Faolan isn't certain that he'd blame the other man for shutting his door because of him at this point either. Or locking it, for that matter. He nods slightly in response to the other man's words, watching him in there for a moment, before he turns and steps into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
He takes time to use the toilet and wash his face, trying to snap himself out of the haze that he'd fallen into, but he's not really sure that it helps much. He glances up in the mirror at himself, trying to take stock of the situation before he shakes his head, coming to the conclusion that he really doesn't have the mental capacity for that right now.
He gets himself undressed without falling over and cracking his head on the sink, which is a feat in and of itself, all things considered. He makes it as far as to get his sweatpants on that he usually sleeps in before he decides that's good enough. Pausing a moment on the way out the door before stepping back and grabbing the painkillers that the other man had pointed out for him.
Dropping his bag by the end of the futon, Faolan crawls under the blanket Lancelot had laid out on it, setting the medicine aside for now but within reach for when he'd need it. He curls up against the pillow, pulling the cover as tight as he can without smothering himself, and wills for the night to come and swallow him up. While nothing so dramatic as that, he does find himself slowly lulled to sleep by the distant swishing of the dishwasher in the next room and the thrum of the alcohol still coursing through his system.
Which is, incidentally, what wakes him up again at last. Or rather, the thrum of his blood in his head and the distant swishing of what must be the shower down the hall. He groans slightly, groggily wondering where he had left his phone and if he'd have to move to retrieve that water bottle Lancelot had put out for him or not. Probably. He groans again and curls up further on the futon, squeezing his eyes shut against any light in the room and listening for the other man in turn. He'll try to make himself look less pathetic before he's out of the bathroom. If he doesn't fall asleep again first...
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He takes time to use the toilet and wash his face, trying to snap himself out of the haze that he'd fallen into, but he's not really sure that it helps much. He glances up in the mirror at himself, trying to take stock of the situation before he shakes his head, coming to the conclusion that he really doesn't have the mental capacity for that right now.
He gets himself undressed without falling over and cracking his head on the sink, which is a feat in and of itself, all things considered. He makes it as far as to get his sweatpants on that he usually sleeps in before he decides that's good enough. Pausing a moment on the way out the door before stepping back and grabbing the painkillers that the other man had pointed out for him.
Dropping his bag by the end of the futon, Faolan crawls under the blanket Lancelot had laid out on it, setting the medicine aside for now but within reach for when he'd need it. He curls up against the pillow, pulling the cover as tight as he can without smothering himself, and wills for the night to come and swallow him up. While nothing so dramatic as that, he does find himself slowly lulled to sleep by the distant swishing of the dishwasher in the next room and the thrum of the alcohol still coursing through his system.
Which is, incidentally, what wakes him up again at last. Or rather, the thrum of his blood in his head and the distant swishing of what must be the shower down the hall. He groans slightly, groggily wondering where he had left his phone and if he'd have to move to retrieve that water bottle Lancelot had put out for him or not. Probably. He groans again and curls up further on the futon, squeezing his eyes shut against any light in the room and listening for the other man in turn. He'll try to make himself look less pathetic before he's out of the bathroom. If he doesn't fall asleep again first...