He recognizes the attempt at humor to lighten the mood, to pretend that what they're talking about isn't devastating. Ned's gone that route enough times himself to know the motives behind it, but he can't even crack a smile. His mouth simply won't obey. Because it's not about ketchup. Not really. That was just the catalyst.

"You're the furthest thing from a waste of time that I can imagine," he says, fervently, not loosening his grip on Ginsberg one iota. His voice is hoarse with emotion, but relatively steady, at least. If Ginsberg meant that as an apology, Ned isn't accepting it. "It isn't selfish to talk about it. I want you to know you can tell me things. I just-" Here, against his will, his voice breaks. He tries to cover it up by clearing his throat, but it's a pretty flimsy ruse. "-I'm not sure what to say. Because. I think. I kind of know... how you feel." The words are coming jerkily, in starts and fits, but he presses on, "And I can't imagine anything anyone could say... making it hurt any less."

Ned runs a hand through Ginsberg's hair, pushing it back from his ears and forehead. "I guess... the only thing I do want to say is, it's okay for it to hurt. That doesn't make you weak, or weird, or crazy."