The Beatles record plays as he comes to his senses, sitting in their chair. Mark feels as shattered as he did yesterday. And the day before that. And the week before that. Shit. He hears footsteps from the steps, and then sees two cups of tea, and then a face that's familiar to the point of pain. The man smiles slightly. They really did help him, though he'll never admit it to himself, keeping his usual demeanor. "Thank you." Mark wants to say something else, something that can be attributed to more than just the tea, but it's as if he's speechless. Maybe it's for the best. There's a pause for a split second, broken only by Lennon's voice. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down. And I do appreciate you being 'round.