Something about being complimented by Jet like this burns Albert's cheeks a little. Maybe it's the glint in the teen's eye, maybe it's that his own thoughts - the ones underneath he's trying not to acknowledge - are far less than chaste.

"I don't know. We could call the Professor, see what he thinks?" Yes, that's a much better idea than the one that popped up sanz clothing from the wellspring of his imagination. Clearing his throat, Albert busies himself with cleaning his spilled coffee instead of dwelling on it.