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Salutations or Something

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“Dude, I’m fine. Fine as a fiddle, or whatever that saying is,” Stiles idly clicked through the wikipedia article on Ovid’s Metamorphoses he’d gotten to through a series of link jumps. He couldn’t even remember what he’d originally searched for, he checked the clock, three hours earlier.

Scott made a disbelieving noise, which, over the phone, sounded suspiciously like a wheeze. “Uh, pretty sure that’s fit as a fiddle, Stiles. And since I had to correct you on that clearly you’re not fine.” He sounded incredibly smug about the whole thing. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I know you haven’t left the building in days, except for work.”

How did he?

“Charlie sold me out, huh?” Stiles said. He wasn’t surprised, his flatmate was kind of a dick like that.

“Stiles,” Scott sounded serious. So serious Stiles actually took his hand away from the mouse and leaned back in his chair, focusing on the weird water stain that had slowly been spreading on his ceiling since he’d moved into the place after college. “Stiles, seriously, you have to get out of there once in awhile. You should, uh, you should take up yoga!” That level of enthusiasm could only have one source.

“Allison’s suggestion?” Stiles guessed, leaning forward and clicking on another link and grimaced at the picture of a statue of two naked kids sucking on a big dog’s teats. The internet was weird.

“It’s actually pretty cool. You can get crazy flexible, which comes in really handy when-”

“SCOTT!” Stiles was well-versed in the Scott/Allison love connection, he did not need any more nightmare fuel to add to the inappropriate bonfire of things-he-never-wanted-to-know-about-his-best-friend.

Case in point, any sexy times Scott was involved in. The dreamy sighs Stiles had suffered through for an entire semester of their senior year of high school before Scott finally had the balls to talk to Allison were, in hindsight, infinitely preferable to hearing the gory details of what they got up to between the sheets. Which Scott was more than eager to discuss, regardless of Stiles’ quite vocal opinion on the matter.

"Scott, buddy, I'm not going to do yoga just so I can get laid." Stiles typed in yoga and picked a type at random.

“So it’s true, you’re still single,” Scott said in commiseration.

Stiles bit back the first few comments that came to mind, then sighed, “Dude, if I was seeing someone, anyone, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

“But you haven’t been on a date since-“

“Since that time we don’t talk about,” Stiles said quickly, “yes, yes, I know, okay. I am very much aware of how pathetically alone I seem to everyone else around me, but I’m happy-ish, so let’s just stop talking about my utter lack of prospects and get back to this whole yoga thing, all right?” He didn’t really see what the fuss was about, but a few of the videos he pulled up featured some seriously gorgeous people, so Stiles was willing to hear Scott out, especially if he dropped the whole forever alone thing.


Turned out, Scott had a lot to say about yoga, and it wasn’t just about his new-found ability to touch his toes, or Allison’s ability to do the splits, which, ew, too much information, but otherwise his friend was a fount of probably-not-very-objective information.

“So you really like this stuff, huh?” Stiles said, watching as two fit women bent and flexed together while a soothing male voice narrated the scene. Kinda different from his normal porn, but it was still nice to watch.

“Yeah, I do, we do. Hey, there’s a studio not far from your apartment, you should take a class!”

Stiles couldn’t stop the smirk, “And just how long have you been planning this intervention, dude? Did Allison put you up to it?” He wouldn’t put it past her, she had a cunning streak a mile wide. It was more than a little disconcerting when she directed her efforts at him.

“Uh, maybe? But that doesn’t matter, anyway! Your dad is worried about you, Stiles. Like, seriously worried. He keeps going over to my mom’s house and talking to her.”

That got Stiles’ attention. “My dad and your mom are spending time together, alone? And you think they’re talking about me?”

“Allison and I are doing great, and you know your dad isn’t happy about you living in Chicago. What else would they be talking about?" Scott said, sounding like he meant every word.

Of course he did. Stiles rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “Scott, bro, I love you, but you’d better talk to Allison about that one, cause I’m not even going there. I'll talk to you later.”

“Later, Stiles, and remember to look into that yoga place!”

He dropped his phone into the clutter overtaking his desk and flung himself out of the chair onto his mussed bed. The last thing he wanted to think about was his dad’s relationship with Melissa McCall, but of course that was the one thing that kept going through his mind.


The thing was, Stiles knew he was going to go insane if he kept on with his current routine. Work was fine, sometimes exhilarating, even, but by the time he got home it was too dark and, increasingly, too cold to go for a run outside, which meant he had to go down to the lowest level of the apartment building, where the super kept a treadmill in what was optimistically labeled a “workout room.”

It was, in fact, an awkward corner of the slightly dank basement where the floor was too uneven for storage closets. In addition to the treadmill, which was situated on a slight incline that created a steady burn in Stiles’ calves when he ran, there was also a mismatched set of weights, a rusty pull-up bar bolted to the concrete wall, and a cracked mirror propped on the ground beside it. Stiles avoided the rest of the equipment and just used the ancient-looking machine, which actually worked surprisingly well, while he tried not to watch his reflection bob up and down through the spider-webbed pattern of the mirror.

The creepy factor of the workout facilities alone was enough to wear on even the most grounded person, but the fact that Stiles really didn’t leave the building for anything other than work was, he admitted to himself, not his healthiest lifestyle choice. It wasn’t that he was particularly scared of Chicago, even if it was the first time he’d lived alone in a city that wasn’t strictly a college town, it was that he didn’t know where to start. Everyone he worked with seemed to have their lives together, with family and friends and hobbies that kept them occupied. Stiles had none of that. Except of course for Scott and his online gaming, which, again, did not deter him from staying inside all the time.

He needed an actual hobby outside of work where he would interact with actual people who did not live with him or talk to him through the internet or his phone.

Like yoga? His stupid mind supplied in an annoyingly accurate imitation of Scott’s voice.

Stiles sighed as he finished his cool-down, wiping sweat from his face as he made his way to the rickety service elevator.

Like yoga.