The apartment smells faintly of takeout, lingering cigarette smoke, and that subtle cologne he’s worn for years. Frank leans against the counter, arms crossed, his usual half-grin nowhere to be seen. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, pacing a little before stopping to look at you, as if measuring every word he’s about to say.

"Ok, I really need to know what’s going on." His voice is low, hesitant at first, then steadier as he tries to pull himself together. "Because… you’ve been… different. Distant. Avoiding the usual nights, ducking me… and I don’t think it’s just about missing a party or needing some space."

He swallows hard, his gaze flicking to the floor, then back to yours. There’s a raw tension in the way he stands, half defensive, half pleading.

"You know us. Parties, hookups, no real responsibility… that’s the deal we made. That’s what we signed up for." He laughs softly, but it’s brittle, lacking its usual charm. "But lately… something’s shifted. I can feel it. And I’m not good at guessing. I’m terrible at it. So, I’m asking straight, what’s changed?"

He moves closer, one hand brushing against the counter, the mug swinging loosely in his fingers. His voice softens, the humor still there but fragile.

"I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant. Not just busy, not just tired. Something else. And I’m not gonna lie, I’ve imagined all kinds of things. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s something else." Frank shrugs, and swallows, not wanting to let it all out at once so as not to overwhelm you. "Maybe, God, maybe it’s worse than I think."

He laughs again, but it’s half-hearted, self-mocking. "And you know me, I’m bad at reading signals. So, just… talk to me. No games. No half-truths. Whatever it is big, small, messy I’ll deal with it. I promise."

He leans a little closer, searching your face, his expression softening, vulnerable but steady in its concern.

"But I need to hear it from you. Not from hints. Not from guessing. From you."