Jet was far too concerned with getting some place less crowded to let himself even think about anyone around him. He never considered himself the violent type, so the surge in aggression was as worrying as it was setting him on edge. On top of that, he was getting a bit of a headache; something about the city was too loud to the senses and he could feel the tension at the base of his skull.

Maybe he was getting sick, maybe that woman had given him some kind of infection along with the world's worst attempt at a hickey.

Jet ducks into an alley, stops behind the store he was supposed to start stocking five minutes ago. Away from prying eyes, he pulls at the arm of his jacket and the neck of his shirt, trying to look at the bite in the reflection of garbage bin. Of course he couldn't see anything. He still tired, touching around the edges and hissing under his breath.

He turns, mind made up to just go back home to call in for a day off, and thinks he hears something out in the alley. Thinking it's a coworker, he groans.

"If you're trying to sneak up on me Kevin, don't." Jet winces a little at how gravely his voice sounds. "I'm going back home."