Faolan's frown deepens and he shakes his head at the other man, tightening his arm around his waist as he does. "There's nothing to forgive," he says. "I pushed you. You're allowed to push back. And I'm pretty sure that I just hurt you a lot more than you hurt me." He reaches another hand up to press to the other man's face, this time to his forehead, but he still can't tell if he's too warm or not. Not while Faolan's feeling fairly warm just then himself.

"Come here, come sit down before you fall down," Faolan says gently, slowly moving to direct the other man to sit on the lid of the toilet. The bathroom's so small, if Lancelot really does get sick, he's not sure that he'll get standing and turned around fast enough, but the sink's right there, as is the waste bin. It's as good as they're going to get, for now. Only once he's certain the other man is settled and not about to fall forward on his face does he stand and wet a cloth in the sink, turning off the water before turning back to Lancelot.

"Here," he says, again his voice unusually soft and low, for Faolan's standards, as he moves to press the cool cloth against the back of Lancelot's neck for a moment, before flipping it to hold against his forehead. "Tell me if that feels better. Or if you start to feel worse. ...you should have told me you were ill," he says, moving to crouch in front of the other man, so that he has a better angle to hold the cloth in place. Frowning harder as he does.