Seth's fidgeting wouldn't be so distracting if it didn't happen to be the only part of either of them that's moving. Daniel rearranges himself slightly, into a position that maybe doesn't elicit so much hesitant twitching from his impromptu apparent partner in cuddling, but it doesn't seem to be working.

"Puns," says Daniel with a concentrated, grandiose deadpan that nearly slips at the completion of the syllable, "are an extremely sophisticated sense of humor. They are," and he has to bite his lip to keep from dissolving into extremely undignified snickers, but his amusement is still painfully obvious from the thickness in his voice, "a paragon of linguistic ingenuity."

And, ah, he can't do it. The straight face collapses and his face cracks into another broad grin. "A punagon, even." That was terrible, and even Daniel will admit it.