(Author's note: Vincent has already captured our hearts, but Pascal is still the best OC ever. Enjoy. -amy)


Puck felt a little bad for Pascal. Not only did he have to handle Dave being gone, which Puck guessed didn't happen very often, if ever, but now he was trapped in a house with Puck and a laptop and a zillion questions Puck didn't know how to answer. And Puck wasn't being particularly quiet about it.

"God damn fucking English language," he snapped, kicking the chair, after yet another unsuccessful Google search. Pascal hastily relocated from under the table to the kitchen counter, and Puck didn't feel like he had the wherewithal to chase him off. He sighed.

"It doesn't help that most of what's on the web was written by idiots." Puck's conversational tone didn't seem to be fooling Pascal. He seemed to know Puck would start throwing things again as soon as he gave it another try. Because he wasn't giving up. Whatever Dave was studying, Puck was going to figure it out.

"Because, okay, so he didn't tell me about the conference." He tipped back on two legs of his chair, balancing precariously. "So what? He was probably busy. He's got a million important things to work on. Things that have nothing to do with me."

Even saying that kind of hurt - which made him feel like a total idiot, because there wasn't actually much left in Dave's life that didn't have to do with him anymore. He was here in his house most days, and most nights, too. After that unfortunate week, Dave hadn't asked Puck to leave him alone at all. He seemed okay with Puck being there overnight, heading to class separately and meeting back at the house at the end of the day.

"So I don't know what I'm complaining about." Puck took a tentative hand off the table and held his balance on the back chair legs for a good four seconds before having to put it back. "Life's pretty fucking awesome as it is, you know?" He let the chair land on the floor with a thump. "No reason I should be looking for something more."

Pascal gathered his weight under him, then leaped across the chasm between the counter and the table with apparent ease. He meowed. Puck held out one finger, scratched under his pointy little chin and sighed again. There were plenty of things in Puck's life that Dave wasn't involved in. His band - Dave hadn't ever been to see them play, though he wasn't certain he even wanted to - and his weekly schedule of martial arts classes were two notable examples. Dave hadn't even met his Ma yet, although he wasn't particularly in a hurry for that to happen.

He knew why things were the way they were. He just didn't know what to do about them. Because there was Dave, in Columbus, and there was Puck, in Lima. And his kid, also in Lima. If Shelby wasn't moving anytime soon, neither was Puck.

Pascal put a hesitant paw onto his leg, and stepped off the table into his lap when Puck didn't object or swear at him. "I don't mind living in Lima so much," he explained to Pascal, who began to knead bread dough on his thigh and purr loudly. "It's just another town, you know? It's not even the commute, though two hours each way is kind of a lot."

It was that Dave had his life, and Puck had his. And, sure, they overlapped, a lot. It was enough, for a two-month-old relationship. Wasn't it?

"Things are a hell of a lot easier when I'm not missing him so much," he said, with one last scritch on Pascal's striped head. Pascal chirruped and turned over in his lap, his belly to the air, asking for more, but Puck set him gently on the floor and stood, heading for the stairs.

He didn't have a lot of faith in books to teach him much, but he figured Dave might have some upstairs in the bookcase under the window, where Puck had seen some weighty tomes. Whatever was in those books, they weren't the kind of things people would read for fun. He knew most people actually did that occasionally.

He dug in with his fingers and slid out two of the volumes that included the word "algebra" in the title, because that, at least, he could read. Neither index had any kind of word starting with the letter L that looked anything like "lie algebra," however, and after a little useless page-flipping, he gave up.

There was a book on Dave's desk that looked promising. It was full of post-it notes and slips of paper with equations scribbled on them. When he opened the front cover, he spotted a note with his name on it. Book for Puck? it read. Adv. topics, RL not too chall.? He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it gave him a peculiar warm feeling inside his stomach to read his own name in Dave's scrawl.

