Ned laughs under his breath. It's not a laugh that's directed at Ginsberg, but rather one of wonder. "It doesn't sound stupid," he says in a very soft voice, full of warmth and affection.
He lets that moment linger for a few minutes, holding Ginsberg tight to his side, allowing the various events of the afternoon sink in. Ned needs that time, to process, to start examining how he's feeling about the whole thing, what he wants to say to the man.
"You're a very special person. You know that, right?" He isn't sure Ginsberg does. Oh, he probably thinks of himself as different, but not necessarily in a good way. Ned wants to explain to him why it is definitely a good thing in his eyes, "If ...that had happened with just about anyone else, this would have probably gone very differently." And from the way he says that, a rather dire way, it would have gone much worse.
"Special? I don't know about that. I mean, I think other people probably would've responded differently, but that's because a lot of people aren't very open minded. I think I'm just different. I like that you like that, though. Obviously I'm not that great at hiding how different I am, so if you didn't like it... well..."
In other words, he's bizarrely and perhaps overly gratified that Ned thinks that he's special. People always tell him he's unusual, but it's almost never a compliment. Coming from Ned, though, it sounds like one. Coming from Ned, being strange doesn't seem like such a bad thing, even if Ned has his own oddities that he's been hiding his whole life.
"And like I said before, I won't tell anyone. I'm a loudmouth, but I'm not going to tell, okay? Just in case you were still worried."
"...I am still a little worried," Ned admits, with reluctance. He trusts Ginsberg's intentions, he really does. Ned is positive that Ginsberg understands the potential consequences of the secret getting out, and that he would never wish harm on Ned. And he really, really likes Ginsberg. But liking people is relatively easy for him, and always has been. Trusting people, on the other hand, is uncharted territory. It's going to take some getting used to, and probably be a slow process.
"But I'm not panicking. And that's actually kind of remarkable, considering how easily I flip out over stuff, and what a huge secret this is. So... I hope you don't feel insulted or hurt or anything, but a little worried is really the best I can aim for at the moment."
"Insulted? I mean, believe me, there's no way I'm insulted or hurt by that. I'd be worried too. I'm worried about everything, all the time. I flip out over stuff pretty easily, too. I get where you're coming from. A little worried is good. I mean, that's a lot better than freaking out, right? I'm honored by a little worried. Overjoyed by it."
And it's not just hyperbole. He really is glad that Ned can manage to be a little worried instead of panicking, because as someone who worries all the time about things out of his control, he can far too easily relate to what Ned's saying. And his own secrets aren't nearly as big as Ned's. Which is why he snuggles a little closer to Ned, and speaks again, in a tone like he's confessing something serious.
"I feel kinda guilty. I mean, I know this huge secret about you that nobody else knows, and that nobody else has ever known, and I don't think there's anything you know about me that's that big. It seems like an unequal exchange, you know? It seems like I'm in your head in a way you wouldn't want me to be, and that seems kinda unfair."
"It's not like balancing a checkbook," Ned points out, with a smile, because he understands what Ginsberg is trying to say. It's the unspoken fact, behind this exchange, that Ginsberg knowing this thing about Ned gives him considerable power over the piemaker. If he wanted to, if he were a different sort of man, he could use what he's learned to blackmail Ned, emotionally or otherwise.
Everything Ned knows about Ginsberg thus far tells him he would never use that opportunity, and that he would be made uncomfortable just knowing that he has it. But Ned doesn't quite know how to alleviate that anxiety. One option, of course, would be to tell Ginsberg he should share something secret, something with an equal potential to devastate his life. However, Ned shrinks from that option, because while he's happy to listen to anything Ginsberg tells him, he doesn't want to coerce a confession. Besides, he somehow doubts Ginsberg has any secrets that are quite so exploitable. Just as personally significant, yes, but not the kind of thing that could be used as a weapon in the same way.
"It's actually kind of a relief," he admits, running his fingers through Ginsberg's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. "I'd just assumed that, no matter how close we got, there was always going to be this barrier between us. That that one big lie would mean I had to tell a thousand other little ones that I didn't really want to tell. That's the way it's always been. Everyone I've known before... well, they haven't really known me at all. Because how could they?"
It's clear from the way Ned is talking about his ability that it isn't just some novelty, isn't a relatively isolated quirk. Rather, he speaks of it as something central to his identity, to his life. Which it is, of course. It permeates everything, in one way or another.
"I can understand that, I think. But doesn't it make you feel kinda strange? I mean, if that means that I'm the only person who knows you that well..."
He's not sure how to express what he's trying to say, but he always gets like that, too wound up and speaking too quickly to really make sense of things until he purposefully slows down and tries to think through what he's feeling. It's so easily to speak instinctively, for him, but the words don't always come out of his mouth the way they are in his head.
"I mean, I know you like me. I don't doubt that. I don't think you'd lie about something like that, even if it seems completely inconceivable to me. But if nobody's ever really known you before, and now I'm the first person... you could've had a lot better of a first person. You could've had someone who was more important or significant or could actually help you in some way. I'm just me. Relieving, maybe, but..."
He shakes his head. He can't imagine anyone wanting to be that close to him, being relieved at the idea of him knowing them well.
What Ginsberg says isn't quite what Ned was expecting. He thought it would be something more logical, something about the logistics of Ned asking him to keep a secret like that. But instead, what comes out is more of the same vein of self-criticism that he's seen in Ginsberg. It was peculiar to Ned at first; to a stranger, Ginsberg must seem so self-confident. Arrogant, even. But the closer they get, the more he sees the other side of that coin, the insecurity that's woven tightly with the bravado.
