Fifteen minutes. He has cried himself out. His head is in my lap. His eyes are red. His nose is runny. He is gulping.
"That's better," I say. "You just panic sometimes. But it always passes." I am rubbing his chest.
"Yes. It does," he says softly. "Thank you."
"It's nothing."
He is shaking his head. "No. It's everything." He pauses. "Can we stay like this?"
"I'm comfortable." I pause. "Is there anything you want?"
"Not right now," he says, closing his eyes. He guides my hand to his lowest ribs. "Rub there." This relaxes him.
"Too firm?"
"Just right." The touch makes him sleepy. The pressure calms the fear inside. He drifts. I am content just to hold him.
