"Reminds me of fumbling with Stacy Gaffney's bra in 8th grade. Though I might've been more coordinated then than you are now," he counters while he shifts to find something resembling comfortable on the couch. It doesn't come. That's fine. He's used to it by now and he listens to the sounds of Frank moving around his kitchen to all of the places where he knows things are. That's bred of familiarity but he doesn't call it out.

Matt's not sure either. He doesn't love the proximity, that's for sure. "Yeah, I know. There are a couple I had some run-ins with before that aren't as completely stupid as I wanted to think they are." He considers making an offer for Frank to crash at his place but he decides against it for now. It feels like an overextension, and probably unnecessary. Maybe. Obviously he knows he can come to Matt if he needs anything and that feels unspoken anyway so he decides to leave it there. "At some point, you'd think you'd have stacked enough bodies in the morgue and I'd have sent enough hospitals and left them to eat through straws that they'd give up." That doesn't seem to be how it works. Not with the true believers.