Faolan steps forward to slip an arm around the other man's waist without further question, reaching out to steady his swaying against the sink as he does. Somehow, in the journey between the living room and the bathroom, the other man has developed a pallor and a cool sweat. He looks awful and Faolan can imagine that he feels worse, and a wave of guilt washes over him, knowing that he's probably pushed him into this.

"Easy, easy," he says gently, frowning at the other man as he presses a hand to his face, but he can't tell whether he's feverish or whether he just feels warm under his hands. "Are you still nauseous?" he asks, concerned. He looks like he should really sit down, but if he needs to stay in the bathroom for a while longer, Faolan doesn't want to lead him away from it.