Derek was amused at Stiles arguing he was less obnoxious than Peter. The particular phrase used to describe his uncle sat uncomfortably with him but Derek shrugged a little. "Maybe you're a little less annoying. When you're quiet. Then you talk and it's like white noise." He was definitely trying to get a rise out of him, because Stiles being petulant and pissy was probably one of the funniest things he'd ever seen, when it wasn't over something serious.
He held his gaze and he actually felt his own heart quicken. Looking away, Derek paid more attention to his book and tried not to think about it. Women or men, or anyone in between-- Derek wasn't interested. Not yet. Maybe. Jennifer had done a number on his head and he still wasn't sure what to call it. He felt disgusting when he thought about her, and he could only hope she was dead after Deucalion slashed her throat. She'd gone missing and he didn't know what to think. Only a glimmer of hope sat in the pit of his stomach that she'd bled out somewhere.
Stiles' retort earned a snort and Derek watched the pillow hit his leg. "Impressive. Really, I'm so impressed. A witty retort and a violent attack," he teased, picking the pillow up and putting aside his book, getting to his feet. "You do realise that you hit me and I have to pay you back for it, though, right?" He watched Stiles as he approached, squeezing the pillow between his hands similarly to how he'd burst the basketball to spook him at the pool.
He wondered if Stiles would try to run. He only planned to hit him with the pillow, but he figured Stiles would expect the worst. Most people expected horrible things from him.