𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 | ❝ I will protect you until my dying breath. And every lifetime after that. ❞
They just can't catch a break.
Old and new enemies appear in Beacon Hills.
With the help of old and new allies, they have to...
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IT WAS TIME FOR TRYOUTS. Alaric stuffed his backpack into a locker in the locker room after he changed out of his school clothes. He tightened the drawstring of his shorts and straightened the black Under Armour shirt against his torso, listening to Scott tell them about accidentally kissing Kira in the halls before Econ.
"It was our first kiss since our actual first kiss," Scott said while putting on his lacrosse glove.
Alaric sat on the bench they were standing by so he could tighten the laces of his cleats.
"That's good. You kissed her," Stiles praised his best friend.
"I did," Scott agreed. "But I didn't."
"Was...Was it on the lips?" Stiles questioned.
"Yeah."
Alaric braced a hand on his knee, twisting his head up to his friends. "Was there tongue?"
"No, I...it was like how you kiss your grandmother when you're five."
Alaric snorted and Stiles responded. "Oh, chaste. You gave her a chaste kiss."
"Yeah, and now it's...it's all weird. It's all completely weird and I-I don't know what to do. Maybe I should text her."
Alaric groaned, shoving himself back up to his feet as Stiles said out loud what they were both thinking. "No. Just no with the texts."
Alaric dropped his arm around Scott's shoulders. "Stop texting people things like this, Scott. You gotta talk to her, live and in person."
The shrill ring of a whistle cut off the three friends as Coach entered the locker room with a clipboard in his hand. They turned toward Coach Finstock, awaiting his announcement before practice.
"As a reminder, it's an open tryout today," Coach called out through the room as the boys all turned to him, too. "All positions available. This is a rebuilding season, people. Jackson's gone, Lahey's gone. Greenberg, the one guy I actually wanted gone...was held back. Again. Get your asses on the field!"
Alaric finished getting his gear ready or on his body while Scott grabbed his lacrosse stick and gloves and helmet and cleats from the locker, running toward Coach.
Alaric had to shimmy the elbow guards up his arms, shifting his weight around on his feet in the cleats. They were still fairly new and he hadn't fully broken them in so they felt a little tight on his feet. He wasn't worried, he could handle a little pain until the blisters healed, but he cursed himself for not taking more time to break in the shoes.
He wasn't used to wearing cleats. Or holding a lacrosse stick. Or wearing guards.
His phone buzzed from his jacket pocket as he went to shut his locker, so, he stopped. As he reached for the device, he felt something on the bond. A tug, a pull toward Lydia, her wavy strawberry blonde hair flashing in his mind.
