Chapter Text
The 87th Lane is alive, warm bodies clustered together, contrasting the chill of the January air. Will pushes through the door followed by Leno, Gabe, and Voter who lets the door swing shut behind him. The dim lighting makes it difficult to recognize any faces, but Will is sure he sees a girl from his digital media lecture.
He leans in to make himself heard over the blaring music, “hey, Leno, isn’t that—what’s her name, Stacy?”
“What? The blonde one?”
Will rolls his eyes at Leno’s curiosity and insistence, “c’mon Smitty point her out, please”
He makes this pouty face before Gabe shoves at his shoulder, pushing him toward the bar. Ryan responds with some smart quip, which Will assumes is something about Gabe’s lack of “game,” based on Voter’s snort.
Ignoring their usual antics, Will slides onto a barstool. A shaggy brunette bartender makes his way over to the boys. As he moves closer, Will can make out his nametag, Macklin, it reads. He’s young—but obviously above 18, if he’s manning the bar.
“Hey uh, what can I get you guys?” he shifts back and forth, eyes bouncing between the group awkwardly.
They all order some variation of beer, Mack is quick to scamper away to grab said drinks. Nobody mentions the awkward interaction. Ryan and Voter talk about some frat party coming up at BU; BU is their rival school, but BC doesn’t have frats, so sacrifices must be made. Despite Will’s insistence that there're parties on campus, Leno is convinced they have to have the ‘proper frat experience.’
He can’t argue with that, because he does wish they had frats on campus. Right now, however, Will’s eyes are glued to the TV above the bar broadcasting an NHL game, Sharks v. Bruins. Pastrnak delivers a wrist shot, the puck slices through the air right above the Shark’s goalie’s left shoulder. There’s a resounding cheer through the bar just as a glass of beer is placed in front of Will.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, making eye-contact with Macklin before he shifts to give the rest of the guys their drinks.
Leno raises his drink, “cheers to Gabe’s shitty taste in beer.”
“Don’t forget your excellent ability to drive women away,” Will winks as Ryan sputters out a response.
They clink glasses, Will taking a gracious sip of his own before setting it back against the bar. The game now draws most of their attention, and eventually another worker wanders over their way. He’s older, and quite built in Will’s opinion, towering over the bar. His nametag reads Geno, and he speaks with a thick accent, Russian.
“Your drinks are all good?” he questions, Gabe nods politely, followed by the rest of them.
After a moment a voice calls for Geno and he abandons the counter and makes his way to the back.
A few more drinks have the group spread out across the building. Gabe and Voter are attempting to play pool while Leno chats it up with the girl they're trying to play against. Will was playing with them, but he wandered off to get another round for the group. While absentmindedly scrolling his phone waiting for a bartender, he feels somebody slide into the seat next to him. He glances up from his tiktok to meet eyes with a man about his own age. He’s got this clean church goer look to him, but Will can’t say much.
“Saw you sitting here all alone, thought you could use some company.” he speaks with a slight rasp, words laced with a slight slur from alcohol.
Maybe it’s the buzz beneath his skin, or the lack of his friends inhibiting him. Will Props his arm up on the bar and leans in, “Well, I’m Will, you from around here?”
“More or less,” the man shrugs before placing a hand on Will’s knee, “but why don’t I buy you a drink and we can get out of here?”
Will’s eyebrows raise at that, and he leans back slightly. A glance around shows that nobody is paying attention to the two men just a tad too close in this Boston bar.
“Oh I don’t know, I mean how old are you?” he questions, but the man shifts closer. His hand goes to move up Will’s thigh, but he grabs his wrist and pushes it away.
He moves his knee in a way as to block Will against the bar as he lowers his voice to a whisper, “you and I both know you’ll come home with me one way or another.”
“I mean c’mon, you were looking at me with those pretty eyes of yours.” A smile creeps onto this guy's face, and Will grimaces.
“Look–I’m just not interested in hooking up right now, so go find another guy to bother.” Will shoves at the guy's leg, lifting himself from his chair.
The music is quiet behind the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears, and he’s sure his palms are damp from nerves. He’s turning his head to see if Leno or Gabe had wandered over to get him when a sharp pain has him whirling back to look at his arm. The man is still sitting, but he’s got his hand wrapped around Will’s wrist, nails digging into the soft flesh. Before Will can tell him to let go, he twists his arm sharply, forcing Will to sit down with an aborted gasp.
“You whores just think you can deny a paying customer?” The man’s breath is hot against Will’s face, reeking of alcohol.
Will’s only thought is what? Does he think I’m a prostitute?
The absurd nature of the situation does not take away from the fact this guy is plastered, and has got his arm in a vice grip.
“Get the hell off of him you creep!” a familiar voice echoes through Will’s mind, before the man in front of him is suddenly face first into the bar.
He blames it on the alcohol clouding his judgement, but Will can’t help but sit there for a moment staring at his wrist with bruises already blooming where the man’s hand just was. Another set of hands rests on his shoulder and upper arm and he glances up, meeting Gabe’s confused eyes.
“You good?” Will doesn’t respond at first, but eventually he nods, still trying to take in the situation.
The lights are suddenly turned on, and there is a collective groan from across the bar. However, there is also the sound of shouting and Will vaguely recognizes the sound of glass breaking. After a moment he opens his eyes again to see Geno shoving the creep away and Macklin doing the same to Leno. Will shoots out of his seat and stumbles toward the commotion. Gabe follows him, and he notices Voter talking to Macklin and Ryan.
“Wait! Don’t kick him out man, he was trying to protect me or whatever.” Will is placing himself slightly in front of Leno to try and talk to Macklin.
“No can do— you fight, you're out.” the man responds with a flat tone, annoyance flashes in his eyes.
Will goes to argue again but Voter makes eye contact and shakes his head, signaling for him to leave it. So, he follows Macklin who is escorting Leno out the building. Leno mutters some choice words under his breath as he stomps forward toward the street.
“Asshole thinks he can touch whoever he wants,” he’s clumsily pulling out his phone, “I’m getting us a damn Uber.”
Nobody speaks, the only noise being the music leaking out the 87th Lane. Eventually the Uber pulls up and they all pile in the back, Leno makes Voter and Gabe get in first so he can sit next to Will and look at his arm. Will just gazes out the window at the passing buildings while his mind drifts toward that bartender. He can’t help but feel bad, bar fights must be common, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t annoying.
Anything to get his mind off of the lingering sensation of nails piercing his skin. When Leno prods at a particularly sensitive spot, Will tenses and Leno murmurs an apology. There is this quiet moment where he slumps against the car door, and for a second he can believe that nothing bad ever happens here. Maybe he’s just drunk.
The car stutters to a stop, and they bail out onto the sidewalk near their dorms. Will pulls his jacket tighter at a particularly cold gust of wind. He knows that in the morning they’ll all have to talk about this, but tonight Will lets muscle memory take him up the stairs to his dorm. He doesn’t shower, but he lays on his back staring at the dorm ceiling. He can compartmentalize, he can make this into nothing. He can go back to that stupid bar and apologize to that bartender, and never have to think about it again.