[ It's not the answer he expects, really, and it hits him with a momentary jolt of realization. Three months had felt eternal, especially alone, especially trying to carve out something like normalcy in the day-to-day of a place that's both like and so very unlike the life he's used to back home. Six months is a true eternity, then, and for several beats Gladio's left something like dumbfounded, searching for something like—what, an apology for his pity party? commiseration? congratulations for enduring this hell? The follow-up at least saves him half the struggle, even if something about it also feels a bit barbed.

He huffs a small, rueful laugh, and tucks his tumbler into the sand beside him. ]

Can't exactly say the same, for me. Guess I'm less adaptable than I thought.

[ So much for skirting the pity party, though he at least opens up his body language, forces himself to recline in the cool sand, hands splayed behind him as he searches the sky for anything at all familiar. ]

You still trying to get outta here, then? Must be halfway there by now after so long.