Ritchie did try, taking a gasp of air and trying to remind himself that he really did need to breathe. There was no point in getting upset about it. Only hours before arriving here, he'd made up his mind that he was going to live. And when Ritchie Tozer put his mind to something, he gave it his absolute all. He would fight to live.
The hand on his arm was taken as a comfort for more reasons than the other man could've realised yet. He'd gone from a world where they'd had to threaten legal action to get their friend out of essentially solitary confinement at the hospital, to a world where someone was willingly touching him.
He gave him a couple of nods between his sobs just to show that he was listening and understood.
"Sorry," he said again, using the other sleeve of his denim jacket to wipe at his face. "It's all a bit fresh," he explained. "The grand total of people who know are my doctor, and, for some reason, you," he admitted, with a soft chuckle. Apparently it was a lot easier to spill your guts to a stranger than to your family or dear friends.