Frank sees the problem long before Matt does, trying to ignore the sharp spike of hurt that goes through his heart at the words. He should know better than to be completely honest with him, and yet he always tries anyway. He's always the one reaching out, even when he has to tie Matt up to get him to listen. He leaps up, worried the table won't hold the man's weight, but also not about to let him injure himself further, no matter his own feelings right now. Getting behind Matt, he wraps both arms solidly around his shoulders and attempts to ease him up and away from the table then hopefully with a gentle push: back into his chair. The second he gets Matt seated, he's patting down his front for any new tears or bleeds.

"No, dipshit," he manages gruffly, real fear clenching his heart, obvious in the way the pace picks up. "She's my friend." Frank has a few of those, now. He did always manage to pick them up wherever he went, not that Matt would know it. But he's joined the community here, when people need his help he's always there. And that includes ungrateful lawyers who didn't even try to help you the first time around, he supposes. At least Matt's right about one thing: he didn't want help then.