That same book yielded two other treasures. One of them was a note in the shape of a dog's head, written in someone else's handwriting. It read Elliott Baker, and a phone number. Puck recognized Elliott's name; he was a friend of Dave's in the math department, some kind of doctoral student or a junior professor or something. He'd been the one in front of the class that Thursday morning, keeping their attention well enough, though he wasn't any kind of hot that Puck could identify. He grinned at himself. Math class isn't supposed to be about the eye candy, dude.

The second was a photograph, an old one printed on photo paper, the kind that included the date in computer script on the back. 16 Feb 07. The photo wasn't one Puck had seen before, but it didn't matter, because as soon as he saw it, he remembered exactly when it had been taken and what they'd been doing that day.

It was the week before they'd been slated to drive down to junior playoffs. Practice was over, but they were still in their jerseys and pads, him and Dave and Scott Cooper. Dave's helmet was missing, but Puck held his under his arm. There was no way any of them would have known this would be the last week they'd ever see Puck's hair grown out like that, curly and thick, because in a week's time it would be shaved off by a surgeon who would put forty-seven stitches in his scalp.

Puck's other arm was slung around Dave's shoulder. They were wedged tight together, no closer than any two boys on a middle school hockey team would ordinarily be. Certainly not in any inappropriate way, nothing that would have drawn attention. Nothing like what the two of us did in Finn Hudson's guest room the following year, he thought. He touched the picture with one gentle finger before sticking it back into the book, just where Dave had left it, and closed it again.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Elliott's number. If the books didn't have any answers, maybe he would.


Dave looked over everything one last time. There was nothing more left to do, not really, the work was done, all he had to do was talk about it. He should just call Puck, and then go actually have some fun instead of just sitting around here staring at this damn presentation. He sighed and closed his laptop, picking up the phone instead.

Puck seemed happy to hear from him, but Dave still felt like something wasn't quite right. Maybe it was just that not having him right there every day meant having to explain things, or something.

"So... how was class?" he asked, grasping for a topic. "You didn't make life too hard for Elliott?"

"No, he was great. I had a couple of question about groups and rings and stuff, after class? And I called him, and he sat down with me and explained all of it. But...I mean, there's still plenty of things I don't understand left for you."

Dave laughed. "You've moved on to abstract algebra now? Wow. A few more months, and you'll have to teach me."

He could almost hear Puck's shrug over the phone. "I just wanted to know what you were doing. But I didn't even know how to spell Lie algebra, so I was kind of stuck for a while."

"But you figured it out?"

"Well, kind of. I mostly just read about groups, really. And symmetry, and stuff? I'm not sure if I get it, but it's really cool."

Dave smiled. He never got tired of hearing Puck get excited about math. "Yeah. It is."

"So...when you get home, you need to explain to me about those bracket things. I tried to read about it, but it's just too many words. I went back to the wallpaper patterns."

"Hey, the wallpaper patterns are important." And impressive. If Puck had been able to grasp those concepts on his own, without any real background...most people didn't have that kind of intuition. "The brackets are kind of...oh, did Elliott try to explain to you about commutators? He can't do that without making it about quantum mechanics."

Puck laughed. "Yeah, he tried, but I had to go. He talked about physics a lot, actually. I just wanted to know about your paper, and he makes it all about some German woman from a hundred years ago."

It was almost like being back home, talking about their homework and reading about famous mathematicians, and Dave suddenly realized how much he missed Puck already. He'd known, in his head, that his boyfriend was far away and it kind of sucked, but he hadn't really felt it. Which was good, because if he was going to have to walk around like this all the time...he didn't know if he could do it. He swallowed.

"It's good to hear you guys got along. And I'll tell you all about the brackets when I get home, okay?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Dave thought Puck sounded a little distant, but, then, so did he, probably.

"Yeah. So I think...I should probably go. We're going out for dinner soon."

"Hey, uh..." Puck cleared his throat. "Pascal really misses you."

