“I will seduce him with my body,” declares Stiles while Scott flicks through an old Batman with more interest than the conversation.

“Mmmhmm,” agrees Scott, his eyes not straying from the glossy pages of the caped crusader.

“Step one is to get a six pack,” continues Stiles. “Wait. Scratch that. I’m going to need a bulleted list. And highlighters.”

“We used the last of the highlighters when that rogue omega came through town last week,” says Scott, flicking another page with interest. “You threw them at his head while I jumped from the fire escape.”

Stiles sighs forlornly. “Those were the best highlighters too. Sharpie click ones.”

Scott hums in agreement. Or consolingly. Scott’s non-verbals are pretty universally comforting.

“We’ll have to make a Staples run,” says Stiles.

Scott groans. “Again?”

“Hey, this is my love life on the line,” says Stiles. “How am I going to get him to notice me?”

“Try being yourself?”

“Psshaw, like that’s worked so far,” huffs Stiles. “The guy’s eight pack has a six pack for God’s sake!”

“I really think you’re over stressing abs,” remarks Scott from his sprawl on Stiles’ bed.

“Yeah, coming from the guy who has them,” mutters Stiles.

“You think I have abs?” grins Scott.

“Urgh, don’t make me say it,” says Stiles. “Now come on, Staples closes at nine.”

“Fine, but for the record, I think you’d have better chances with Derek if you stopped making lists.”

“Shut up. My lists are amazing.”

Scott’s loud snort is, if anything, sarcastic.