Grantaire startled at the voice, glancing over in her direction. So wrapped up in all his thoughts he hadn't heard anyone approach. He shrugged at her question, fingers keeping the death grip they had on his cuffs even as he uncrossed his arms. He wasn't really sure what the point of it was, except that somehow he felt like if he didn't they'd start shaking again. The thought alone of that made him feel nauseous. Or maybe it was his way of pretending he was anchoring himself to something, so he didn't just give in and drink.
"I'm not sure," he finally answered, tone a bit flippant. "Sort of where I ended up. Nice out here though. The weather. Why not enjoy it." He was talking utter rot, and he knew he was, but somehow in his head he'd convinced himself anything was better than talking about everything that was so obvious right now. Like the mockery he'd made of himself. And that was worse now that he was sober enough to realise it.