Dave smiled. It was hard to stay disconnected when Puck could melt him like that with just a few words. "I miss you too. I mean...both of you. Tell him I love him, and there will be tuna for him when I get back, okay? And...not tuna for you, I guess, but I could scratch your ears too, if you want."

"Yeah, I can think of a couple places you could scratch for me."

"Uh. Okay."

He could hear Puck's cocky grin melting away into anxiety. "I'm overstepping again, aren't I?"

"No. God. I just...what do you expect me to say to that? Three more days, and I'll scratch whatever you want? Not that I won't. But...you know." And did he really, seriously just say that?

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. Hard to say with words what I'd be doing to you if you were here. But... okay, I can wait. Three days, right?" He sighed. "All right. Say hi to Kurt for me. And, I promise, no ear-scratching till you get back."

Dave smiled. For whatever strange reason, Puck didn't seem to mind even the stupidest things he said. "Okay, I will. Three days. And...I love you."


Dave was just climbing into the taxi when he heard his name being called across the courtyard. When he looked, he saw Vincent, making a mad dash for the curb, and he touched the driver on the shoulder. "Hang on a second." At least he wasn't carrying his paper graph model.

"Hey!" His smile was broad enough to split his face in two, and Dave had to smile back. "You heading out for dinner?"

"Yeah, I'm, uh... yeah. Sunset Boulevard." Kurt was meeting him at Rambutan. He'd said it was an unassuming sort of restaurant, but this was Kurt, and Dave knew he'd be dressed up, so he'd worn his jacket without a tie. Vincent, on the other hand, had on some kind of cream-colored knit jersey over flared trousers. It might have been Middle Eastern, or maybe vintage 70s kitsch, it was impossible for Dave to tell. Whatever it was, he looked perfectly cool and Californian.

"Can I tag along on your cab? I thought I'd head to Erewhon and pick up some groceries." Vincent didn't even wait for Dave to say yes, but somehow Dave couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. He slid onto the seat and gave the cabbie a friendly little wave. "Where are you eating?"

"Rambutan. My friend Kurt says -"

"Oh, you have to try the soju cocktails. Assuming you drink, which I seem to recall you do, huh?" Vincent's grin wasn't any kind of mean, but Dave wondered exactly which incident Vincent was recalling from their undergraduate years. There had been an awful lot of drinking.

"Why don't you come along?" Dave found himself saying. Vincent's smile reached epic proportions.

"Yeah? That'd be awesome. I didn't really want to cook tonight anyway."

The traffic was ridiculous, and Dave didn't think too hard about the impossibility of his hand, holding onto the loop above his head, actually preventing him from being damaged in the case of a crash. Vincent didn't stop talking once the whole way from the Omni to Rambutan, and Dave had to admit everything he said was, if not pertinent, at least interesting. Anyone else jabbering on like that would be getting on Dave's nerves, but somehow Vincent got him to listen, and even ask a few questions before the taxi reached its destination. He paid for his half of the cab, too, which Dave somehow thought he might try to avoid doing, but Vincent had cash in his pocket, even small bills to break a twenty.

The restaurant was in a little strip mall, with an unassuming decor. Dave immediately felt overdressed - until he saw Kurt, standing by the front counter, checking his email on his phone.

"Uh," said Vincent, in an hushed voice. "Who's that?"

Then Kurt looked up and took off his sunglasses, and smiled inquisitively. "David," he said slowly, insinuating everything in that one word, and tilted his head at Vincent. "Won't you introduce me to your... friend?"

"Friend, Kurt," Dave agreed. "Vincent Cavanaugh went to undergrad with me; we were in all the same classes for three years. He's studying at UCLA. Vincent, this is my friend Kurt Hummel. We went to high school together."

"Hey," Vincent said, with his customary enthusiasm, shaking Kurt's hand firmly. "I hope you don't mind me tagging along for dinner. Dave was good enough to invite me, but really, I invited myself. I approve of your restaurant choice, by the way. You're a local, huh?"

