This is the first person Frank's seen here who (appears to be) older than he, Frank, is. Maybe that's why he gravitates, stepping out onto the balcony to chase that vague birds-of-a-feather solidarity. And to spend five minutes in the company of someone who isn't at least over a decade younger than him.

Frank decidedly didn't dress for the party – the most he's done is put on a shirt with more than one colour on it, and even that is a bit much for him. He flashes an apologetic smile, more of a grimace, at the realisation that he'd startled, and turns to lean against the balcony wall with an elbow hooked casually over it.

"Sorry man." He caught a whiff of Boston in the guy's accent, and Frank himself is from New York with a strong enough accent that it's obvious too. Maybe he's trying too hard to find commonalities, but jesus christ he can't spend another hour making nice with the cast of Pretty Little Liars downstairs. "You contemplating how you ended up here?"