"No, I suppose it doesn't," Faolan says. He should have gotten up and insisted that the other man take the ibuprofen regardless, but he'd said that it hadn't been helping with his head, so maybe it hadn't been reducing his temperature that well either.

He flushes slightly at the suggestion from Lancelot, although he doesn't move his hand away, simply shifting it on the other man's forehead instead. His hands are generally on the cooler side, and combined with the fact that Lancelot's face is warmer than usual, it's quite the contrast. "I could fetch a cool cloth for you again, if you'd like," he offers, brushing his hand through Lancelot's hair before resting it on his temple again. That would of course involve moving though, and Faolan isn't quite prepared to do so. Not just yet at least.