There's something giddy about it - the two of them both eager, thrilled even, agreeing to go back to his apartment to have sex. It's different to the last time; that had been more spontaneous, but also a night-time decision, a tipsy decision.

"Then let's go."

He folds up the map of the museum, sticks it in a pocket of his jacket (the one without the melted peas, which he disposes of on his way out) to keep. Ned wants to hold onto a memento, something solid he can attach this happy memory to in the future. If he thought about it in depth, he'd acknowledge that doing it is making a provision against a future separation that he's taken for granted. There's no way Ginsberg will stick around long-term, which is why he's going to enjoy every possible second he can in the meantime.

The subway is uncommonly crowded; the lunchtime crowd, Ned thinks. But he doesn't mind, the way he usually does. It's an excuse to stand close by Ginsberg's side, for a short space of time, pushed and jostled into one another's personal bubble. Ned notices a few sidelong glances that they get, but he doesn't panic, knowing they are doubtless looking at the evidence of fisticuffs. Let them wonder.