Derek rose both eyebrows then nodded with a sarcastic look. "No problem. Glad to help," he answered him. He had been aware of what he meant, on some level, but he'd needed to say his cynical part about love. It was something people like them -- the ones who got tangled up in wars and death and fights they didn't want to be in, backing up the real hero -- that didn't find real love. They were the ones left behind. Overlooked. Left to scrape around in the blood and gore while the hero got the girl.
Derek gave him a look for the mimicking and the comment, then relaxed into his bed, starkly aware of how he hadn't slept properly in what felt like months. The summer was spent looking for Boyd and Erica, then Cora was there instead, and Erica was dead. Then everything became a whirlwind of battles and losses, and then he'd been dumped here and it wasn't familiar or remotely safe. With the loft around him, he almost felt safe again, and he was tired.
"Your default mode is just 'Annoy'. It doesn't matter who it's directed at." He nodded, though, and shuffled down the bed just a little so his head and shoulders were propped up by the pillows and the rest of him was sprawled along the sheets, the book propped up on his stomach. "Get whatever you want." He'd help load everything into the Jeep when they moved all their stuff over from the other apartments into this one.