Ned squeezes Ginsberg's hand back, doesn't intend to let go for anything. He can feel how clammy and shaky that hand is, hear in Ginsberg's voice the tightly-controlled panic. Though Ned knows the basic stuff - not to tell him to just calm down, or to just not think about it - he's not sure what else to do. But then Ginsberg keeps talking, and he can definitely listen. He's good at listening.
The doubts and insecurities that Ginsberg explains could have been taken from his own brain on certain sleepless nights. It would be remarkable, maybe even funny, if everything didn't feel so deathly serious.
"I do like you. A lot. Probably too much, actually. When Peggy called I ran the whole way to the subway station, and then the whole way here. It's true that I don't know everything about you yet, but I like every single thing I have learned so far. I like that you love your job despite everything. I like that peach pie is your favorite, and I like that you're terrible at dates. I like that you speak your mind even if it means getting hit. I like that you're so much sweeter than you seem to realize and that you've never made me feel like a freak."
Ned doesn't worry, in this moment, about laying it on too thick. If their roles were reversed, he knows he'd be only too happy (secretly, desperately) to hear these sorts of things. He wraps a second hand around Ginsberg's, for emphasis, holding it tightly. "I like that you worry about the sorts of things I worry about. I'm not afraid to learn the not-so-nice things I don't know yet. I'd be a lot more afraid if I found out it was all neat and tidy memories of family values and ketchup, because how could a guy like that possibly understand a guy like me?"
He scoots a little closer, cautiously, keeping watch for any sign that he's crossed some imaginary line and should move back once more. "I can't make promises for anyone else, but I'm pretty sure I can handle the mess. Takes one to know one, and all of that. So I think you're wrong. I think the pie guy will still like the ad guy, even if he finds out bad things have happened to him, or that he's done things he regrets."
no subject
The doubts and insecurities that Ginsberg explains could have been taken from his own brain on certain sleepless nights. It would be remarkable, maybe even funny, if everything didn't feel so deathly serious.
"I do like you. A lot. Probably too much, actually. When Peggy called I ran the whole way to the subway station, and then the whole way here. It's true that I don't know everything about you yet, but I like every single thing I have learned so far. I like that you love your job despite everything. I like that peach pie is your favorite, and I like that you're terrible at dates. I like that you speak your mind even if it means getting hit. I like that you're so much sweeter than you seem to realize and that you've never made me feel like a freak."
Ned doesn't worry, in this moment, about laying it on too thick. If their roles were reversed, he knows he'd be only too happy (secretly, desperately) to hear these sorts of things. He wraps a second hand around Ginsberg's, for emphasis, holding it tightly. "I like that you worry about the sorts of things I worry about. I'm not afraid to learn the not-so-nice things I don't know yet. I'd be a lot more afraid if I found out it was all neat and tidy memories of family values and ketchup, because how could a guy like that possibly understand a guy like me?"
He scoots a little closer, cautiously, keeping watch for any sign that he's crossed some imaginary line and should move back once more. "I can't make promises for anyone else, but I'm pretty sure I can handle the mess. Takes one to know one, and all of that. So I think you're wrong. I think the pie guy will still like the ad guy, even if he finds out bad things have happened to him, or that he's done things he regrets."