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    Summary

    Hannibal’s dark gaze drifts away, drawn to their joined hands on the bed. Will doesn’t know if they’ve ever touched one another for so long. Certainly not while both of them had been conscious for it. Now that they have, Will doesn’t know how to break it.

    Hannibal wets his lower lip, then asks, “What was it you wished for when you came to Florence?”

    “Not what I got, that’s for sure,” he chokes out.

    (Will's not sure what Hannibal's still doing here; what he does know, is that he's tired.)

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