Faolan's waited for Lancelot to join him before eating, even though the other man had served him a while ago. At least that means that his food has been cooling this whole time. He glances at the other man again, feeling -- well, so comfortable in this moment he's wondering why he's not feeling less so -- taking a slice from the plate offered as well.

"Just don't expect a home-cooked meal," he says. "I'll just embarrass myself in comparison." He's probably made the bread too, the overachiever. As much as you like, Lancelot had said. He'll eat what's given him and then decide whether he'd like more. He's not exactly used to feasting, after all. Lancelot may think his cooking is simple, but when put up against a normal days' meal for Faolan, there's no comparison.

Faolan shifts in his seat again, sliding his eyes sideways to watch the other man for a moment. On the pretense of figuring out how to eat this food. If he happens to be studying Lancelot's expression, the way he holds himself, how relaxed he seems to be with just the two of them and the dog sitting down to a meal, then that's only for Faolan to know.