He isn't sure brave is the word that he would use. It was a confusing part of a confusing day. Ned can remember that day (and the days around it) with absolute clarity, but a kind of emotional hollowness. At the time it almost seemed worse to him; to kiss Chuck, the way he'd wanted for so long in his shy and childlike way, in the midst of so much pain, than to never kiss her at all.

"I think it's pretty endearing," Ned says, knows he's taking a risk by saying it. But Ginsberg has shown no signs of being easily startled by that kind of talk, of being flighty and ready to bolt at the least sign of affection. Quite the contrary.

And maybe it's a bad idea to go on and say what he does, but now that it's popped into his mind, Ned can't seem to stop himself from saying it. He's had this problem before: keeping everyone at an arm's length, but getting far too involved far too quickly once he does let someone in. "The first boy I ever fell for at boarding school was the weird foreign kid who didn't quite know how to talk to anyone." Maybe he has a type? "Eugene. Definitely never said anything about it to him."