"It's not like balancing a checkbook," Ned points out, with a smile, because he understands what Ginsberg is trying to say. It's the unspoken fact, behind this exchange, that Ginsberg knowing this thing about Ned gives him considerable power over the piemaker. If he wanted to, if he were a different sort of man, he could use what he's learned to blackmail Ned, emotionally or otherwise.
Everything Ned knows about Ginsberg thus far tells him he would never use that opportunity, and that he would be made uncomfortable just knowing that he has it. But Ned doesn't quite know how to alleviate that anxiety. One option, of course, would be to tell Ginsberg he should share something secret, something with an equal potential to devastate his life. However, Ned shrinks from that option, because while he's happy to listen to anything Ginsberg tells him, he doesn't want to coerce a confession. Besides, he somehow doubts Ginsberg has any secrets that are quite so exploitable. Just as personally significant, yes, but not the kind of thing that could be used as a weapon in the same way.
"It's actually kind of a relief," he admits, running his fingers through Ginsberg's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. "I'd just assumed that, no matter how close we got, there was always going to be this barrier between us. That that one big lie would mean I had to tell a thousand other little ones that I didn't really want to tell. That's the way it's always been. Everyone I've known before... well, they haven't really known me at all. Because how could they?"
It's clear from the way Ned is talking about his ability that it isn't just some novelty, isn't a relatively isolated quirk. Rather, he speaks of it as something central to his identity, to his life. Which it is, of course. It permeates everything, in one way or another.
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Everything Ned knows about Ginsberg thus far tells him he would never use that opportunity, and that he would be made uncomfortable just knowing that he has it. But Ned doesn't quite know how to alleviate that anxiety. One option, of course, would be to tell Ginsberg he should share something secret, something with an equal potential to devastate his life. However, Ned shrinks from that option, because while he's happy to listen to anything Ginsberg tells him, he doesn't want to coerce a confession. Besides, he somehow doubts Ginsberg has any secrets that are quite so exploitable. Just as personally significant, yes, but not the kind of thing that could be used as a weapon in the same way.
"It's actually kind of a relief," he admits, running his fingers through Ginsberg's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. "I'd just assumed that, no matter how close we got, there was always going to be this barrier between us. That that one big lie would mean I had to tell a thousand other little ones that I didn't really want to tell. That's the way it's always been. Everyone I've known before... well, they haven't really known me at all. Because how could they?"
It's clear from the way Ned is talking about his ability that it isn't just some novelty, isn't a relatively isolated quirk. Rather, he speaks of it as something central to his identity, to his life. Which it is, of course. It permeates everything, in one way or another.