"Any way I can trade you in for a not-bored-Stiles?" Scott asked with a grin, "cause that would be ideal about now. Maybe the hotel should be trying to kill you more often if you're moping around like a sad teenager," he teased. "C'mon," he said dragging Stiles up by his belt, though he stopped short of physically moving him, cause he wasn't that much of a bastard. "We're going down to the pool. A few laps should shoot endorphins into your brain and get you moving," he told his friend.