[ He holds on to Mark's hand firmly, squeezing back. But, still, his expression stays firm, seemingly unaffected by Mark's optimistic outlook. His jaw clenches once, and he thinks, briefly, of the mess of gore Kira Yoshikage's face became at the end of things, like he deserved. Josuke can be kind and empathetic to a fault, but when he is pushed past his limit, sometimes even eternal damnation isn't enough to quell his temper. ]

...I really wish that were true.

[ Not, "I really hope that's true," or "maybe that's true." It's like he's absolutely certain it's not, but can't say it. He flicks his eyes to the side knowingly to meet Mark's, wondering if he'll be able to read between the lines of what he can't say — Shigechi is dead, no doubt about it, but it's not wider knowledge the public knows. And it should stay that way. ]

I've always tried to protect people — I guess it's kind of like my guiding principle. [ He really can't leave people in pain, whether they're a friend or a complete stranger. It goes against something deep and instinctual in him. ] So, whenever I can't do it... it really bothers me. I'll always think of him, because of that.

[ He'll always remember the sting of being unable to save him, even if he got justice in the end. Unbeknownst to Mark, Josuke's life-saving powers make it hard for him to reconcile with the fact that death is not something that can be reversed. He should be able to bring anyone back from the brink of death — so when he can't get there in time to do it, it's the ultimate failure. Tentatively, he threads a few of his fingers through Mark's, feeling a bit vulnerable despite his willingness to open his heart like this. ]

But I don't want you to feel pressured to say something because I did. [ Because Mark is right, it Does suck. Josuke feels better telling someone about Shigechi, though. ] Technically, you already scored a point just now.

[ He lifts their linked hands, his own hand warm in his. ]