When she takes it, he's struck by how much he's missed holding her hand. Their fingers wind together and he squeezes her hand back, despite how tightly she's gripping his.

He starts counting, slowly and quietly, trying to help her time her breaths, because a panic attack immediately post surgery does not feel like it will help much at all. He speaks mostly to set up a cadence, a pattern for her to focus on while she gets her breathing under control. They'd always done that for each other even before they started dating, it doesn't surprise him to fall back into it now.

"It's okay," he says softly. She doesn't have to apologize for a panic attack, and that's the only apology he is daring to touch right now. "You should have a sip of water."