"I'm actually not sure if I qualify yet," Kurt said, with a thoughtful finger on his lips. "I've been here for six years, though, so I'm well on my way. And, really, what's not to like about Thai?"

Dave hadn't seen Kurt in over a year, and he was more tanned and his hair lighter than he remembered it being. He wasn't dressed any differently than he'd ever been in high school, but his clothes fit just fine into the broad box of California casual - if you could count an outfit including designer shoes and a five hundred dollar blazer as casual. He was taller and slimmer than ever, and Dave tried hard not to feel like the proverbial bull in Kurt Hummel's china shop.

Kurt gave him a quick hug before sitting at the table. "Things with Puck are still...?" he said, raising his eyebrows, and Dave nodded.

"They're good. Better. I mean, better and better?" He paused, feeling like an idiot, but Vincent wasn't really paying attention. "Hey, I didn't really mean to bring Vincent, but he's a good guy, and..."

"No, it's fine. I know just the kind of pushover you are, David." Kurt's smile seemed relaxed and genuine enough.

Dave dropped his voice, turning away so Vincent wouldn't be able to see. "I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay. If we were okay."

Kurt's eyes were vague, though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the restaurant. "Of course. Would I have invited you out for dinner if we weren't?" He waved a hand at the table. "Ancient history, David. Let's eat something. I've been looking at scripts all day and my brain is completely numb. I need some seriously hot tom kha soup and panang curry."

It was obvious to Dave that he wasn't telling the truth, or at least the whole truth, but he let it go. There was no way they could really have that discussion here now, anyway. He didn't know why he'd even asked. "Okay, good. Anything else you recommend?"

Vincent nudged Dave as he sat down beside him at the table. "I ordered us some soju cocktails. Figured if your friend didn't drink, they wouldn't go to waste." He turned his blistering grin on Kurt, who looked a little startled, but smiled back. "Do you want one, uh...?"

"Kurt," said Kurt. "I don't... okay, yeah, what the hell. It's a Friday."

Kurt ordered a Thai iced tea and some satay chicken, and when it arrived he handed it down the table to Vincent right away, which kind of surprised Dave. Kurt wasn't one to eat food that had been touched by just anyone. Vincent took a skewer from the platter and scraped a little peanut sauce onto his dish.

"Are you a math teacher, then, too?" Kurt asked, neatly cutting his satay.

Vincent grinned. "Well. I'm a student, and I have my own research, but I do teach a class, too. And work with some undergrads, helping them with their research, which is kind of like teaching. So yes, I guess I'm a math teacher. And you...Kurt? What do you do with your time?" Dave was relieved. He didn't remember the old Vincent being very good at adjusting the level of technical detail to his audience, but apparently he'd learned.

"I spent most of my day filling the paper shredder with useless drivel that some people seem to think is good enough to be produced and shown on film." Kurt waved his fork in the air, in a gesture that might have been embarrassing from anyone else, but fit Kurt just right. "Occasionally I eat some lunch. Or even take a walk."

"Kurt," Dave protested. He faced Vincent. "You see that movie, Dead of Night?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. "David..."

"No, you had your chance, and you blew it on being dramatic. You saw it?"

"Sure," Vincent agreed. "It was excellent."

"Right. He helped write that."

"You -?" Vincent's eyes opened to a comical degree. "Really?"

"David's exaggerating. I may have written a few key scenes. It wasn't that good, anyway." Kurt was definitely blushing behind his Thai iced tea. Dave pushed his advantage.

"Yeah, it only won a freaking Academy Award. And that thing you're working on now - "

"That I'm not supposed to talk about," Kurt murmured. "Yeah, that. I'm sorry, Vincent, David's a little overenthusiastic about my career, such as it is."

But Vincent was shaking a finger at Kurt. "No, wait! You're...Kurt Hummel. Of course. Wow, I can't believe I'm meeting the guy who made Catalunya Nord. Seriously? That was amazing. Totally inspired. I actually went there, I mean, to Barcelona, and the bonfires, it was even more...wow."

