"But. I do want you to come here any time," Faolan says, before he can stop himself, flicking his eyes away from the other man uncomfortably at the admission. "Most of the time I've spent in this flat I've spent sleeping, drinking, contemplating my life's mistakes, or any combination thereof," he admits. "Mostly drinking, contemplating my life's mistakes, watching my neighbors across the street through their curtains they never shut, and then drinking some more really." He shrugs.

"But that's not. That doesn't make it feel like much of a home. Much less than it does when I kip on your futon those few nights a week I sometimes do. So." He shifts his beer in his hands, reaching up to run his hand through his hair awkwardly. "I suppose... It's something of a selfish request, because it won't really get me out of your hair any more, but. I'm not in your way here. You don't have to feel like you have to take care of me here, and maybe I can even return something of the favor. Maybe with your help..." he shrugs slightly, helplessly. "Maybe we can make better memories for this place so that when I'm on my own in it, it isn't so much of a shit hole, and I don't know..." He trails off, feeling ridiculous, a slight flush creeping across his face as he does.