Faolan colors slightly at the reassurances from the other man, both verbal and physical. The hand on his shoulder and the words he's been offered. He isn't sure that he'll ever have any of the casual ease that these men have managed with each other. But he'll try. For Lancelot's sake. For all of them, really. For this stranger who seems to care, even though he really has no reason for it. Their only connection being the man standing with them and perhaps the city they live in.

He glances up at Lancelot as the other man nudges him, before finishing the rest of his mince pie, to have both hands to make his drink with. "Yeah," he says softly. "I'll be alright. Just. Go easy on me, yeah? Please."