Frank doesn't want or need any of that. Not from anyone, but least of all from Matt. He just needs him to listen, something he finally seems to be doing. It was easier when they were fighting, he realizes then, looking up at the other man without guarding his expression. Not that Frank ever does, fear and panic plain for him to not see. But he knows he can sense it all, that he doesn't have to explain. Is he okay? The concern touches him in a place he'd thought long broken, pushing out a thready breath as he considers how to answer that. He's always been truthful with Matt, often to his own detriment, but it isn't that hanging him up now.

"Physically," he manages with a nod, turning and looking back down at his lap, his mag-boots. He can feel his hands sweat as he wipes them on his jumpsuit pants and shakes his head. "Sure. We're all... fine. I'm really glad you missed the music."

That would have been Hell for someone as sensitive as Matt and the thought makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably. As awful as he feels right now, though? He's just so grateful that he can feel it at all.

"You've seen me at my lowest, Red. You know what that looks like. Here - here I've been lower."