He lets her take as long as she needs, not once moving from his post. It's not like he's some kind of steadfast bulwark here; he's crying just like her. Junkrat is experienced with this, letting his tears fall freely and still running his magitech hand up and down her shoulder and back to comfort her. There are no words, no medication, no technology in the entire universe that can heal invisible wounds like physical human contact.

His hold on her is steady, unfaltering, but as soon as she moves, he readily frees her from his grasp so that they can both look at each other. Junkrat's face is flushed, eyes red and irritated - it's a good thing he's disguised, because he'd probably look like a horrid mess otherwise. Fareeha is actually the first to smile, and he returns with his own, looking none the less genuine despite the sad state of the rest of his face. He brings up his left hand and uses the back of his thumb to wipe up the moisture, first the right and then the left, never once abandoning their eye contact.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly.

With a wobbly little shove, Junkrat pushes himself upward from his crouched position, then holds out his hands for her to take if she needs the help to get back up.

"Maybe another drink too."