"I'd have gotten the point across sooner or later. You just... simplified matters." Ned wouldn't have taken an approach that direct, but he's been with guys before. He knows some of the subtler ways to communicate about that kind of thing, the signals and innuendo. He kind of likes that none of it had been necessary, that they'd sailed right past it with such speed and (relative) ease.

"It's possible," Ned reassures. He knows all about not knowing what he is, in a variety of different ways. Ginsberg's restless playing with his food and uncomfortable demeanor don't surprise him all that much. He's been there, felt that. "I think a lot of people don't know. For me, anyway, I sort of stumbled into knowing by accident. I-" he stops, trying to think of the right way to put this, "-I don't know what it is, but there's something about me tends to attract a certain type of person. Really, um. Forward people, who know what they want and aren't afraid to pursue it. Sometimes it was women, and sometimes it was men. It never really made much difference to me."

Ned is the one staring intently at a dent in the table as he sips his coffee, now. He realizes that, particularly to someone like Ginsberg, that probably makes him sound some mix of promiscuous and weak-willed, maybe even desperate. He had been at times. Not desperate for sex so much as validation, affection in whatever form it was offered. He's not really in that place anymore, mentally, and he's glad of it. But talking about it does make him wince, a little.