Distracted, Summer asks, quietly, “Is it really that bad? I had thought things were getting better … is there any way I can help?” She lifts a hand from around Helios’ middle to put it on Stiles’ knee, a little frown creasing her eyebrows. Helios hunches down into cat-loaf mode, picking up on the mood change. He’s really quite sensitive to that sort of thing, for a cat.
“What?” Stiles asks, and it might be obvious in just that moment that he’s gotten entirely the wrong impression of what she’s asking about. He doesn’t flinch at the hand on his knee, but he does look confused. “I…Summer, it just kind of is, it’s ADHD, I live with it, it doesn’t really get better or worse, I just take my Adderall and some days the chemistry is better for me than others and some days I drink a whole gallon of milk and some days I realize I haven’t eaten in forty-eight hours…”
She blinks for a second before she figures out where he’d gone with that, then shakes her head, little bits of hair flying around. “I mean the … werewolf stuff. I thought that was better.” She ignores what he says about his ADHD — it doesn’t seem correct, based on what she’s studied, but he has bigger problems. That’s really not relevant in the face of the dementia, or whatever he thinks is trying to kill him now.
The fact that she even has to think that last bit makes her shudder and feel vaguely sick.