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“If you had asked me before what deterred me most from running away from you, I would not have said the dinner parties.”
Hannibal turns slightly to give Will a warning look and then knocks on the door in front of them.
“To be clear, this is now the last thing I want to do with my life. I thought I was running away from social expectations of myself? Don’t you want me to be my true self?”
Hannibal gives him a half-amused half-exasperated side glance but waits quietly for the door to open, silently telling Will to do the same before their acquaintances open the door to hear such rudeness.
The mask slides over Hannibal’s face so smoothly that Will could almost forget it wasn’t there this whole time. A warm—if not slightly mischievous—smile lights up his face, and he greets their hosts charmingly.
Will tries to shape his grimace into something that looks more like a grin as he enters a step behind.
“Ah, the elusive housemate! William, yes? So good to finally meet you,” a man with a dark beard says, grasping Will’s shoulder before he shakes his hand firmly.
“Not so elusive as just constantly drawn to the sea, this one.” Hannibal’s hand settles right between Will’s shoulder blades as he receives a steady stream of excessively friendly handshakes. Europeans touch him way more than American men ever did. He’s pretty sure he can count on two hands the number of times his father hugged him past the age of 11.
He can smile friendly enough as they migrate slowly from the front door to the tour of the remodelled kitchen to martinis on the patio as the sun falls beneath the horizon. He can add to the conversation enough when they finally make it to the dining room table, lit only by a dim chandelier and the stars outside. He has good enough quips and comments that he makes people laugh more often than he makes them shuffle awkwardly, and his cover is easy enough to play. He can distract himself from the connections of his mind by following the movements of the cat peeking from behind the flowing curtains of the room.
It’s an unspoken relief when the rest of the attendees slip back into Italian for a while before remembering his presence and apologizing as if he’s not the one who hasn’t put enough effort into learning the language of his own place of residence. And after tonight, he’ll be able to burrow back into his solitude again for a little while. Unfortunately, social image is even more important when you’re on the run.
There are two couples, the Russo’s and the Moretti’s, and an apparent bachelor named Arturo with dark features and a well-groomed beard, the man who was so eager to meet him. Will waits for some mention of a wife, which is silly because he can clearly see the absence of a wedding band on his finger.
Will can gather that Arturo is Hannibal’s main connection to these friends. He’s the one who has an art studio and a wealth of knowledge about marble sculptures and who goes to their house to have lunch on the patio at least weekly when Will is working at the shop by the marina. Will doesn’t find him all that likeable, with a clearly inflated ego and sly comments slipped into each conversation.
“To new friends and another day well-fed,” Arturo says sentimentally as the main course is served, eyeing Hannibal when he raises his glass in an impromptu cheer over the table. Will knows the appropriate smile to put on his face, even if the stretch of his lips feels like a lot of effort right now.
Will tries to settle into their dinner party with the same comfort he tries to exude settling into their life. And similarly to their new life, it is easier with every sip of alcohol. Like his new life, it carries on whether he’s ready or not.
It’s probably due to some subtle zoning out that it goes so smoothly without any epiphanies or disasters. He’s not entirely present most days. He always thought something would just click into place eventually.
Bite after bite, he sets steak on his tongue and manages to swallow, and it’s not a struggle, and it’s not a revelation; he just knows he can do it.
He supposes it’s a bit of a revelation to realize he hasn’t had any revelations since he tumbled over the cliff, which was more of a decision of fate and circumstance than an epiphany.
It makes sense that seeing himself in relation to other people brings some clarity about how strange his life is. No one here knows that he’s that ex-FBI informant who had his life ripped to shreds by the most notorious serial killer in his little part of the world before running away with said serial killer, only to end up in some kind of domestic dream world together in a villa in Italy.
It doesn’t feel wrong, and it doesn’t feel right, and he doesn’t know how he ever imagined himself to make a decision that was devoid of any regrets. His life is defined by the multitudes of clashing feelings in his chest, the fight between the monster and the softer flesh that tries to withstand the scales ripping out of his skin. The monster isn’t leaving, and he doesn’t think he’s crazy for wanting to keep some of that soft flesh on his bones still.
It has been almost six months now. All things considered, it’s nice. There’s a lightness to the freedom here, to—usually—avoid people other than Hannibal. He can manage Hannibal when it’s only the two of them. More than that, he can consistently and tremendously enjoy Hannibal’s presence when it’s only the two of them. He could never quite forget how well they got along in earnest.
