Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man. "I'm not going to ask you what is fancy, if homemade carbonara isn't," he says, "lest you get it into your head that I'm requesting for you to make it for me sometime." Not that he'd say no, exactly. But he'd feel awkward that he couldn't return the favor. At all. He's not much of a cook. He can fry an egg and boil water for pasta, but that's about it.

He takes a hesitant step forward towards the table. "I. Could eat," he says, after a moment. "That sounds more than fine. Really. Don't. Don't go through any trouble on my account," he says, awkwardly stumbling over his words. This really wasn't how he thought things would go (hell, he wasn't certain how he thought things would go, for that matter). And he's pretty sure he's going to ruin whatever mood they find for themselves when Lancelot opens that box. Ah well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts...