I stare you down with narrowed eyes, my arms folded over my chest, and I wait for you to get on the treadmill. We're in the neat gym of the designated house we're supposed to live in together for 10 months, and you're refusing to exercise for the hundredth time. I can't believe there's a whole 8 months and a half to go, I'm already struggling to stay sane. I sigh Exercise, or you won't have internet for the foreseeable future. I threaten in a commanding tone
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