He wakes to a smile and coffee, one in a mug and one in a little to-go cup for his trip to work, where he has to latch onto some alone time for his sanity. Every decadent meal somehow tastes better as time goes on, as he begins to appreciate flavour profiles more than he ever thought possible. He has his fill of whiskey and wine and their conversations loosen up when their cheeks flush with rushing blood.
There aren’t many boundaries between them, really. There were hiccups when Hannibal wanted to know everything he could about Molly and Walter, barely hiding the ways he was trying to gauge and compare how much Will opened up to them.
He doesn’t have much sympathy for the time Hannibal was incarcerated. It felt only fair after what he went through. Nonetheless, there’s a different kind of satisfaction he has discovered in making Hannibal happy. In admitting that yes, he never felt like anyone else could truly understand him and no, he never felt quite settled in his banal life, that even all of his hobbies felt flat after their connection severed. He still has the urge to spite Hannibal by rejecting his tastes, but the closeness of accepting Hannibal into his life is admittedly unmatched.
He feels happier, even with their simple life. They haven’t killed again, not yet, though they have discussed it at length, held over by fantasies and memories until they find opportunity and inspiration and, ideally, a new home to take root in. Will thinks he deserves this peace, anyway.
They do other things together now. Hannibal helps him tie his lures with a surgeon’s precision and passes him tools from the toolbox while he leans patiently against the workstation in the garage. Will is designated sous-chef and chuckles every time he is promoted to a slightly more difficult task under Hannibal’s watchful eye. Their chess scoreboard grows bigger and bigger but rarely deviates from its frustratingly competitive tie, which is similar for most games they play. Sometimes they even take trips to the sea with extravagantly packed lunches and champagne. Other nights are quiet, reading on opposite ends of the sofa or napping as Hannibal plays his instruments or draws. Sometimes it feels like he could be satisfied forever simply with this nice company.
The intimacy might not have been possible if it wasn’t for the time they spent healing. Immediately after the fall, Chiyoh helped them sail to a broken-in waterfront cabin where they rest and fought infection on either side of a double bed. Tending to each other's wounds and speaking in tired voices made a new dynamic take root between them. He had always felt tenderness from Hannibal, but it hadn’t always felt so safe. His old scars stopped burning, and he began to look forward to the way that Hannibal’s fingers brushed his cheek as he checked his stitches. There was no energy left to fight Hannibal, and the excuse became a blessing until he forgot all about the desire to kill him completely.
Instead, they travelled across the sea with forged papers and settled into a life together without ever speaking the decision aloud. They both knew there was nowhere else to go. He wants Hannibal in this way, and he doesn’t want anyone else to have him.
It’s easier than he ever expected, but he can admit that it’s only easy because Hannibal makes it so. He doesn’t quite understand it. He’s positive the tough therapy will return one day and force him to face the things he is still repressing. He’s not even sure if Hannibal is aware of Will’s avoidance of certain feelings.
He takes a long sip of wine and tries to blink back into focus. His energy drops faster now when he’s with other people, and he needs to work harder at being nice. Thankfully, he doesn’t come across as all that interesting compared to Hannibal, who the rest know as a well-travelled and highly-regarded polymath and aesthete by the name of Mykolas. He thrives on the constant attention and praise, and it never seems to falter.
“When I am at Mykolas’, even lunch is a performance,” Arturo says, a hand on the back of Hannibal’s neck. He looks at Will. “I can scarcely imagine what dinner must be like. You are lucky to have such a housemate.”
Hannibal leans closer with a smirk. “Teasing plans for the next dinner party already, are we? We are still in the climax of this one.”
“Big dinner party or not, you may never be rid of me when you feed me so. Every day now, I long to show up on this one’s doorstep.”
“You have me intrigued with all you talk about Mykolas these days. You might catch me wandering to his doorstep as well,” Mrs. Moretti says.
“Friends are always welcome at my table. A feast should not be a solitary experience. There is much we nurture and consume at dinner time; the life of others is at least as satisfying as the rest of it.”
“Good thing I ever return from the marina, then. I don’t know how he’d ever be entertained enough without picking my brain during dinner,” Will says from behind his glass.
Hannibal gives him a knowing look, and Will enjoys feeling the room constrict to just them and their inside joke for a moment before Arturo cuts through again.
