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Summary
“Love, are you okay? You look terrible.” I should have known better than to think I could keep anything from him. Hannibal curled into the chair and fought to force his eyes fully open.
“I am fine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. His hands trembled; it took everything to keep from reaching for his aching skull. Will knelt down, lowering his head until their eyes met. His expression hardened into something Hannibal couldn’t identify. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t able to read every single one of Will’s facial expressions like the pages his most beloved book. The thought that he didn’t understand what he was seeing in the profiler’s eyes was almost as painful as the punctuated waves of agony in his head.
“Like hell you are,” the other man replied fiercely. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”
Or Hannibal has a migraine, and Will helps alleviate his pain.