He can hear what Ginsberg is saying, but the words sink in slowly. Time seems to be moving around him strangely, stopping and then rushing, and he can't seem to breathe. But he can't afford to panic. Not here, not now, in the middle of a waking nightmare.
Ned clambers to his feet, wiping the blood of his hand and onto his pants with frantic, jerky movements, eventually settles for shoving his hands into his pockets. Ginsberg wants answers, saw the whole thing. Ned's going to have to tell him. Not just some bullshit story, but everything. And that will be the end of it. Everything. Not just their relationship, but life as he knows it.
But his first instinct, borne of experience, is to get away from the body as fast as he can. "We n-need to get out of h-here before someone sees us." The voice barely sounds like his own, a terrified rasp. Ned looks around wildly, but there's no one in sight, no one else who saw. He climbs over the stone wall and starts walking away from the body, quickly. Too quickly. It's as slow as he can go. Ginsberg doesn't follow at first, but Ned looks back and sees him rushing after, soon enough. His mind is a storm of chaotic half-formed thoughts, and he knows he ought to be planning, coming up with some likely lie, or a strategy, but nothing makes sense.
Ned doesn't even know where he is headed, just follows his instinct to put distance between himself and that body. When they have come some distance in the park he spots a deserted bench, sinks into it gratefully. His whole body is shaking so badly he's surprised his legs supported him all the way here. Ginsberg follows after him, looking just as horrified and disturbed as Ned could have feared.
"F-fuck," Ned gasps. He doesn't often swear outside the bedroom, and it's a sign of how beyond caring he is that he doesn't even hesitate to says it, "Fuck fuck fuck!" He looks Ginsberg in the eyes for one brief second before leaning forward, head in his hands. He knows he's going to have to say something, but right now he thinks if he tries he's going to throw up. So he gives himself a minute to just sit there and gulp at the air like a drowning man.
"This wasn't supposed to happen." There are tears pressing at the backs of his eyes, hot and insistent.
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Ned clambers to his feet, wiping the blood of his hand and onto his pants with frantic, jerky movements, eventually settles for shoving his hands into his pockets. Ginsberg wants answers, saw the whole thing. Ned's going to have to tell him. Not just some bullshit story, but everything. And that will be the end of it. Everything. Not just their relationship, but life as he knows it.
But his first instinct, borne of experience, is to get away from the body as fast as he can. "We n-need to get out of h-here before someone sees us." The voice barely sounds like his own, a terrified rasp. Ned looks around wildly, but there's no one in sight, no one else who saw. He climbs over the stone wall and starts walking away from the body, quickly. Too quickly. It's as slow as he can go. Ginsberg doesn't follow at first, but Ned looks back and sees him rushing after, soon enough. His mind is a storm of chaotic half-formed thoughts, and he knows he ought to be planning, coming up with some likely lie, or a strategy, but nothing makes sense.
Ned doesn't even know where he is headed, just follows his instinct to put distance between himself and that body. When they have come some distance in the park he spots a deserted bench, sinks into it gratefully. His whole body is shaking so badly he's surprised his legs supported him all the way here. Ginsberg follows after him, looking just as horrified and disturbed as Ned could have feared.
"F-fuck," Ned gasps. He doesn't often swear outside the bedroom, and it's a sign of how beyond caring he is that he doesn't even hesitate to says it, "Fuck fuck fuck!" He looks Ginsberg in the eyes for one brief second before leaning forward, head in his hands. He knows he's going to have to say something, but right now he thinks if he tries he's going to throw up. So he gives himself a minute to just sit there and gulp at the air like a drowning man.
"This wasn't supposed to happen." There are tears pressing at the backs of his eyes, hot and insistent.