“I suppose it’s a good thing that I am there to fill his days when you are not.”
Will gives him a big, fake grin from the other side of Hannibal.
“I’m sure there’s only so much time you can spend with a housemate, anyway. Do you ever want to kill each other? I know I have with past housemates,” he continues on. Will’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t think that Hannibal would make his own brand of darkness evident to anyone in this vulnerable position they’re in, but now he’s questioning just how many risks Hannibal takes to share the truth in his own way. The thought of Hannibal showing this random man that side of him makes something sharp sit in Will’s throat.
Hannibal chuckles. Will should probably try harder to hide his glare. Arturo’s tone is suddenly grating, and he’s starting to pick up on just how many times he’s heard the word housemate tonight. He clears his throat and makes his face and voice more neutral.
“Isn’t it ironic that you always want to kill the ones you are so fond of the most?” Will grins as he chews.
“Is that right?” Arturo asks, his voice carefully light.
“You do seem quite close. It’s lovely,” Mrs. Moretti comments.
“Yes, an interesting situation, I must say. Never married?” Mr. Russo asks, pointing his fork.
“Will was married for a time,” Hannibal says. Will stiffens, wishing Hannibal wouldn’t draw attention to him like that. Hannibal must know, too. It’s petty.
“It may be unconventional, but I find that refreshing. Companionship is important. Some of my best years were spent with friends as roommates,” Mrs. Russo says. Her husband side-eyes her, and Will realizes he’s starting to buzz, paying too much attention to the emotions going on around him like a predator assessing the field. He needs to step back.
“When did you divorce, Will? If it isn’t an intrusion,” Arturo asks, like Will knew he would.
“Divorce just isn’t a very fun dinner topic, is it,” Will says, chewing harder.
“No, we mustn’t pry. I think it’s nice that you two have found companionship. It’s lovely to see all kinds of different relationships become more accepted. Same-sex couples, even,” Mrs. Russo continues on. Will wants to bash his head into the table. He’s pretty sure Hannibal goes quiet at the worst times only to bother him. Will immediately turns his head down to his food, hoping the conversation might move on.
“You only grow more intriguing, Mykolas,” Arturo says. “I can only imagine what your tastes must be if not conventional. I’m not a fan of tying myself down either. Much more fun that way.”
Will straightens slowly and turns toward Arturo in time to see the wink.
“Well, it’s no secret what keeps you from finding a wife,” Mrs. Moretti says, sparking a scandalized round of laughter and a couple awkward glances. Will grits his teeth hard when he grins.
“What can I say? He’s a catch—all the class and grace of old royalty and the senses of something entirely other—fascinating. A shame to think of you ever alone in that big house,” Arturo says.
“Well, aren’t you a bold one,” Hannibal says.
Will drops his fork against his plate with a clatter. Of all the uncomfortable comments of this particular conversation, that simple, reciprocating tone from Hannibal makes his heart start to drum the most. He feels almost nauseous with its intensity. He knows Hannibal must see it, too.
“As if you didn’t know that.” Arturo’s hand goes right to the back of Hannibal’s neck again, squeezing in a friendly manner, and Will sees his pinky dip below the back of his collar.
Will rests the tip of his fingers on top of his steak knife, just a light touch. He wonders what exactly has been going on while he’s been at work for long hours. Hannibal is always up to something, it was wrong to trust them. Distantly, he knows he’s overreacting and risking far too much, but his instincts disagree. Didn't Hannibal always want him to follow his instincts? They have been waiting for inspiration, and he’s suddenly inspired.
Hannibal’s eyes shift straight to his hand and up to his eyes. Will stares back, a wordless conversation passing through the seconds. He recognizes the warning in Hannibal’s eyes easily. That makes it worse. Someone coughs awkwardly from across the table.
Will picks up the steak knife, keeping it low on the table, though anyone could see his trembling grip if they looked closer. Hannibal stares at him challengingly, and then stands.
“Excuse me, I must use the restroom,” Hannibal says and walks off. The knife falls from Will’s fist. He doesn’t want to kill where Hannibal doesn’t see him. Hannibal knows that.
He’s vaguely aware of their host standing to gather plates and clean up, and everyone shifts at the tension finally falling loose, returning to small talk that Will doesn’t listen to. Arturo stands and walks away in the bustle, and Will waits for five short counts before standing and following.
