He looked sideways over at her from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked less than amused, but he could hardly keep staring at the carpet. He frowned at her words. "About what?" His voice was still hoarse from sleep.
It was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "Everyone else in this place spends half their time drinking themselves stupid and talking nonsense. And for what? Having some ridiculous argument? I do it once and I'm a terrible person. Everyone is on at me about it. And yeah, I'm a bit over caring about that." He was frustrated, and angry. But he hadn't raised his voice yet. He just sounded worn out.
Hell, if anyone else did it people got concerned and asked what was wrong. But he didn't like to talk, so he just got anger. Because not talking wasn't allowed apparently. He was the hero or whatever else the stories said. They weren't supposed to have a bad day.