The excitement about the taxi sweeps away the pang of sadness he feels when Norton lets go—not for himself. He wishes he could say them holding hands on a New York street wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. That he can’t breaks his heart a little bit.

“All the good ones are.” He gives a little flourish of a gesture out of the elevator and toward the glass wall that couches the clear front doors. “After you. There’s nothing in the world like that first breath of real city air.”

He’s joking. He’s also not.