The house is massive, meticulously decorated with art that is so expensive it’s nerve-wracking to even walk by, with clean cream walls and marble in the kitchen. He walks through and imagines the spray of blood decorating each corner, imagines tipping over each statue and tearing up the paintings—damn the rich people.
He storms into the hall, where he knows he’ll find them. To Arturo’s benefit, he turns quickly and holds out his hands.
“Will! I think I may have crossed a boundary. I owe you an apology,” he says, hand on his chest in earnest. Will stares back without speaking. He wants Hannibal to enable him to spill blood.
Hannibal places a hand on Arturo’s shoulder instead. “Would you mind leaving Will and I to talk for a moment?”
He nods and steps carefully around Will. At least he feels the threat, even if he would clearly underestimate what exactly he is faced against.
Will speaks fast and quietly to get in the first word.
“What are you up to? What is he trying to do?” he demands.
“Something I had not noticed before, if it was even there before tonight. I believe Arturo is jealous of our relationship, at least how he perceives it to be.”
“So he decided to berate me across the dinner table?”
“I am embarrassed on behalf of him, I know jealousy is an ugly, cruel emotion,” Hannibal says pointedly, narrowing his eyes slightly. Will grits his teeth and turns slightly on the spot to avoid meeting that expression.
“Does he know about you?”
“Of course not.”
“And why now? Did he even know I existed before?”
“Of course he did. Perhaps he imagined you to be an ugly fisherman.” Hannibal smiles, amused.
Will glares at him.
“So, what? Now you’re—” he sputters for a moment, shaking his head at the painting next to them, trying to form his words in a better way. “You’re having an affair with him, and he’s suddenly threatened?”
Hannibal’s eyes shine, and amusement laces his voice. “How would that make you feel?”
Will doesn’t think they are actually having an affair, not from what he’s gauged, but the response stings.
“An egotistical bore is your type? Pretty low standards there, Hannibal,” Will says cruelly.
They stare at each other challengingly for a few beats, and when he sees maroon eyes flash, he knows Hannibal is going to break the silence, which probably means he’s up to something.
“To answer your question, believe it or not, he has not even pursued me yet. He is very respectful when we see each other, if a bit obvious.” Hannibal smiles and waits for Will to reply.
Will smiles back bitterly and decides to play along, already with a good guess of where Hannibal is taking this. “And when he inevitably does?” he drawls.
“I have not thought so far ahead, though he is a charming man, things like these can only happen naturally. Although, sometimes the push of motivations and insecure feelings can speed it up.”
Will replies quickly and harshly. “An ugly and cruel emotion, but you really love the show when it is directed to you.”
“Strong, instinctual emotions are always fascinating, they show so much of a person and are difficult to hide.”
Will gives him a faux pondering look. “Emotions like those make people bolder, like bringing up exes and whatnot for no good reason.”
Hannibal smiles back at him, unphased, and Will is, again, the first person to look away. It felt weaker leaving his mouth than it had sounded in his head. He sounds bitter and sad even to his own ears.
Will gives in. “Or like planning murder at the dinner table,” he mutters in admittance with a tilt of his head. He’d rather say it now than have Hannibal throw it back at him when he least expects it.
Hannibal smiles, satisfied.
“I’ve been there. Of course, we do have an intimate relationship and an arduous history with little certainty in our feelings regarding each other. Together these create the condition where insecure feelings can arise with threats of a replacement, no matter the nature.”
“Arduous history,” Will chuckles.
Hannibal meets his amusement until Will’s smile fades.
“How much longer do we have to stay here?” he asks, feeling exhausted.
“No longer, if it will only bother you. I can make a better dessert at home. I will tell them an excuse, follow me in a minute and then we will say goodbye.”
Will watches Hannibal walk promptly down the hallway.
He’s still buzzing, not entirely following the weight of the words they have just said to each other. If he’s not mistaken, it almost seems like Hannibal is offering him a platonic excuse to hide behind. Hannibal rarely passes up an opportunity to talk about something personal, which means this will likely continue when they are home. Hannibal managed to placate him with his words, but the drumming is back under his skin.
