Derek snorted at the comment and rolled his eyes, turning his head in the motion to look at him. "In Beacon Hills? When it's as hot as the surface of the sun? Yeah, no, not happening." He shook his head, like this was a genuine situation they needed to argue about, and he shuffled in his seat, bristling at the very idea of spending all day doing anything at all in the summer besides lying down and melting against whatever surface he was against. The benefit of his loft being cold as ice was that it stayed cold in the summer.
The question provoked a lot of feelings and Derek just shook his head a little. "All her stuff is still there." He didn't know how he felt about the idea of going back to New York at all. When Boyd died, he'd just gone away, vanished for a few days, but he hadn't gone as far as New York, it was too far away when too much was happening. "I don't know if I'll ever go back to New York," he admitted out loud.
When Stiles had decided they'd do his place first, Derek followed him, hands still in his pockets as he made his way in behind him. "I'll pack my clothes, you grab the bedding. I'll steal the heavy stuff first, though." That way they'd be in the car and out of the way already.