He leans over and kisses Ginsberg, just a brief kiss, as if to make a point. "You shouldn't talk about yourself like that," he says, quietly. Then, with a small, slightly rueful lopsided smile, he adds, "And I realize that's kind of the pot calling the kettle black coming from a guy who- from a guy like me. But I mean it."
He smiles at the brief kiss, then leans back over to give Ned a slightly longer, more lingering one, liking the feeling of being pressed against him, feeling absurdly comforted by Ned's warmth and the sheer physical presence of him. "I know, I shouldn't talk about myself like that," he says, almost sadly, smiling a little as soon as he pulls away from the kiss, although his hand still lingers on Ned's leg.
"It's hard not to. You know that, I don't need to tell you that. Either way, though, if I'm not going to be talking about myself like that, I can still say that I'm grateful that you told me. That you didn't just... I mean, a lot of people would have just run away and never explained anything. A lot of people do that with other stuff. Just don't explain it. I'm glad you thought I was worth having it explained to."
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no subject
He lets that moment linger for a few minutes, holding Ginsberg tight to his side, allowing the various events of the afternoon sink in. Ned needs that time, to process, to start examining how he's feeling about the whole thing, what he wants to say to the man.
"You're a very special person. You know that, right?" He isn't sure Ginsberg does. Oh, he probably thinks of himself as different, but not necessarily in a good way. Ned wants to explain to him why it is definitely a good thing in his eyes, "If ...that had happened with just about anyone else, this would have probably gone very differently." And from the way he says that, a rather dire way, it would have gone much worse.
no subject
In other words, he's bizarrely and perhaps overly gratified that Ned thinks that he's special. People always tell him he's unusual, but it's almost never a compliment. Coming from Ned, though, it sounds like one. Coming from Ned, being strange doesn't seem like such a bad thing, even if Ned has his own oddities that he's been hiding his whole life.
"And like I said before, I won't tell anyone. I'm a loudmouth, but I'm not going to tell, okay? Just in case you were still worried."
no subject
"But I'm not panicking. And that's actually kind of remarkable, considering how easily I flip out over stuff, and what a huge secret this is. So... I hope you don't feel insulted or hurt or anything, but a little worried is really the best I can aim for at the moment."
no subject
And it's not just hyperbole. He really is glad that Ned can manage to be a little worried instead of panicking, because as someone who worries all the time about things out of his control, he can far too easily relate to what Ned's saying. And his own secrets aren't nearly as big as Ned's. Which is why he snuggles a little closer to Ned, and speaks again, in a tone like he's confessing something serious.
"I feel kinda guilty. I mean, I know this huge secret about you that nobody else knows, and that nobody else has ever known, and I don't think there's anything you know about me that's that big. It seems like an unequal exchange, you know? It seems like I'm in your head in a way you wouldn't want me to be, and that seems kinda unfair."
no subject
Everything Ned knows about Ginsberg thus far tells him he would never use that opportunity, and that he would be made uncomfortable just knowing that he has it. But Ned doesn't quite know how to alleviate that anxiety. One option, of course, would be to tell Ginsberg he should share something secret, something with an equal potential to devastate his life. However, Ned shrinks from that option, because while he's happy to listen to anything Ginsberg tells him, he doesn't want to coerce a confession. Besides, he somehow doubts Ginsberg has any secrets that are quite so exploitable. Just as personally significant, yes, but not the kind of thing that could be used as a weapon in the same way.
"It's actually kind of a relief," he admits, running his fingers through Ginsberg's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. "I'd just assumed that, no matter how close we got, there was always going to be this barrier between us. That that one big lie would mean I had to tell a thousand other little ones that I didn't really want to tell. That's the way it's always been. Everyone I've known before... well, they haven't really known me at all. Because how could they?"
It's clear from the way Ned is talking about his ability that it isn't just some novelty, isn't a relatively isolated quirk. Rather, he speaks of it as something central to his identity, to his life. Which it is, of course. It permeates everything, in one way or another.
no subject
He's not sure how to express what he's trying to say, but he always gets like that, too wound up and speaking too quickly to really make sense of things until he purposefully slows down and tries to think through what he's feeling. It's so easily to speak instinctively, for him, but the words don't always come out of his mouth the way they are in his head.
"I mean, I know you like me. I don't doubt that. I don't think you'd lie about something like that, even if it seems completely inconceivable to me. But if nobody's ever really known you before, and now I'm the first person... you could've had a lot better of a first person. You could've had someone who was more important or significant or could actually help you in some way. I'm just me. Relieving, maybe, but..."
He shakes his head. He can't imagine anyone wanting to be that close to him, being relieved at the idea of him knowing them well.
no subject
He leans over and kisses Ginsberg, just a brief kiss, as if to make a point. "You shouldn't talk about yourself like that," he says, quietly. Then, with a small, slightly rueful lopsided smile, he adds, "And I realize that's kind of the pot calling the kettle black coming from a guy who- from a guy like me. But I mean it."
no subject
"It's hard not to. You know that, I don't need to tell you that. Either way, though, if I'm not going to be talking about myself like that, I can still say that I'm grateful that you told me. That you didn't just... I mean, a lot of people would have just run away and never explained anything. A lot of people do that with other stuff. Just don't explain it. I'm glad you thought I was worth having it explained to."