He doesn’t like these moods he gets in. He can’t deny that he feels rather possessive over Hannibal, and he honestly thinks he deserves Hannibal all to himself at this point. He never really had a person to call his own before. Not even his parents offered him that unconditional love and attention, and Molly never understood a large part of him, and never could. Before Hannibal, he always imagined himself living a life in solitude with his dogs. He accepted the loneliness until he realized what it would feel like to no longer be lonely.
The ugly jealousy leaves a sour taste in his mouth, a pathetic and unsatisfying feeling. It hasn’t happened in a while, but he remembers when hearing Hannibal’s voice come out of anyone else’s mouth still grated on his skull. He remembers sitting across from Bedelia and seeing red and white flash in his vision.
He counts down a few more seconds and then goes to say goodbye, using the last of his energy to smile graciously and wipe the memory of the strange tension from everyone’s minds. It takes an infuriatingly long time to make it past the front door with pleasantries and plans and promises galore.
Arturo pulls Hannibal in for a too-long embrace, pressing their cheeks together in something that barely resembles a cheek kiss. He lingers and whispers something, and Hannibal chuckles, probably enjoying the feeling of Will’s eyes on them. Unsurprisingly, the anger returns and Will grinds his teeth and ignores the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He doesn’t like seeing someone else touching Hannibal, and he isn’t sure what to do with that information. At least, he doesn’t know what to do other than kill anyone who ever tries, but even he can admit that it’s little more than a bandaid in this situation. In truth, Arturo is attractive, well put-together, cultured, and has something dark and curious residing inside of him, and it hurts.
Hannibal leads Will out with a hand on his lower back, and he’s annoyed knowing this gentle touch is probably meant to pacify him, too.
Hannibal doesn’t acknowledge his passive-aggressiveness, strutting up to a taxi and waiting for Will to climb in after him.
Will keeps his head turned to the window with the avoidance of someone knowing they need to have a talk at home. He focuses on the blur of the streetlights and the pedestrians strolling through the dark night with purpose. He would bet that no one has had a life quite like his since Hannibal entered his life. He never thought he’d be fighting for a cannibal’s attention.
At home, he opens an expensive bottle of whiskey. He still does a double-take considering the cost, but Hannibal has reassured him multiple times that there is no limit to their money, meaning Will can't argue all of the unnecessary shit that Hannibal buys as long as he’s careful. Two fingers of whiskey slide down his throat in one large gulp and make him shiver. The whiskey is smooth going down, and he wants to indulge in that without guilt. He pours more, ignoring Hannibal behind him. He cannot hear Hannibal, but he can feel his presence in the dim living room.
“Do we have things to talk about?” Will asks without looking at him.
“You were quite bothered, so I would argue we shouldn’t let anything fester.”
“Really going for this open communication thing now? I suppose we both know how well letting our emotions fester turns out.” He drinks more. His buzz from dinner faded in the taxi, and he feels betrayed by his own metabolism and more embarrassed than he was before.
“You would resent me for acting as your psychiatrist again.” Hannibal holds another tumbler up for Will to pour some whiskey into as if to exemplify their informality. As he comes closer, Will’s eyes dart from his suit to his face and back again.
“Yet you resent me for not telling you all of my feelings.”
“I don’t resent you, Will.”
“If only it was so easy for you to leave my thoughts alone before all of this, then,” he snaps.
Hannibal stays quiet, and Will winces and shuffles on his feet for a moment. “That wasn’t fair to say. Sometimes it feels like second nature to be an asshole to you.”
“It’s the resentment.” Hannibal clinks Will’s glass lightly, and Will smiles.
He squeezes his lips together and can’t seem to help his wide eyes when he looks up at Hannibal.
“So are you saying you’ll tell me if there’s something you want from me?” Will asks. And not have another murder-y tantrum is unspoken.
“I am as likely to cease all manipulation as you are.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“What do you want reassurances about?”
Will walks away, distracted by Hannibal’s proximity. He looks at his blurry reflection in the window, and continues to circle the room. Hannibal turns on the spot to follow his movements.
“Did you plan to have an affair with him to try to make me jealous?” Will asks, admiring the harpsichord as if he hasn’t seen Hannibal sit there day after day.
“No,” Hannibal says simply.
“No you didn’t plan to have an affair with him, or no, you didn’t plan to try to make me jealous?”
“That would have been rude to attempt.”
Will nods and purses his lips. He presses his hand to the delicate woodworking of the instrument. It feels smooth and cold under his skin.
