The corners of Faolan's mouth quirk upwards slightly in response to the other man's answer. Or lack thereof, for that matter. He may not have said anything aloud, not with words, but Lancelot's body language is telling him all that he needs to know right now. And Faolan's grateful that he's managed to be able to do at least this much for him, just now.

"Good," he says, softly, and moves to brush Lancelot's hair away from his face again -- it's very curly, and it has a habit of curling its way back no matter what Faolan does, here. "Now get some rest," he urges gently, his fingers unconsciously tangled in the other man's hair, half unaware that he's even been doing so. "I'll be here if you need anything, yeah?"