Dave didn't think he'd ever seen Vincent run out of words before. It was fascinating, and a little scary. Luckily it didn't last long.

"And the colors. You've got to tell me. It's the jersey, right? My friends who care more about art film than sports wouldn't believe me, but those blues and reds - it's not a coincidence, is it?"

Kurt smiled and raised his eyebrow, the way he did when Dave had pleasantly surprised him in some way. "I see. An FC Barcelona fan, are you? And, no, it's not a coincidence. I was convinced by a...friend; he had a small part in the film, actually."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Jordi was his boyfriend, he just wouldn't admit it. I should know, I was the one who listened to the middle of the night phone calls. At least it wasn't the middle of the night for me, thank god for the time difference."

Vincent ignored him. "I knew it. It was brilliant." He thought for a moment. "Oh. The guy on the other mountaintop? That was your boyfriend?"

Kurt shrugged. "I guess. He looked good as a symbol of...whatever he was a symbol of. Men without shirts. I was young."

Vincent and Kurt liked their food spicier than Dave could tolerate it, so they ended up sharing two dishes, but eating didn't stop the words from flying back and forth across the table. It wasn't until Kurt excused himself to go to the restroom that Vincent stopped talking altogether.

"So... " Dave eyed him cautiously. "How's that cocktail?"

Vincent blinked at him. "Pretty incredible," he admitted. "And a lot... stronger than I expected."

"You don't have to drink it all," Dave offered, but Vincent shook his head vehemently.

"I might never drink anything else, ever again." He poked at his panang. "Do you think he'd be totally offended if I asked for his phone number?"

"I think he'd be offended if you didn't," said Dave.

"Really? But he's..." Vincent waved his hand in the air. "He's a super hot genius."

Dave laughed. "I'm pretty sure he likes you anyway."

The discussion was cut short by Kurt returning to their table. "I hope Dave didn't tell you too many embarrassing stories while I was away," he said, smiling at Vincent.

"Not a single one," he answered, grinning back. "And I'm sure he has just as many about me, anyway."

"Oh, really." Kurt looked at Dave. "David? Is that true?"

It probably was. Although most of the best stories about Kurt were primarily embarrassing to Dave. And Vincent had done a lot of interesting things in college. Dave searched his brain for something that was safe to tell and not too boring. "You mean like how in our first class together, the professor called you Conrad for two weeks before you managed to make him believe your name was really Vincent?" He looked at Kurt. "And then everybody else called him Not-Conrad for the rest of the semester, so he just started answering to that. I don't even think it bothered him."

Vincent grinned. "Why would I care? It's a perfectly nice name."

They stayed longer than Dave had anticipated, but there wasn't really anything planned for the evening session, other than the keynote speeches. Eventually he got antsy, and they all stood up to leave. "David just wants to give someone a call," Kurt teased. He shook Vincent's hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Not-Conrad."

Vincent's freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his blush. "Uh, yeah, it was... delicious. I mean the food was. And the company, um... I mean..."

"Yes, the company." Dave almost laughed when Kurt actually batted his eyelashes. "And the cocktails. Inspired, really. I'll have to try them again sometime."

Kurt was out the door and on the LA Metro before Vincent seized Dave's shoulder and moaned. "Shit - I didn't ask for his number! You have to give it to me. No - wait. You can't; he'll know I asked you for it." He slumped against the wall. "God. I'm pathetic."

"I can call him and you can ask him yourself," Dave offered, but even this seemed too much for poor Vincent. In the end, Dave persuaded him to agree to take Kurt's email address, with the understanding that Vincent could have found it himself with a little creative searching. "Don't tell me you think he doesn't like you. He was talking to you the whole night."

Vincent shrugged. "Everybody talks to me." He ran a hand over his face. "You really went to high school with him? Was he... did he look like that? Back then? Tell me he was one of those kids who started out funny-looking and got beautiful, please."

