Faolan's lips twist in response to the other man's words, although the look on his face may not quite be defined as a smile, as he moves to step back towards the door. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Anything's better than nothing. Sit tight."

And he ducks out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen to be able to fetch the other man a glass. And to spend the time kicking himself in private as he does. A drink, he'd said. Water. Because he's feeling shaky. Not alcohol to steel his nerves as he'd thought. And Faolan had offered to take him out. Back to his? Who the hell was he kidding.

He splashes some water on his face too while he's at it before heading back up the stairs, glass of water in hand. "Here," he says, handing it to the other man, before sinking down into another chair in the room. He's tired. Tired of this mess, tired of messing up, tired in general. "Take your time," he reassures the other man. "I've got nowhere else to be."