Lancelot almost protests that it isn't hard to make carbonara, but... well, he doesn't know how often Faolan cooks for himself -- if at all. No need to accidentally insult him if he burns water regularly.

"It isn't trouble," he says instead, and begins measuring out sections of spaghetti -- dumping some in the pan and putting away the packet again. He checks the heat, watching the pasta a moment as it slowly softens so he can get it all under the water and leave it a bit. "Did you want me to open that now?" he says finally, glancing sideways at the box and lofting an eyebrow as he coaxes the spaghetti further into the water. "Or wait until later?"