Faolan has the door barely unlatched when Lancelot presses his magic forward, closing it again. Faolan's hand tightens around the doorknob. Faolan isn't entirely certain that even if he keeps pushing, that the other man is going to let him leave at this point. Another wave of discomfort washes through him, and he wants nothing more than to tear at the door, to try and break free, to fight his way out kicking and screaming like some trapped animal. As that's rather how he feels in that moment.

All that he knows is probably the last thing he wants to do in that moment is sit down and talk it out like no doubt Lancelot is trying to coax him into doing. Not here, not now. Not when all the other man will probably do is sit there and become more exasperated with him and he'll just keep making things worse for himself until Lancelot finally realizes that he's not the friend he wanted after all. No, it's better for everyone if he just leaves. He tries the door again, and this time it stays shut, Lancelot's magic keeping it in place.

"Let me go, Lancelot," Faolan says, trying not to get upset with the other man. Trying not to feel trapped, trying not to let the panic of the memories of times before take over his better judgment in this moment (what little he has left). "Just let me go."