Max holds firm, waiting for that break in resolve. It comes quickly. He remembers this feeling. Some things he's forgotten (or blocked out) but the need for an anchor in the storm of fear and pain, he remembers that viscerally. There's nothing worse than being utter, utterly alone.

Max lets the quiet wash over them both. He hopes his affirming presence is enough without words. He makes himself take long slow breaths, loudly, in the the hopes that Andrew will instinctively mimic him. When Andrew's hand comes up to cling on, he tightens his embrace just a fraction, to reciprocate that connection.