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Saturday night is the bane of Will’s existence.
And a Saturday night following a massive win for the loudest, most obnoxious hockey team on the face of the Earth just makes it even worse.
When Will had signed on for the work study program, he had specifically requested to work in the library or in an admin position (maybe the registrar's office. He wasn't even picky), but during his interview, the woman in charge had taken one look at him, described him as “swole”, and signed him up for security at the campus pub with no further input from Will.
Will agrees without really considering it; he needs the money, and honestly he’s trying to come to terms with a woman in her forties using the word “swole” in all seriousness.
Really, though, he knows he’s a fairly intimidating guy, and his first few shifts at The Well go pretty smoothly, all things considered.
And then the hockey team shows up.
Half of them are at least as big as Will and somehow, despite the fact that The Well had already had about forty-five patrons, the arrival of the hockey team doubles the noise level in the bar.
It’s not karaoke night (Will had outright refused to work karaoke nights), but that isn’t stopping the giant blond with the glasses from serenading the almost equally large guy in the snapback, an arm thrown across his shoulders in a way that looks just a bit more than friendly.
There’s a much smaller blond perched on a bar stool, sipping from something violently pink and laughing along with yet another giant. This one is at least a little bit quieter, but he’s got the loudest one of the bunch, the one with the ridiculous moustache, standing behind him, leaning heavily against his back with both hands in his hair. Will is pretty sure that moustache and the tiny woman who’s arguing with the lacrosse douche by the bathroom are under the influence of something more than alcohol, but unless they do it in the bar, Will can’t do anything about it.
The slim, giggly guy, with the braces and the drunk flush is alternating between whispering to the tall girl attached to his hip and making out with her in the corner which, Will thinks, a little vindictively, is at least keeping him quiet.
And then there’s fucking Derek .
Will knows his name because the first time Derek had tripped over his own feet, one of his teammates, Moustache, specifically, had caught him like it was habit, popped him back on his feet and laughed about what a klutz ‘Derek’ is.
Derek has since tripped over his own feet three more times.
He’s wearing a wristband as well, but Will is sure that someone is slipping Derek alcohol because there is no way he’s even remotely sober right now.
Derek is perched on the bar , holding court with three women and two men (wtf) and Will doesn’t even know what to do with this.
“Relax,” Jenny tells him, patting him on the shoulder when he points out that people aren’t really supposed to sit on the bar, “This is nothing. We won’t even start Derek Patrol for another half hour or so.”
“I’m sorry,” Will says, “Derek Patrol?”
She says it like it’s a completely normal thing to say. Like it’s something they just do.
“Yeah,” Jenny says, “Did they not tell you about Derek Patrol?”
“They did not,” Will says.
“Oh,” she says, “Well Derek is great. I mean, we all love Derek. Just look at him,”
Will looks.
He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to be seeing.
“But that boy cannot hold his liquor to save his life,” Jenny continues.
“He’s only nineteen,” Will points out, “Where’s he even getting it from?”
“We don’t actually know?” Jenny offers, “But we haven’t been able to stop him yet. All we can do is make sure he stays safe. Hence, Derek Patrol.”
“So what,” Will asks, “we just follow him around and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?”
“Pretty much,” Jenny says with a shrug.
“What about his friends?” Will asks, “Shouldn’t this be their job?”
Jenny looks from Will to the group of hockey boys now occupying the dance floor and showing off a variety of levels of dance ability from ‘not too bad’ to ‘actual literal disaster’.
“Okay, fine,” Will says, crossing his arms over his chest, “So Derek Patrol.”
“Just keep an eye on him,” Jenny says, “Make sure he doesn’t leave with anyone sketchy, call an uber, or an ambulance, if things get out of hand.”
Will doesn’t even know what to say to that, but the nonchalant way in which Jenny tells him he may have to call an ambulance for this guy is more than a little bit concerning.
Luckily, the largest two hockey bros gather Derek up around quarter to two (though not before Will has stopped Derek from braining himself against the bar on three separate occasions) and let Will know they’ll make sure he gets back to his dorm safely.
Will figures he can probably trust these guys, and lets them guide the still somehow inebriated Derek out the door.
Will had figured that would be his last time on Derek Patrol for a while; after all, there are nearly ten bouncers on staff and it only makes sense to rotate through.
But somehow Will has ended up on Derek Patrol every time he and Derek have been at The Well at the same time (even once when Will hadn’t even been scheduled to work, although he had taken the offer of an impromptu shift and the associated paycheque without too much arguing).
