"That makes two of us," Ned says, and he isn't trying to pull away, isn't moving at all. He appreciates how readily Ginsberg hugs him, without question or complaint, without expecting anything.

"Distraction sounds nice," he agrees, though he isn't sure exactly what Ginsberg could do to take his mind off it. Ned's been trying to distract himself all day. He'd tried reading, had taken Digby for a walk, had tried to come up with a new passionfruit pie recipe; none of it had helped. In the end, he'd only been more depressed by the increasing desperation of his own attempts to distract himself from the fact that he was alone on Halloween missing his father so much his chest ached.

"You're too nice to me," Ned doesn't know why he says it. He's thought it before, but usually this is the sort of thing he keeps himself from saying aloud. His verbal filter is apparently so preoccupied keeping back all the other stuff that things like this slip through the cracks, "Why are you so nice to me. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."