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It took about a week for Will’s concussion to subside and Will was looking forward to feeling himself again. He was starting to get cabin fever and wanted to be able to at least fish. He even got a go-ahead from Hannibal, he just had to wait a full week. Going to bed on the sixth night Will was only feeling a little tired, no pain in his head at all, so he was excited at the prospect of a normal day in the morning.
What Will was not expecting was not being able to breathe when he woke up.
Will normally got up well after Hannibal with the smell of breakfast wafting through their cabin. The sun was barely peeking above the dark horizon when his heavy eyes slit open. He was lying on his side, facing away from Hannibal who was sleeping peacefully on his back, left hand resting on his stomach. Will’s head felt like a cotton ball was stuffed up his nostrils, a wet drip leaking from his nose that he wiped away. He sniffed and could feel an ache in his muscles, and a sheen of sweat on his skin was making him shiver.
Will tugs the blankets over himself and curls in, closing his eyes to try and fall back asleep. It was hard when your nose is blocked and now you feel warm from the blankets when you were cold not a moment before. He starts to toss and turn in the bed, trying to not jostle the mattress much but no one said Hannibal was a heavy sleeper.
Will sighs heavily. He is facing Hannibal now, punching at his pillow to try and get it comfy when he feels the back of Hannibal’s hand on his forehead. He stills as Hannibal checks him, his hand shifting over his forehead and to his cheek. Will’s sniffs, letting out a shaky sigh as memories of his encephalitis start to creep out of their door in his mind.
“It... it isn’t?” Will tries to ask, his voice sounding strained from his plugged nose. Hannibal leans forward and presses his nose to Will’s temple, taking in a breath.
“No, you simply have caught a common cold. Most likely from your time in the snow,” Hannibal replies and gently cards his hand through Will’s hair. Will leans into the touch, sighing. Guess this means no fishing just yet.
“What time is it?” Will mumbles, the morning sun still barely lighting up the sky. He can feel Hannibal shift to look at their alarm clock.
“Almost four in the morning.” Will groans and rubs his face. “Keep your eyes closed,” Hannibal says as he turns on the lamp from the bedside table. Will can feel a drip from his nose and sniffs, lifting the sheet to rub the excess. “Will,” Hannibal chides, “that is distasteful.”
Will relaxes back into the pillow and slits his eyes open to see a disapproving look from the man lying next to him. “So, kill me,” Will says flatly and turns onto his other side, facing away. “Eat me up.” Hannibal sighs softly and shifts closer, brushing back Will’s hair again.
“I’ll go make you breakfast,” Hannibal says quietly and presses a kiss to Will’s temple. At the thought of being alone in bed makes Will feel even worse and blurts out, “No.” Hannibal had just sat up but stops.
“I’m not hungry. And besides, it’s fucking early. ” Will wipes his nose on the sheet again and he can feel Hannibal bristle behind him.
“There are perfectly good tissues on the nightstand, Will. In the meantime, I will run you a bath. The warm water will help,” Hannibal says as he shuffles off the bed. Will sighs and watches him, eyes trained on the sharp angle of Hannibal’s hips and the way his pajamas hug his bottom. Once he had disappeared into the bathroom Will slowly sits up. His shirt is stuck to his skin from sweat and there is a heavy feeling in his chest. His sinuses are stuffed, and his head feels like the cotton ball is trying desperately to escape his skull. Getting up from the bed he shuffles to the kitchen to get a glass of water, having a coughing fit along the way. Glancing outside the window he can see the tip of Apollo’s tail from his bed, the sun blanketing the area in a soft orange. After finishing the glass of water, he blows his nose with an actual tissue and winces at the glob of greenish-yellow on the sheet. He tosses away the mess in the trash and makes his way back to the master bathroom.
In terms of bathroom size, this one was large. Will felt like it should be an office, no one needs a bathroom this big, but Hannibal enjoys his luxuries. Smooth marble tiles lined the floor with soft grey bathroom rugs. The sink countertop matched the marble, and the step-in shower was built into the back wall. The focus point in the bathroom was, of course, the tub. Smooth white with golden feet and matching faucets, it sat in the middle of the room. Hannibal was sitting on the edge, watching the water flow from the faucet. He glanced up when Will walked in, but Will avoided his gaze.
There was a three-legged stool next Hannibal that Will took, the older man’s gaze never leaving him. After settling in the seat Will scoots closer to Hannibal and leans against his shoulder. Will takes in a breath and closes his eyes, mumbling an apology about being rude to the sheets before.
“You’re not that sorry,” Hannibal hums, “but I appreciate the gesture.” Will turns to press his forehead into Hannibal’s shoulder and the pressure helps relieve some of the pain in his sinuses. Listening to the water fill the tub reminds Will of the stream he would often visit when he was Chilton’s psychiatric facility, and it almost lulls him to sleep after a few minutes of it. The sound of Hannibal’s voice wakes him then as he says, “The bath is ready,” and he turns off the faucets.