“Never ruled out the secret affair then.” He chuckles without much humour and then sighs. “It’s not like I was ever home. And three years is a long time, isn’t it?”
“I did consider it, and yes, for very typical human reasons, not manipulation. Seems there is a talk about boundaries and rules in order.” Hannibal stands still and expressionless in the middle of the room when Will looks up.
“Do you think I am trying to impose rules? Do you think I expect you to follow rules?”
“I think all relationships include negotiations to keep the peace, but perhaps especially ours.”
“How much are you dying to pick my head for all of my feelings right now?”
“I am hoping you will share,” Hannibal concedes, looking away.
“Would be nice to see you a little more insecure some days. But you clearly aren’t quite satisfied with our life together, and you don’t say much either. I think the elephant in the room is trying to be very sneaky, walking around on its tiptoes.”
Hannibal does smile a bit at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of taking the lead on the conversation. Will sinks onto the couch nearby with a loud sigh.
“Why didn’t you let me kill him?”
“It was for all the wrong reasons. Which you knew. Ask me what you really want to ask me, Will.”
Will clenches his jaw in annoyance but then relaxes, knowing Hannibal is right. He thinks about turning the conversation around on Hannibal, but he already knows Hannibal’s feelings and can’t deny them.
He’s not sure if Hannibal would ever expect Bedelia to admit to Will the nature of his love. He’s not sure if Hannibal would just assume Will always knew, a quiet awareness beneath their words. It’s not entirely untrue, Will always did know, on some level, and analyzed his intentions accordingly. Those decisions usually occurred on some unspoken, subconscious level, and the conscious reality of it still shocks his system with awareness. It’s a vulnerable line to cross, and he’s not entirely sure what he’ll discover about himself, especially when things are as peaceful as they are right now.
Will can feel the words building up like the early whistle of a kettle. His mouth opens for a few moments before the words actually come, and then he talks slowly, unable to quite keep the hurt out of his voice.
“Fine. I don’t know if I can get this curiosity out of my mind, so just tell me, why haven’t you ever tried to seduce me? I've been right here. I've been here for a lot longer than him.”
"In these past few months?"
"No. Ever."
It sounds silly hanging in the air. Hannibal is quiet for a long moment. The room is too dim to see the expression behind his eyes. “That answer may hold more weight than you expect. It feels almost cruel to say.”
“If you say you just don't find me attractive, I promise I will laugh more than I’ll mope.”
Hannibal doesn’t look very amused. “That is obviously not the case. A different cruelty.”
“I think I need the answer anyway.” Will tilts his head back on the sofa and waits, staring at the ceiling to brace himself.
“I had planned to. The night we were to run away, once ensuring your trust and acceptance of our family. We had a short stay in Paris at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, with Abigail leaving for a study abroad to practice her Italian and socialize again.”
Will spins his whiskey tumbler in his hands, staring intently at the golden liquid in the light with shaky nods. The hurt and the guilt run through his gut in subsequent waves, and he sits quietly, waiting for the worst to pass.
“That confident?” he chokes out with a bitter smile.
“There was only one suite waiting.”
Will’s head bobs in succession. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course. I admit I didn’t have much game by the time I was incarcerated.”
“Did you pick up using humour to cope with awkward situations from me?” Will asks.
“I’m sure I did.”
“You’re so far away. Why don’t you come sit? And bring the whiskey.”
Hannibal does as he’s told, sitting so he’s pressed right up to Will’s shoulder. They top up their glasses.
“I could ask why you never seduced me, Will.”
He clears his throat. “I’m straight,” he says weakly. After meeting eyes, they both chuckle silently like it’s an inside joke they never actually formed before. It’s nice for the moment it lasts.
“I can understand why you didn’t seduce me after the night in your kitchen, but what about now?" Will continues. "Is that something you think about, something you ever want? We’ve been here a long time already."
Hannibal’s arm snakes over his shoulder, and Will laughs at the move. Hannibal puts his drink on the table, jostling them both, and then takes Will’s hand in both of his to massage his palm comfortingly, cradled at Will’s chest. Will stares at their fingers entwining slightly.
“Think I would say no?” Will asks. “To be fair, I’m not entirely certain what I would say. But I think you have more confidence and some unmatched skills of persuasion.”
“Will, do you know what stops me from mourning our cacophony of miscommunication and recklessness and all that time lost to rooms without each other in it?”
