The door opens easily. He hadn't closed it properly to begin with, more focused on staying upright. Inside Lancelot is leaning over the sink, hands braced against it. The room feels slightly like it's spinning, moving around him -- or else he might still be swaying a little. It's hard for him to tell.

"Thought I might throw up," he admits groggily, and shifts a shaky hand to run under the cold water. Splashes some onto his face to try and cool down. The movement is enough to unsteady him again and he grips out for the sink, tries to breathe slowly.