Work Text:
He plays the piano almost every evening just as the day dissolves into night.
A spell is cast.
Air stirs and enchantment spreads slipping round corners and underneath doors.
A book closes, a sigh escapes. There is no point in fighting it, the summoning, that battle was lost sometime ago.
Perhaps like an enchanted offering, Will floats through the air to his master’s side. Or maybe he walks barefoot and sure to his adoring lover. Will has long considered it to be both.
Either way he’s an audience of one listening as Hannibal plays to the dark of the room.