Mandy tells Will that it’s because Derek behaves better when Will is watching him.
Will is ninety percent sure that that’s bullshit.
But here he is, on Derek Patrol again , and the hockey team is even rowdier than usual.
Apparently beating Yale on home ice is a big deal or something.
Will sighs as Derek tries to climb up onto a table for the second time since he walked in the door.
“Come on, man,” Will says, wrapping a hand gently around Derek’s ankle, “I told you before, you can’t be up there.”
“Then come get me down, Poindexter ,” Derek says, smirking down at him.
Will scowls against the blush he knows is rising on his cheeks.
“Just keep your feet on the fucking floor like everyone else,” Will says, offering Derek a hand to take because as much as he kind of wants to see Derek faceplant into the floor at this moment, he knows it’s his job to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Derek ignores his hand and hops off the table, his feet somehow tangling in midair so that he hits the ground on his knees instead.
“Fuck,” Derek says, wincing and bending in half to suck in a pained breath.
“That’s why we don’t dance on the table, bro,” Will can’t help pointing out. “I wasn’t dancing,” Derek says, grabbing Will’s forearm to drag himself upright with a groan, “I was orating .”
“You didn’t say a word until I came to get you,” Will points out, tightening his arm so Derek can use him more effectively.
“Can’t orate without an audience, Dexy,” Derek says, finally getting his feet back under him and letting his hand drop from Will's arm.
Will is definitely imagining the way Derek’s fingers brush across his bicep.
“Feet on the floor,” Will reiterates, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“We’ll see,” Derek says, tossing Will a wink and sauntering over to the rest of his team.
Derek does not keep his feet on the floor.
By one in the morning, Derek has his feet in the lap of a lacrosse douche who Will is sure has been supplying Derek with drinks throughout the night.
Will doesn’t want to cockblock Derek (or, well, he does, but he’s been steadfastly ignoring that impulse and the potential reasons for it for weeks now), but this situation rubs him the wrong way.
He approaches Adam and Justin where they’re wrapped around each other, deep in whispered conversation at the bar.
“Hey,” Will says, “Sorry to, uh, interrupt?”
“William!” Adam says, pulling back from Justin with a huge, toothy grin, “What can we do for you?”
“Uh,” Will says, “I was just wondering, like… Are we cool with that?”
Will gestures over to Derek, and notes that Derek now has his face pressed into the lacrosse douche’s neck, and the lacrosse douche has his hands working their way down low on Derek’s back.
“Who’s he with?” Justin asks, frowning.
“Some lacrosse player?” Will replies
“Fuuuuuuuck the LAX Bros,” Adam says vehemently.
“So I take it that’s a no?” Will says.
“That’s a definite no, m’dude,” Adam says, matching Justin’s frown.
“We’ll go get him,” Justin says, moving to get up and dragging Adam with him.
“No, it’s okay,” Will says, “I’ve got this. You two go back to… Whatever you were doing.”
“You sure?” Justin asks, at the same time as Adam says, “We were discussing whether we should have shower sex or wall sex when we get home. What do you think, Will?”
Justin, at least, has the sense to look mortified.
That’s why Justin is Will’s favourite.
“Okay, I’m going to go,” Will says.
“That would be best,” Justin chokes out.
Will hears the distinct sound of Justin cuffing Adam up the back of his head as he walks away.
Will has his hand clamped tightly onto the lacrosse douche’s shoulder before he really has a plan figured out.
“Uh, can I help you, bro?” the lacrosse douche sneers at Will over his shoulder.
“Get out,” Will snaps, somewhat less than professionally.
“You can’t just tell me to leave,” the lacrosse douche says.
Will looks down at his security t-shirt, then back to the lacrosse douche.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, “I can.”
“I don’t care who you are,” the lacrosse douche presses, “You can’t kick me out for no reason.”
“You’ve been giving drinks to a minor,” Will says, “How’s that for a reason?”
The lacrosse douche blanches, and finally takes his hands off of Derek’s ass.
“Tell you what,” Will says, “You leave now, and I won’t call the police.”
The lacrosse douche seems to consider it for a moment, before finally sighing and standing up.
“I’ll see you around, Derek,” he says pointedly. He leans over and gives Derek a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss before making his way out of the bar, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking bitch” under his breath as he goes.
“Dexy,” Derek whines to his left, “I was going to hit that,”
Will sighs. Of course Derek would be upset that Will had just rescued him from making terrible life choices with a gigantic asshole.
“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Will says, “My shift ends in twenty minutes. Do you think you can avoid doing something stupid for twenty minutes, and I’ll walk you home after?”