Will pulls away from Hannibal and stands, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. Will shifts out of his boxers too and Hannibal picks up the discarded clothes like a doting husband and tosses them into the laundry basket. His eyes Will out of the corner of his eye to watch him sink into the tub, and Will cannot help the small blush that creeps up his skin. The small fever he had most likely covered the blush but knowing Hannibal he knew the difference.
Submerged in the water now Will leans his head back against the tub. The warmth was soothing to his aching muscles and the steam was clearing out his nose. He took a few sniffs and glanced at Hannibal who was getting a small washcloth from under the sink. “What did you put in the bath?” Will asks, watching Hannibal grab the stool and set it at the front of the tub, behind Will’s head.
“Peppermint oil, it’ll help your sinuses,” Hannibal says as he settles in the seat. He dips the washcloth into the water and brings it to the top of Will’s head. Will closes his eyes as Hannibal squeezes the cloth, the water cascading down his head and face.
“Are you mad at me?” Will asks, feeling a coldness in the air despite the warmth of the water surrounding him. Hannibal cleans away the sweat from Will’s hair, hands gentle as they card through the wet black strands.
“What am I supposed to be mad at you for?” Hannibal asks and Will sighs, trying to open his eyes but there is another rush of water down his face.
“Because I was rude,” Will says, spitting out water as he spoke from what fell into his mouth.
“As they say, it is part of your charm,” Hannibal replies, as calm as ever. Will huffs and sits up, turning so he can face him, disrupting the water with his movements. Will looks a mess. His hair is wet and dripping, the strands sticking to his skull. There are dark bags under his stormy blue eyes and a look that could kill if he were not scrunching his nose to sniff what was dropping from his sinuses. Hannibal’s lips curl up slowly in a smile, adoration sparkling in his eyes despite how disheveled Will looks in the moment. He loves Will in any and all forms he came in.
With only his eyes, Will glances down into the tub then back up at Hannibal, an invitation. Hannibal ticks his head to the side just slightly, the words clever boy on the tip of his tongue but never makes it out into the air. He sets the washcloth on the side of the tub and stands. Will watches with interest as Hannibal undresses, folding, and setting the clothing on the stool painstakingly slow that Will has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from demanding he go faster.
Finally undressed, Hannibal steps into the tub and sinks into the water. Will stares at the far wall out of courtesy, even if seeing Hannibal naked was not anything new. Hannibal lets out a pleased sigh through his nose and leans back, resting his arms on either side of the tub. Will turns then, back to Hannibal’s chest, and lies against him. He grabs Hannibal’s arms, wrapping them around himself and they tighten immediately, Hannibal never missing the opportunity to hold him close. Hannibal rests his cheek against Will’s head and closes his eyes, his thumb gently caressing Will’s arm. Will’s scent of morning rain is mixed with the sourness of his cold and Hannibal wishes he were god-like enough to fix it instantly.
Will feels extremely safe in Hannibal’s arms despite everything that has happened between them. Even during all the manipulations and murder attempts, the one place Will felt relaxed enough to even be himself was in Hannibal’s presence. Even Hannibal’s kitchen, where Will knew human remains were cut and prepared, where the body of Randall Tier lay, was a place Will felt the most at ease.
Will turns his head, cheek resting against Hannibal’s skin and he can hear the soft beating of Hannibal’s heart. He tries to sink even deeper into Hannibal, wanting to be engulfed by him. Fear and anxiousness start to bubble to the surface of his mind as he starts thinking about all the things that could take these moments from him, and his throat tightens at the thoughts. It makes him cough and he quickly lifts a hand to cover his mouth.
Something excruciatingly sweet tickles Hannibal’s nose and he realizes Will is scared. His grip loosens on the younger man and he lifts his head to look down at him, voice laced with concern, “Are you alright? You just have a cold, Will. Nothing to be distressed about.” Will swallows a few times to get his throat clear and he sighs, flopping his head heavily back onto Hannibal’s chest.
“I’m not worried about being sick, just mad about it,” He tries to deflect, but Hannibal can see straight through it, straight through him, as he always has.
“You’re diverting from the main problem, Will,” Hannibal chides.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it,” Will says, glaring at the rippling water.
“Talking about whatever is bothering you would be therapeutic, Will,” Hannibal says, his tone chipper and Will huffs out a laugh which pulls him into another coughing fit. Hannibal apologizes for making him cough and gently rubs his arms. Will’s throat eventually relaxes and his coughing stops.
“I only have one true fear now, Hannibal. And you already know what it is.” They both hush and the silence extends for longer than anyone wanted.
“I will never let them catch us, Will,” Hannibal finally says in a soft murmur, his thumb still gently caressing his skin.
“I know, but doesn’t mean I don’t still worry,” Will replies, turning his ear to Hannibal’s chest again to listen to the music of his heartbeat. Hannibal kisses the top of his head and holds him close, letting Will close his eyes and drift off.
“We will survive, Will. And we will thrive .” Is the last thing Will hears before sinking into sleep.