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The sound of heels clicking against the cold hospital floor echoed through the halls. A red mess of curls passed door after door, and pursed lips sneered at every passerby. Freddie Lounds, the famous redhead, stepped with a determination and purpose. She wore a colorful ensemble, with a black skirt and a green-blue-purple-patterned blouse. Along her shoulders draped a black scarf and with her perfectly pedicured toes a Giovani Donne red heel. These red heels slowed to a stop in front of a door. The door red 260 in dark letters. Freddie drew in a breath and opened the door.
In this room, there lied Abigail Hobbs. She sat in the bed, her eyes focused intently on a book on her lap. Lounds cleared her throat, and Abigail’s gaze flicked up to the woman standing there. “Are you ready for your interview?” Asked the headstrong journalist. Abigail swallowed and nodded, slowly closing her book. The name American Psycho flashed on the cover as the book closed shut.
“That's a curious book to be reading at this time,” observed Lounds.
Her eyebrow raised slightly in questioning, and Abigail shrugged it off. Obviously she didn't care much for small talk. Lounds lowered onto the edge of the bed slowly, and an anxious Abigail played with her hands for a bit. Lounds began with a few basic questions, such as “where are you from?” “what was your childhood like?” And “do you know why your father killed and ate multiple women?” And so on.
As Abigail was answering the questions, a click sounded and Lounds suddenly stopped her questions. She turned off her recorder and turned around as the door opened. A man with curly hair stepped into the room, and another, older, man came in. Lounds sighed, annoyed, as the taller man began to speak. “I think it's time you finished up that interview, Ms. Lounds,” he said with a smooth Lithuanian accent.
“Dr. Lecter,” Lounds sighed, with a twinge of nervousness in her inflection, “I didn't expect for you to be visiting today. Don't you have patients?”
Hannibal smiled, a cold, terrifying smile, and responded, “Im seeing one of my patients now.” He gestured to the shorter man, Will Graham.
Will stood silently, his strong arms fixed directly in his pockets. He seemed to not be one for speaking. “If you could go so I could speak with Abigail-” Hannibal began, before Lounds cut him off saying,
“I'm conducting an interview. Official journalist business, and all.”
Will smirked slightly, and Lounds looked over at him, her eyes flashing. Will then spoke up, in a lowered and gentle, yet forceful, voice, “I think you need to go.”
Lounds sighed, before standing up. She brushed past the two, her big red hair slapping Hannibal in the face on the way out. Will released his hands from his pockets and walked toward Abigail, who had been observing the entire altercation with clear anxiety. “Did you say anything?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to portray affection.
Abigail shrugged, before responding quietly, “I didn't say much, she hadn't gotten too deep into the interview before you arrived.”
Hannibal smiled softly, almost in relief.
“Good. How are you, Abigail?” Hannibal questioned, sitting in a chair next to the bed.
“I'm okay…” Abigail responded. Will smiled at her, before his feeble attempt at a conversation began.
As time moved, the three's conversation slowed to a gentle stop. Eventually Hannibal and Will said their goodbyes, and made their way back to Dr. Lecter’s house In silence. Will and Hannibal’s arms were side by side in the car, and Will could feel the heat radiating off of the doctor. Will’s stomach churned at the thought of Abigail being manipulated by Lounds. Freddie had always wanted a huge story, and Will believed that Freddie wanted Abigail and her horrific story to be that ‘hit.’ He felt warmth in his hand and suddenly realized that Hannibal had slid his palm over Will’s, slowly intertwining their fingers together. Graham could feel his heart speed up as all thoughts of Freddie and Abigail floated away. Will was completely distracted by the strong grip of Hannibal. As they arrived to the psychiatrist’s sprawling mansion, Will was sadly disappointed as he felt Hannibal’s touch fade away.
They both stepped out of the car in a comfortable silence, and as they stepped into the house Will couldn't get his heartbeat to slow. Hannibal stepped into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of vintage wine from a cabinet. Will watched the ex-surgeon’s hands as he opened the wine bottle, pulled out two glasses, and slowly poured the crimson liquid into the glass. He placed the wine in Will’s hands before slipping into the living room. Will followed closely behind him, and they both settled into two chairs opposite each other. Will could hardly focus on what Hannibal was saying, he was only watching his lips as Hannibal went on about some sort of existential musings. It was plenty interesting, sure but Will could only focus on his body, his movements, his eyes. Hannibal stood up suddenly, and Will immediately snapped out of his spell. “Will,” Hannibal said gently. Will stood up too, placing his glass on the small table next to his chair. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted,” Hannibal observed. Will could’ve sworn he saw a sort of glint in Hannibal’s eyes, but he decided that he had to have imagined it. There was no way. Dr. Lecter stepped closer, and Graham’s chest suddenly rose as he drew a quick breath. The psychiatrist stood over Graham, looking directly into his eyes. Will was uncomfortable with eye contact, yes, but there was something about Hannibal that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.
Hannibal slowly reached up, and Graham found himself holding his breath as hannibal slowly placed a hand on the side of Will’s face. “Will…” Hannibal began, before Will impulsively closed the gap between the two in a kiss. Hannibal was frozen for a second, and a million thoughts rushed through Will’s head. It seemed like ages, while only a millisecond, until Hannibal kissed him back, roughly. There was a certain hunger in his kiss, a longing and release of pent up energy that Will hadn’t expected.
Hannibal suddenly broke the kiss and connected his forehead to Will’s whilst they breathed heavily.
Hannibal whispered breathily to him, “Why don’t we take this upstairs?”
And, swallowing his anxiety, Will nodded.