He smiles a little at Ned's comment, because it's amazing that something like that could come off as not flirtatious, considering the words, but Ned obviously means it honestly, and that's nice. It's not the kind of hollow thing that most people say, nor is it an attempt at changing the subject or lightening up the topic at all, which he appreciates, too. He knows that he can make people uncomfortable, the way he shares personal things, the way he's not afraid to tackle dark subjects, but so far, Ned hasn't seemed to shy away from that.

Somehow, it doesn't surprise him when Ned says that his mother had died, too, although he's not sure why it strikes him as making sense. Maybe it had been that Ned had never mentioned any family at all, despite the fact that Ginsberg had talked about his father several times throughout their conversations. Maybe it just took one member of the unlucky absent or dead parent club to know one. He thinks it must be much harder to be in Ned's shoes, to have known his mother for nine years -- and nine years seemed like an eternity when you were young, he remembers -- and then to have her gone.

"That must be hard," he says, and it's certainly not pity in his voice as he says it, just bare fact. "Hard in a different way, I mean. You knew her, so you know what you're missing. I never had one, not really, and nobody could ever tell me anything about her, so I have no idea what I'm missing. It's probably harder for you. You can't go into a museum and pick a random portrait and decide it's your mother. I'm not trying to make you feel worse about it, it's just an observation. I'm sorry."