Lancelot is still on edge, with pretty good reason. His focus flits up toward the sound of voices upstairs, so when Faolan reaches out to touch him he's surprised -- winces slightly as the man finds his head wound.

It's still sore, rather like everything else.

Faolan's arms come around him and Lancelot lets out a slight sigh, feeling exhausted all of a sudden with relief.

Then Faolan is moving back, leaning to kiss him, and Lancelot is slightly at a loss for how to react to that. He's tired and confused, and people are shouting instructions, and before he can awkwardly try to say the right thing Faolan is trying to move him again. To guide him upstairs and out.

He's a little grateful, in truth, that he isn't expected to have done anything there himself. He really does just want to get out and go home.

"I have no idea," he answers honestly, because even if his legs don't hurt too much he's still lightheaded and short of breath. "I can try though."