Derek tilted his head a little as Stiles spoke, then shook his head faintly. "You're young. You'll learn that 'real love' isn't real and it's only for poems and books and movies, and if it does happen, it ends badly," he told him, shrugging lightly. Derek didn't think real love was a thing that existed. It was comfort. Being comfortable with one person for long enough that you just got used to them being there. His parents, for example, were a thousand percent 'in love' and Derek had heard both of their screams of pain inside the house as they burned with the rest of his family. Telling people you loved them got them killed. Or maybe he was jaded.
Stiles said he could wait and Derek scoffed and tapped him on the top of his head with the book. "Just take it," he sighed at him, putting it in his hands and backing away, turning to grab another book. He went through a few of them and eventually picked up one he hadn't finished yet, taking it back to his bed with him and sitting down, crossing his legs at the ankles. He could feel his heart still beating a little too quickly for having just shared a piece of poetry with someone he considered a friend, but he wasn't going to think about it.
"We'll steal the television from my apartment," he told him, after being quiet for a few minutes, lifting his gaze to settle green eyes on the teenager on his couch. "So you don't have to spend all your time reading or annoying me." He let his gaze linger on him for a moment longer then looked back at his book.