"Why does that even matter?" Vincent wasn't making much sense, but then, who would. "Yeah, he looked like that, sorry. At least for the last few years."

"And you didn't go out with him? You must have been really closeted. I think I would have self-combusted if I'd had to sit through algebra class with a face like that looking at me." Vincent shook his head.

"Oh. No, I didn't date him. He would never...I really was that closeted, and he had a boyfriend. And yeah, I actually did kind of go crazy over him, but that was a long time ago." He shrugged. "He forgave me. We've been friends since then, but nothing more than that."

They shuffled into the back seat of the taxi. "So you're really going to give me his email address?"

Dave's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. Then he laughed. "I think I can safely jump straight to the phone number. He just asked me for yours."

Vincent managed to wait until after they'd returned to the hotel to actually call Kurt, but the dazed expression on his face told Dave he wouldn't be good for intelligent conversation until he did. "I, uh, have my own phone call to make," Dave said, as they went their own ways at the elevator. "But afterwards, come find me in the bar, okay? We'll drink something that doesn't taste like mangoes gone wrong."

When Dave called him, however, Puck wasn't answering, and even after he did the hang-up-call-back-right-away thing, he still didn't pick up his phone. "I introduced Kurt to my friend Vincent tonight," he said into his voice mail, "and they really hit it off. You should have seen them. He lives in LA, too. It was pretty great. I think they have a chance. So... call me later, I'll be up for a while. Hope you're having a good time, whatever you're doing."

Dave tried not to think too hard about what Puck might be doing. Chances were, he was at Finn's for band rehearsal, or a late karate class. Or maybe he'd actually gone out for a movie. It could be anything.

Vincent showed up after two and a half drinks, and Dave managed to tell him every one of the possible things Puck probably wasn't doing before he interrupted and said, "Dude. He has a life without you, too, right? I mean, that's healthy."

"Right," Dave said unhappily. "Yeah. Healthy. Did I tell you he has a kid?" And he was off and running again, for another twenty minutes and another drink and a half. Vincent was a very good listener, and he got caught up on drinks in a hurry.

He was also very friendly, which might have bothered Dave back in Columbus, but something about being in California made it seem appropriate, somehow. "You're really cute, Dave," Vincent informed him, with a hand on his arm, "but your friend Kurt, holy shit. No offense."

"None taken," Dave assured him, feeling magnanimous, and not quite drunk enough to say Not-Conrad was pretty good looking himself. "But... here. Seriously, look at this." With a little effort, he managed to find a recent picture of Puck, playing field hockey with Beth, on his phone. He passed it over to Vincent, who took a moment to focus on it. "Tell me he is not the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen."

"Hmmmm," Vincent said, frowning, "I don't know, Dave... he's pretty young. And blonde." He ducked away from Dave's fist on his shoulder, laughing. "Okay - yes! He's Adonis. You're absolutely right. Maybe not my type, but I wouldn't throw him out of bed."

Dave thought about his empty hotel bed, waiting for him, and sighed, pushing his empty glass across the bar, and shaking his head when the bartender offered him yet another. "Yeah. After all these years sleeping alone, you'd think I'd be used to it, but it's really hard to be away from him for even five days. Jesus. Five fucking days. What's the matter with me?"

"Love," Vincent said, looking deeply into his eyes from an uncomfortably short distance. "That's what it's like. It sucks, but it's wonderful." He laughed.

Dave groaned. "Yeah. Just...you saw him, right? And then he calls me and starts talking about group theory. That guy, and he understands symmetry groups, it's so damn hot I can't think. Did you know that's the hottest thing ever? Because I didn't. And he loves my cat." He rested his arms on the bar and hid his face in his hands.

Vincent put an arm around him and leaned his head on Dave's shoulder. "He's pretty lucky to have somebody who loves him the way you do. Obviously."

