Scorpius, whose gaze has rested on Teddy, turns away. Any sentence that starts that way can only get worse, and if he's going to cry, he's certainly not going to do it while looking into the irritatingly dark eyes of his friend. Instead, he stares at the cracks in the pavement from which a few stalks of some stubborn grass have bored their way to the surface. "Great," he mutters.