very well have happened recently. Takes a second. Squeezes her hand a little tighter. ]

... I can't forget. Not again. [ There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he turns back to her. ] I mean, what you had to do— You shouldn't have been in that position. He shouldn't have done it, or put you there, or any of that. It's not fair, if people like us do that to people like you.

[ Him and Geto. He isn't Geto, hasn't done what he has — but in Mark's eyes, he's probably more like him than Shoko. Shoko helps people through healing, and Mark's abilities originate in violence. It leaves him a little choked up, voice small, self-loathing. ]

Can we just... stay out here a moment longer?

[ He really doesn't want to let go of her hand. ]