NOTE: there is a specific reason I decided to write a fic attempting to take the whole ADHD Stiles thing from a more realistic approach. More on that at the end, if you at all care.

Stiles has a keyboard stashed away in the back of his closet. It's simple, with very few settings, but it has 66 keys and it works, and that's all Stiles cares about. His mother bought it for him as a Christmas gift when he was nine because he'd always had a knack for music and he'd always been restless, his fingers constantly tapping out a rhythm. It was actually a suggestion from his psychiatrist that prompted the gift, the doctor having explained that the restlessness was a symptom of his disorder and that it would makes things so much easier for them if they got Stiles a sort of outlet to help keep it in check. Told them that if they didn't it was very likely that Stiles may have panic attacks due to the intensity of the inexplicable jittery feeling that caused his constant movement.

And Stiles is so thankful they had listened to him, because playing is the only way he can even begin to deal with when the ADHD becomes unbearable. When he's hypermanic and hypersensitive and his meds aren't helping. When that horrible restless feeling seeps deep into his bones and his toes curl and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds and he's reminded of why he has to keep his fingernails short and blunt, so that he doesn't break the skin of his palm as he draws his hands into fists in an attempt to not scratch his own eyes one knows but him and his dad, and he likes it that way. Likes being able to have at least one secret that the werewolves he spends his time with will never know. He likes having this one thing that he doesn't have to share with Scott, having this one thing that Jackson can't mock him about. This thing that is only his.

So when Derek climbs through his window before he has time to put the thing - affectionately dubbed Harley - away, he can't help the way his heart drops into his stomach and his palms get sweaty as he tries to think of excuses.

Derek stands there in the middle of Stiles's room for what seems like hours, before finally blinking and saying, "I didn't know you played."

Stiles swallows and raises his eyebrows. "Play? Why, whatever do you mean?"

Derek does not look impressed. "Stiles, there's a keyboard right there. On your lap."

"… Well, would you look at that! There IS a keyboard! Where on earth did that come from?" He tries to pull off a surprised expression but he's pretty sure he looks more constipated than anything else. And Derek still obviously isn't buying it, but he drops it, opting instead to talk about the upcoming pack meeting.

The rest of the night goes as per usual. Stiles makes stupid jokes and Derek pretends he doesn't find it funny by throwing the boy against walls and growling (Stiles didn't even know people could actually growl until he met Derek), and then when Stiles's dad gets home Derek climbs out of the window like the big wolfy weirdo he is. Stiles goes back to working on the most recent piece he's been teaching himself and the next day when he catches Derek creeping behind the lacrosse bleachers it's like the incident with Harley had never happened.

Derek never brings it up, which Stiles is thankful for, but it's also a little… weird, because there's no way that was the end of it. Stiles's life is not that simple, and he doesn't have good enough luck for the whole thing to just be over. Plus, Derek is the sort of person who constantly feels the obligation to be helpful in any way he can if he thinks something's wrong - which, going by the way he's been looking at Stiles lately, he definitely thinks something's wrong, so no doubt he's saving the talk for a time when Stiles is unprepared and will become flustered and embarrassed and just an all around mess (and then he'll dwell on it when he's trying to go to sleep and trust him, it will be very upsetting).

It doesn't happen, though. Stiles waits and waits and waits for the ball to drop, for Derek to corner him in the woods or shove him against the wall and try to show that 'he's the alpha and he's there for Stiles' in that endearingly emotionally constipated way of his, but it never happens. Weeks pass, and then months, and eventually Stiles forgets all about it.

So naturally that's when Derek decides to say something.

It's late one Friday night and Scott has texted him at least 20 times (he's not sure of the exact number; he turned his phone off a while ago) but he can't be bothered with such mundane things as a social life, not when there are bugs crawling under his skin, up and down his spine and he's chewed all the skin off his lips so that they're just a little bloody and his mind is racing and he can't get this one part of this one song down and it's so stupid because it's so easy but he just can't get it and he knocks his knees together over and over again till they bruise and it starts to hurt and he wants to scream and cry and run a marathon and go to sleep and never wake up but more than anything he just wants to be able to play this damn part without messing up and-

"Is everything okay?" Stiles spins around in his chair to face none other than Derek Hale, and really he should get credit for having enough self control left to not scream at the werewolf, because in that moment he wants nothing more than push Derek out the window and watch gleefully as he hits the ground with a loud, painful thud.

Stiles is angry and unstable and he may or may not have skipped his meds the past few days, but he manages to keep it all in check as he assures Derek that yes, everything is okay and what do you want Mr. Sourpants can't you see I'm doing something right now.

No one speaks for a few minutes, and Stiles prepares himself for the lecture. For the why did you not want me to know you played and the why doesn't Scott know and the calculating eyes and judgmental posture and I only want to help, but it never comes. Instead, the alpha avoids Stiles's gaze and begins to speak.

"I just… wanted to give you something." Derek holds up a bunch of papers, messily held together with a paper clip. They're old and yellowing and the edges look a bit burnt. As Derek walks closer to him, Stiles realizes it's sheet music. He doesn't say anything as Derek gently places the music on the edge of his desk. "It's… Uh," he clears his throat. "My mother used to play. The sound of the piano helped calm my siblings and me down when we were pups. There was one song in particular that always helped me, and I was cleaning a few days ago when I discovered the music for it had apparently come out of the fire intact."

Derek's gaze hasn't left the ground since he started talking, and Stiles can no longer find it in himself to be annoyed or frustrated (at least not at Derek). He can only imagine how hard it must have been for Derek to tell him this, to open up and let out such personal information. So he just sort of nods before reaching over to pick up the music and look over it quickly.

He doesn't even have the chance to ask what the point of giving this to him was, though, because when he looks back up Derek has already fled the room. Stiles vaguely notes that the itching beneath his skin has stopped and that the hollow ache in his chest has dimmed to a dull empty feeling that's slightly more bearable. He's emotionally drained and completely exhausted so he finally turns his keyboard off and collapses on his bed. Right before he falls asleep for the first time in days, he thinks that this change in attitude is surely Derek's doing. What else could have calmed his racing thoughts and restless legs? He didn't feel fit enough to sleep till after Derek had visited, and the thought of Derek being the thing that sort of anchors him isn't as terrifying as it maybe should be.

He glances over at the sheets of music sitting on his desk, held loosely together by an old paper clip, and vows to start working on it as soon as he wakes up. But right now, though, sleep is calling, and he learned long ago that sleep is a gift not to be ignored. And if he dreams of a certain sourwolf in his child years, laying on a hardwood floor with other children, smiling as he listens to soft music waft throughout the house accompanied by the occasional giggle from one of the others… well, what Derek doesn't know won't hurt him.

RANT TIME ish... Basically, I have a few different mental disorders and it has always irked me that there are so many fics where Stiles has ADHD, but the author doesn't deal with the disorder realistically, either by just using it as a plot device to give him endless amounts of energy or just completely fudging up because they don't know how medication/symptoms ACTUALLY work, and it just... really bothered me. Yep. So I decided to try to write something dealing directly with that, and use my knowledge of mental disorders/how much it TOTALLY SUCKS to have them to help with that.

I stole the whole piano idea from myself, actually, because I have bipolar disorder which deals directly with very intense manic episodes, and sometimes the only thing that keeps me from literally tearing my own hair out and scratching at my arms and legs till I bleed is sitting down and putting all my concentration on playing piano. :)