“What?”
“Thinking about all that I got to experience,” he says simply.
“The pain just as beautiful?”
“All the art I have ever consumed became recontextualized, the beautiful days more beautiful in their comparison, and even the pain and hatred knocking back and forth was more appealing than not. It became gorgeous placed in its story, knowing love and heartbreak. It humbled me. Made me rethink what I always knew of God.”
“So you are in love with me and not too shy to say it after all.”
“I have no reason to hide it.”
Will burrows in closer under Hannibal’s armpit. The warmth around his shoulders and the fingers pressing into his hand become nicer as the seconds drag on.
“I think you do. There is a lot of hurt to avoid. But there was also a lot of hurt we could have avoided before. And I don’t know if I can ever accept that all of that really had to happen first, or that all that time was truly beautiful instead of wasted,” Will mutters.
“I could have placated you with it early on. You are very soothed by touch,” Hannibal says, and one hand strokes gently above the line of his beard, and Will goes very still.
“Mm. Wouldn’t have been good for either of us in the end.”
“No.”
“And if I want to stay as we are for the rest of our lives, would you accept that? If it doesn’t end in love and beauty after it all?”
Hannibal nods.
“Now who’s placating? You want control, and you want something interesting. And, you want me. Always have.”
Hannibal smiles, and Will meets his gaze, much closer in this position.
“But you’re scared of me. How interesting,” Will says.
“You know exactly how to be cruel to me,” Hannibal says, raising his eyebrows at Will.
“Why, it’s my favourite pastime.”
“You joke, but we have found peace on this island. Here we found even ground at last.”
Will sighs, thinking about what he has learned so far.
“You brought me to Italy because I expected it and because you couldn’t help but fill this one hole. I was worrying about how I haven’t become clear in my desires, but now I realize you are just as stagnant. If we don’t make a plan to leave this mundanity behind, next thing we know, I’ll be leaving you in a nursing home to wreak havoc on the rude kitchen staff before we make anything of ourselves. We have healed well, and you know we will move on soon now. The peace will not last, but I don’t think you really want it to. And I don’t. Revelations come with change. Perhaps you need to relax with yourself, Hannibal.”
Hannibal looks conflicted at Will teasing him but still flashes him a fond smile. He leans in closer and noses against the hair above Will’s ear, breathing in gently. Will get chills up his back and can’t help but tilt his head into it. Hannibal wrapped around him feels shockingly natural, and the nice buzz of the whiskey is back, relaxing him.
“We will find peace being together, always,” Hannibal whispers.
“At some point, it would have terrified me to give in to you. For you to take everything from me.”
“I want to take you, and I want to give you me. I want to give you pleasure, Will. All of the pleasure in the world.”
Will squirms slightly but continues leaning into the affection and then turns to find Hannibal’s eyes.
“It never felt like sex was something you needed, or else it would have been on my mind, too.”
“It wasn’t something I needed.”
“But now it is? With some stranger even?”
“No, Will. It is being so close to you otherwise that made me consider a distraction in a different connection.”
Will smiles, feeling the rough scar on his cheek stretch.
“We have an opportunity to say goodbye to Italy now and never look back. We can get far away very quickly and do whatever we want before,” Will says.
“I enjoy how much you dislike him for me more than I ever enjoyed his presence,” Hannibal says.
“Of course you do. You’re vain. And you like having a wide influence, but no one will see you or touch you like I have, and I’m not playing in a competition for people you don’t even care about. I don’t want him to live.”
“Then he will not.”
“And don’t flirt with any more Italian men. Or women. We have covers to maintain.”
Hannibal chuckles, and Will catches sight of his crooked teeth. He was vying for a glimpse of that smile more and more these days. When he first met Hannibal, he hadn’t thought he was beautiful, but the thought grew in his chest slowly like everything else between them. It still might be growing.
“And maybe after we kill him, I will kiss you,” Will says boldly.
He feels Hannibal’s sudden breathlessness in his stillness, and that power is instantly wonderful. Hannibal strokes a hand along Will's arm. It almost feels like he's trying not to touch him elsewhere. Will wants to stay close like this, even as he squirms on the spot. If Hannibal wants an intense and aching romance, then Will can give that to him. He can be patient.
Hannibal sounds reverent and dark when he speaks. “It might not all have needed to happen, Will. But I would always choose you bloody than not.”