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“We all play many roles, Will,” Hannibal says.
Will knows it. He’s seen the different suits that Hannibal wears for the public—all real in some capacity, but stretched taught and thin to cover full, protruding truths.
“But I find myself shedding those masks around you.”
Their eyes meet when Will looks up, and he takes him in fully. Hannibal smiles trying to cover the bitterness. Shame at the thought of Will knowing every facet of himself (how so many of those facets are shrouded in darkness), but a small, shred of hope clinging on that Will would see it and choose him anyway. He’s not used to baring his vulnerability.
Will matches it, more familiar with having his defenses down, but not ready to answer the sentiment in the doctor’s words.
“Sometimes I don’t know if there is a face under all of my masks,” Will stands from the plush chair in Hannibal’s office, too soft for this conversation, and steps toward the other man. “Maybe I’m just a mirror, empty without a reflection looking back at me.”
They stand just like that for a moment, complimentary though not exact. Will’s hands stuffed into his pockets, curled in on himself. Even without an audience, Hannibal stands tall and poised. An imperfect but consummate pair.
“But—“ Will drops eye contact with the admission, “Other times I feel like I’m lying to myself. Using that as an excuse,” the words feel like dirt in his mouth. He wonders if Hannibal is drawn to him just because he sees a version of himself sleeping within.
“Maybe I’m just as dark and rotten and that’s why I’m drawn in so easily. Why it’s drawn to me.”
“Oh Will,” and Hannibal can’t stop himself. He takes another step and gently places his hand on Will’s cheek, thumb barely touching the bone, afraid to leave an impression. He guides his face back up at him. “There are monsters in all of us.” The Chesapeake Ripper. The Copycat Killer. Il Mostro. The names remain unspoken but hang in the air between them.
Hannibal pauses and drops the metaphors and pretenses. Will needs blunt honesty.
“I am drawn to you for so much more than that. Not the darkness, but how you breath and live in it. Not dragged down, but elevated. I would be remiss to say that I am not selfish, but all men are guilty of that crime. Be selfish with me and let me carry some of your demons. God knows I will ask you to carry mine some nights too.”
Will closes his eyes and leans into the touch. He chooses Hannibal.