Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man at the use of the word 'sweet'. Sweet to have gotten him this, that's a bit of a laugh, he thinks to himself. Perhaps it would be more applicable if he'd succeeded in some of the other items, although really, thinking of himself as 'sweet' in any context is a bit of a stretch.

"I owe you," he says, simply. "And I can't help feeling that I still owe you, perhaps even more now, thanks to this." He doesn't explain himself further. Not about the gift, and not about the rest of it either. But Lancelot has ever been there for him, since the moment they'd encountered each other that first night and the other man had taken care of him, forced him to take care of himself, for that matter. He has cheered him up when he has been in a mood, and he has supported him through frankly some pretty terrible ideas and situations. It's the least he can do, to try and thank him for that.

"Next time it'll be better," he promises, awkwardly. "Perhaps I can feed you for a change. Out, that is," he corrects, quickly. He really isn't much of a cook, if Lancelot hadn't already guessed as much.