Faolan makes his way inside the other man's flat, and blissfully, for the most part everyone stays out of his way. Whether that is because they are otherwise preoccupied or because his reappearance combined with the mood he'd sunken into earlier had served to scare them off he cannot say for certain, but he'll take it.

He makes his way to the kitchen, catching himself against the counter with one hand as he tries to focus on what he was doing. Food. Plate. Maybe he'll just stand still for a moment. At least Lancelot seems to have accepted his apology. Small blessings, he supposes. He supposes that Lancelot is going to have to help him with this much as well.

"I should have gotten you something better than that mug," he mutters, circling the same thoughts he had been all night, this time aloud.