Work Text:
Normally, philosophy was one of Hannibal’s favorite subjects. But today, the lecture couldn’t capture his attention. He tapped his pen idly on his notebook, lost in thought. Glancing up at the wall clock, it was five to noon, class was nearly over anyway. He tucked his pen into its elastic band on the ledger side of the notebook and stood up as he heard the clock tower outside begin its first of twelve stately bongs.
It was a beautiful day out. The high noon sun shone brightly, the rain clouds from the morning no longer hanging overhead. The air smelt damp and woody, the way it always did after a rain shower. The breeze brought a brisk chill, but the sunlight poured warmth over the scattering of students walking across the plaza, many of them between classes and looking to grab a bite.
Hannibal walked out quickly from the lecture hall, heading across a path shadowed by tall eucalyptus trees. He unwrapped his scarf, warm from the sun, but also by anticipation. He carried only his ledger and a paper sack lunch, which he’d begun packing every day for the last week or two.
The path wound down towards a pond. Several stone benches dotted the shoreline, strategically placed under large oak trees. At various times of the day, these benches were often occupied, but perhaps due to the rain, they were mostly empty today. Hannibal situated himself at the one he had frequented earlier in the week, as it gave him a generous view of the pond and the other benches. He leaned back, took a long breath of cool fresh air, and noted the peace and quiet around him. Only a few birds tweeted, but they weren’t what interested him.
At one of the other benches sat a young man, Hannibal guessed they were probably close to the same age, perhaps he was a year or two older as he did not recognize the boy from any of his own classes. The university wasn’t large, and the social sciences graduate campus even smaller, but Hannibal had noticed this same young man often sitting at the pond benches. He was always lost in concentration, often with his nose in a book, seemingly completely unaware of everything and everyone around him. Today, he was wearing a wrinkled button-down shirt and black striped necktie under a faded black tweed blazer. The tie was loosened and undone, his hair a mop of unruly dark curls. To say he looked unconcerned by his relaxed appearance would probably be an understatement.
Hannibal smiled to himself and unwrapped his sandwich. In contrast, Hannibal’s pressed Oxford shirt and tie, under a burgundy red cashmere-wool blend sweater, was perfectly coordinated. Hannibal felt one couldn’t be their best unless they looked their best. And every day was a good day to be one’s best.
After the sandwich was finished, Hannibal produced a freshly sharpened pencil from his ledger and opened his lecture notebook. Flipping past the page of unfinished philosophy notes to the next blank page, he began to sketch the young man reading his book. He loved watching the comings and goings of expressions as they crossed the young man’s face, engrossed in the worn paperback he was reading.
Suddenly, the clock tower rang out. 1pm. The young man jolted with a start, glancing at his wrist watch to confirm what the clock tower was already telling him. He started grabbing at items on the bench, and quickly got to his feet and scrambled up the embankment towards campus.
Hannibal watched until the slender figure had disappeared around the closest building. He chuckled as he slowly put down his pencil and studied his notebook. He’d managed a satisfactory rendering in the less than one hour he’d had his subject available. Flipping a few pages previous, he looked at a different drawing of the same man sketched earlier in the week, this time dozing on the bench with a balled up sweater stuffed unceremoniously under his dark curly head. And another. The lines were graceful and fluid, and there was an artistry in capturing the elegant forms that the young man effortlessly etched into both shadow and light. Hannibal enjoyed sketching many things, but when he found a subject that particularly interested him, he could draw it endlessly, never tiring of the new details he noticed and committed to paper and memory. This young man’s inexplicable beauty had become his muse.
The next day, Hannibal didn’t have class but he still planned to be on campus before noon. It felt nice to have a place to go, even if he wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere in particular. Pulling on his favorite sky blue shirt and tie combination, and a charcoal grey double breasted coat, he stole a look in the mirror and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. Grabbing an apple, his notebook and freshly-sharpened pencil, he practically skipped down towards the pond. It wasn’t every day that Hannibal would find his young man here, but the anticipation that, on this particular day, he might... well, that made it even more exciting.
It appeared luck might not be on his side today. He approached the only open bench and noted that the others were occupied, but not by his muse. ‘No matter,’ he thought as he sat, ‘I can just enjoy the day.’ He took the pencil from his ledger and started sketching the clock tower, which he could make out over the tops of the oak trees. The noon sun grew warm enough for him to remove his coat, which he carefully folded and draped over one end of the bench.
At one point, he left the bench to get a different angle of the clock tower arches, a shadow had made the details difficult to visualize. Once he was satisfied, he turned back towards the pond and his bench only to find that someone was sitting there, a worn paperback obscuring the face.
Hannibal’s breath caught as he recognized the young man. He also noticed his grey coat, still folded, a few feet from the man. Apparently coats didn’t hold one’s place in the world of benches. He slowly approached the bench, trying to think of what he should say. He had thought often of how he would initiate conversation with the young man, when the eventual time came, but he had not anticipated it would be this day, this moment. None of what he’d planned felt appropriate. His heart began to race, yet his feet carried him forward. He noticed the man’s slim figure, the brown slacks and collared shirt, covered by a large chocolate brown boxy sweater. It looked warm and comfortable, and inviting, and…
Suddenly he was standing right in front of the young man, not a word in his mouth to say. A pair of striking dark blue eyes peeked up at him, over the edge of the paperback, the eyebrows playfully raised yet hidden under a tangle of brown curls. “Well, hello,” the young man said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I was wondering when you’d finally come introduce yourself, but I wasn’t thinking I’d have to steal your coat first.” He lowered his book and a playful grin slowly spread across his face, “I’m William, but people call me Will.” And he extended his hand out to Hannibal, who found himself completely disarmed by his beautiful muse.