Dave made sure to deposit Vincent at his room before he headed to his own. He wouldn't have forgiven himself if he'd found Vincent sleeping off his hangover in the lobby the next morning or something. Before he even made it out of the elevator, his phone was in his hand, dialing Puck's number. It didn't occur to him that this might be a bad idea, or that it was three in the morning in Lima. All he could think about was the empty space in his bed, and the matching one in Puck's, and how that just sucked.

"Hey... Dave?" Puck sounded sleepy. Of course he'd been asleep. Dave stifled a laugh. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. No. It's great, but you're not in my bed. It's all empty. You know?" He paused. He had no idea what he was saying. He didn't really care.

"Yeah, man, I know," Puck said. Dave could hear his smile. "Except I've actually got this other guy in my bed. He's pretty warm, too. Hairy." Puck's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "He's on your pillow."

"Puck. You're just trying to make me jealous." He was pretty sure. Mostly.

"Oh, you've got nothing to be jealous about. He misses you too, remember?"

Dave laughed. "Oh god, I'm so drunk. I thought you - no. I don't know. I really miss you."

"I miss you, too. Pretty much all the time. It's really quiet here without you, and you don't even say much when you're here." Puck sighed. "I was at my house tonight. My Ma had some choice words about me not spending enough time here in town... where my responsibilities are. Seriously, like she has any right to talk about responsibilities. So... yeah, sorry I didn't call you back, but she would have thrown a fit. By the time I got back here, I figured you were off having a good time."

"No, I'm sorry. It's okay. You don't have to always call me right away. I should trust you, you know? And I was stupid, and nothing made any sense. But I love you, even if I make no sense. I know that." Dave took a breath. He knew, somewhere far away in the rational part of his brain, that it was the middle of the night, he should probably just shut up. "And, yeah. It's okay. And I can tell you everything. Later. The brackets and the mangoes and...everything."

"Mangoes." Puck sounded dubious.

"Yeah. There were drinks. Really terrible drinks, but Kurt didn't think so, he liked them. And my friend Vincent, the one that I told all about you, he liked them too. And Kurt. He really liked Kurt, they were all sweet, like the drinks. And then we went back to the hotel because he promised me we could have something that wasn't mangoes, and there was Jack Daniels. And maybe vodka martinis. And I think he got really sick of hearing about how hot you are. Even if it's true."

"Uh... wow." Dave's judgment wasn't currently the best, but it seemed that he'd interfered with Puck's speech. Maybe all his words had gotten in the way of Puck's, somewhere between Los Angeles and Columbus. After a lengthy pause, Dave heard a noise like a sniff. "That sounds like a good night, then. And... Kurt. I'm glad to hear about that. You have no idea how glad." Another pause, and then Puck added, in an embarrassed undertone, "You're pretty hot yourself."

Dave thought he might have taken a long time to respond to that, but he wasn't sure. He got a little lost, trying to think. "You think so? That's so strange."

"Strange, huh? Don't know what world you live in, Dave, but I think most people would agree with me. Everyone I've asked, anyway." Puck laughed. "Kurt seems to."

"Yeah." Dave looked at the roof. "Yeah, I guess. But now he'll fall in love with Vincent. And it will all be okay, because they're both amazing. I love them, you know? But not like you. You know that, right? You're my boyfriend. And I love you."

"Yeah, man, I love you, too. And I think I'm going to have to call you tomorrow and see how you're actually doing, because right now, you don't sound a whole lot like my boyfriend." Again, Dave couldn't tell for sure, but he didn't sound upset. "But thanks for calling, anyway."

"Okay. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"No, no," Puck assured him. "If you were here, I'd want you to wake me up to tell me all this stuff, and now it's like... almost like you're here, kind of. Maybe not so far away."

Dave smiled. "Yeah. Okay. But you should sleep. Me too, actually. So goodnight?"

"Yeah," said Puck, hushed and a little shaky. Or maybe that was the last shot talking. "Goodnight."

He managed to get his clothes off and find his way under the covers before he decided it was safe to pass out, letting disconnected thoughts about mangoes and Puck and Barcelona float around in his head until the nice, soft dark took over.