Ned knows it was a mistake, now, to say what he did. He should have realized that sticking his nose in would only make it worse, would only make Ginsberg contradict him. Past experience ought to have taught him that it's never a good idea to offer his opinion of people's relationships with their parents. He knows he wouldn't appreciate it if Ginsberg were the one saying his situation didn't seem all that bad.
But those thoughts remain on the purely rational level of his mind, and it's voice is small in the face of the torrent of hurt and anger that's clawing its way to the forefront. It's not Ginsberg he should be angry at, and he knows it. All the same he sits up, can't stand to be touching the other man, can't just lounge around and listen to him complain about the fact that his father loves him just too damn much. Not today.
The revelation that it's not his 'real' father is a surprise, but not entirely unexpected. Ned hardly registers it. His heart is hammering too fast in his chest, hands clenched into fists so that he can feel the bite of his fingernails against his palms. For as long as he can manage it he just sits there, trying to keep himself from saying something he'll regret, trying to calm down and check the rapid descent of his mood.
That initial flash of unwarranted anger gives way to a deeper vein of melancholy, heavily tinted with self-loathing. Had he really almost yelled at Ginsberg, for talking about his father, for complaining in the way that most everyone Ned had ever met complained about their parents?
"Can we please talk about something else?" Ned tries to keep his voice steady and emotionless, but the pretense is beyond him, and his words waver with suppressed distress. He clears his throat, even though he knows it's past salvaging now, that there's no way Ginsberg won't be able to tell he's sliced at a nerve, "I understand that it's not my life and my understanding of the situation is imperfect at best, and I'm the one who asked you to talk to me in the first place, but-" his voice cracks, and he shuts his eyes against the hot burn of tears that are trying to force their way free, "-if I have to hear you say one more word about how t-terrible it is that your dad actually gives a shit about you, I think I might lose it."
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But those thoughts remain on the purely rational level of his mind, and it's voice is small in the face of the torrent of hurt and anger that's clawing its way to the forefront. It's not Ginsberg he should be angry at, and he knows it. All the same he sits up, can't stand to be touching the other man, can't just lounge around and listen to him complain about the fact that his father loves him just too damn much. Not today.
The revelation that it's not his 'real' father is a surprise, but not entirely unexpected. Ned hardly registers it. His heart is hammering too fast in his chest, hands clenched into fists so that he can feel the bite of his fingernails against his palms. For as long as he can manage it he just sits there, trying to keep himself from saying something he'll regret, trying to calm down and check the rapid descent of his mood.
That initial flash of unwarranted anger gives way to a deeper vein of melancholy, heavily tinted with self-loathing. Had he really almost yelled at Ginsberg, for talking about his father, for complaining in the way that most everyone Ned had ever met complained about their parents?
"Can we please talk about something else?" Ned tries to keep his voice steady and emotionless, but the pretense is beyond him, and his words waver with suppressed distress. He clears his throat, even though he knows it's past salvaging now, that there's no way Ginsberg won't be able to tell he's sliced at a nerve, "I understand that it's not my life and my understanding of the situation is imperfect at best, and I'm the one who asked you to talk to me in the first place, but-" his voice cracks, and he shuts his eyes against the hot burn of tears that are trying to force their way free, "-if I have to hear you say one more word about how t-terrible it is that your dad actually gives a shit about you, I think I might lose it."