Not that it was necessary. It seems you figured it out.

[There's a moment of relief, warmed by the touch before he unceremoniously claims the spot next to Cy on the step, close enough their shoulders brush. Then he sets the sandwich in his lap to unfold the foil one-handed before picking it up again, offering it out.]

You'll have to get used to teleporting to the eighth floor from now on. Don't get the math wrong again.

[To someone else, it sounds chiding — but Cy knows his tone and his bossily disguised concern well.]