The faint thumping against his chest is too irregular to be part of the rapid tattoo his heart's been churning out, but it still takes Tim a minute to process what and why. He glances down, blinks at the tiny arm jabbing, pointing to one of the entrances. The roar of the crowd and the blood rushing past his ears drowns out anything its owner might be saying, but the meaning is still clear.

Tim cups one hand over the protruding arm - is Jay trying to get himself seen? - and, ducking his head, shoulders drawn in, makes an unerring line for the indicated entrance. It looks like some sort of maintenance place, not something public, but maybe that makes sense - doesn't it? He's trusting Jay's intuition here which, under any other circumstances, would be a very poor idea.

He just needs to escape. He needs to get away from here. He disappears from the overcrowded stop, fleeing down the mercifully empty concrete-walled corridor. The echoing clang of voices against his skull fades the further he goes, breathing steadying with each step he puts between himself and overwhelming surge of people.