Faolan glances up to see the smile and he lowers his eyes to the table again, the strain on Lancelot's face both evident and pretty obvious that he's the cause of it. He hunches forward in his chair slightly, slouching in it at the same time, and nods once. He isn't terribly hungry, but Lancelot had made this for him. Especially for him. Because he's an idiot. So he owes him the time to eat it, and he owes him his best effort of finishing it himself.

He clutches the blanket tighter around himself, wishing he could just suffocate himself in it and be done with it. "...I'm sorry," he says, after a long moment. "You should... Go ahead. Before it gets any colder. I'll..." He trails off, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Trying to will himself to stop reacting and just. Do as the other man says for a change.

"I'm sorry," he says again, for what feels like the thousandth time, this time very low and very quiet. Not quite knowing what he's apologizing for anymore. Perhaps the lot of it. For himself. For his feelings. For ruining it all like he always seems to do. He's no good for anyone and he knows it. So why does he keep trying anyway?