“Aww, William, you do care,” Derek says, batting his eyelashes at Will.
“Fuck off, Derek,” Will says.
He walks away before he gets the chance to say anything stupid.
Miraculously, Derek does manage to avoid doing anything stupid for a full twenty minutes. He sits at his table, dutifully drinks the water Will brings him, and politely waves off the woman from the soccer team when she sashays over at the end of the night.
He smiles sleepily up at Will when Will has finally gotten to grab his coat and gone to collect Derek from his table.
“Gonna take me home, Dexy?” Derek asks.
“Yeah,” Will says, slipping an arm under Derek’s and around his back and helping him stand up, “Where do you live?”
“Uh-uh,” Derek says, turning in Will’s arms and poking him hard in the chest, “You just said you were taking me home.”
“Yeah,” Will says, “I’m taking you to your home.”
“My roommate doesn’t like it when I bring boys home without telling him,” Derek says.
“Ha ha,” Will says, rolling his eyes, “Hilarious. Where do you live?”
Derek frowns, but ultimately gives Will directions to his dorm and allows himself to be bustled out into the cold.
It’s not a long walk, which is good because Derek is barely helping, and by the time they reach Derek’s building, Will is supporting nearly all of Derek’s not inconsiderable weight.
Will has fished Derek’s key out of his jacket pocket and is in the process of unlocking and opening Derek’s door when he feels Derek’s mouth latch onto the side of his neck.
Will can’t stop the quiet moan that escapes his throat, but he can and, after an embarrassingly long moment, does stop Derek from going any further.
He gently pushes Derek an arms length away from himself, holding tight to Derek’s shoulders until it looks like he’ll be able to hold himself upright.
“Will,” Derek says, stroking a thumb up and down Will’s bicep, “Let me…?”
“You are so drunk,” Will says, his voice coming out as a whisper.
Derek looks ready to argue, but then his face goes suddenly ashen and all he says is “I don’t feel good.”
Will has worked at The Well long enough to know what’s about to happen, and he quickly whips his hat off and holds it out in front of Derek, who promptly empties out the contents of his stomach into it.
When it looks like Derek has finished, Will takes back his hat, considers it for a moment, then drops it into a nearby trashcan.
“Come on,” Will says, returning to where Derek is leaning against the wall beside his door, “Let’s get you to bed.”
Will is standing in front of Derek’s door with a bottle of water in one hand, a bottle of Tylenol in the other, and an invitation to Jerry’s for the greasiest brunch money can buy on the tip of his tongue before he really lets himself consider what the hell he’s doing.
Just because Derek wanted him when he was drunk (and did he even want Will, or was Will just convenient?) doesn’t mean he’ll still want him now.
And inviting a guy into your bed doesn’t necessarily mean you want to date him.
And this is probably so unprofessional, holy shit.
Will’s internal narration has convinced him to quietly make his escape before anyone knows he was here, but of course that’s the exact moment Derek’s roommate opens the door.
He stares at Will with an odd look on his face for a moment before popping his head back around the door.
“Der,” Will hears him say, “I think this one’s yours.”
Will hears a sleepy groan from Derek in response, and steps aside to allow Derek’s roommate to pass.
A moment later, Derek appears in the doorway, somehow looking artfully messy instead of like a trainwreck.
Will has a moment to be borderline annoyed by that (really, what right does Derek have to look that sexy when he’s hungover?) before Derek clears his throat.
“Will,” he says, “Uh, hey.”
“Derek,” Will says, “I thought you might need something after last night. I mean, uh… How are you feeling?”
He winces internally at the sudden awkwardness.
“Oh,” Derek says, taking in what Will is holding out to him, “Thanks, bro.”
He goes through the motions of popping two pills while Will gathers the courage to get through the next part.
“So, I also thought, like,” Will starts, “If you wanted… Like maybe you would need a coffee? Or something? And maybe- I mean, I have time this morning. If you wanted to go. With me. For coffee.”
Will has never wished harder that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
But when he finally opens his eyes and looks back up, his entire face flushed a mortified red, Derek is smiling at him, wide and toothy and gorgeous in a way that makes Will's stomach swoop.
“I love coffee,” Derek says.
And, okay, nights when the hockey team show up to The Well are still crazy, and Derek is still an absolute disaster any time he gets even slightly tipsy, but when Will gets to drag Derek home after his shift, and curl up behind him in bed, and make sure that he’s safe and sound and comfortable, well. Will can think of worse ways to spend a Saturday night.