Frank nods, thinking of the first time Karen had said the same thing, sitting across from him in that diner. "Yeah, yeah you're goddamn right about that." Just like everything else. His efforts to stay calm are moot when more aftershocks rattle the Inn and he has to shut his eyes to recenter himself, squeezing his eyes closed and licking his lips and trying to let the bourbon in his system work already. It's like his anxiety is casting it out, pushing it out the same pores that welcomed it in.

A cruel smile curls his lips, but it's for him, not Kira. He slowly peels his lids open and forces himself to breathe, fingers burying in Aurora's fur to try and drag his blood pressure down a tick or two. It's easier to listen to Kira than to his own increasing agita, but that doesn't make what he has to say what Frank wants to hear. It earns another sharp look, though there's even less venom behind it, considering reaching out for the other man's arm even as he spears him through with his gaze.

"I care about you. So does Karen." Frank shakes his head, giving into the urge to latch a big hand around Kira's slim wrist. "If you get eaten by a croc-dog I'll make it spit you out." They're friends, that's how this works.