"It wasn't wrong to say it," Ned reassures, feeling - not for the first time that night - the eerie sensation of being on the other end of one of his own crises of self-consciousness. "I like that you said it, even if it's a little over the top."

As for Ginsberg flopping down on the bed, Ned thinks that's an excellent idea. Much easier than him having to suggest it, or pull him down. He takes this opportunity to reach down and pull off Ginsberg's shoes (and his own, much less delicately), so he can nudge the other man to pull his legs up, too, stretch out on the (admittedly rather small) bed. Once Ned's arranged him thus, he joins him, his own feet just dangling off the end of the bed. He pauses with the two of them like that, lying side-by-side, asks in a quiet voice, "Good?"

He's ended up in the uncomfortable position of changing his mind just as things are starting to get heavy often enough; he wants to make sure that if Ginsberg decides he's not up for this, he notices immediately, doesn't push him into anything he doesn't completely want.