Neal grins at his feet, then leans sideways to steal a quick kiss before the elevator dings. He’ll let go of Norton’s hand if the other man is inclined to pull away. This might be New York in 2014, they might have the security of the Barge’s general attitudes to dilute some of that sense of danger, but Norton is still from 1955. Neal doesn’t want to assume.

“Want to get a taxi to my place or walk? It’s only a few miles, but I’m not the one with a suitcase.”