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Although they had been living off the FBI’s radar in France for seven months, and they were presumed dead by Jack Crawford and likely the rest of the Bureau, they still lived cautiously. Considering Alana and Margot still had their heads on a chopping block and Freddie Lounds had a whole page of Tattle Crime dedicated to “Murder Husbands Sightings”, it was better to not take any unnecessary risks that could put their new lives in danger. Will insisted they ought to give it a few years before they ventured into anything that was too identifiable to their personalities.
Much to Hannibal’s displeasure, this meant anything “high-end'' was considered off limits. Attending operas were on the definitive “absolutely prohibited” list. Art museums were on the “browse on occasion but do not attend any lectures” list. Walks in the park were on the “always allowed at any time of the day” list. They took a lot of walks.
Hannibal had pouted around the house for four days when Will refused to let him buy a harpsichord and told him to invest in a piano instead.
“A piano doesn’t provide the same elegance, Will,” he argued, defeated.
Will retorted, “If I can go without fishing for almost a year, you can surely give up playing the harpsichord. It’s something Alana knows to look for!”
“It’s not like you can fish in the city anyway,” Hannibal had snapped in return and stormed off to the study to sulk. Will just sighed and returned to his book.
Although Hannibal would rather cook all their meals, he wouldn’t deny the opportunity for an outing, considering the majority of their time was spent meandering about the house. Small cafes and bakeries were of course very allowed, to Will’s delight and Hannibal’s dismay. Upper class restaurants with reservations and four course meals, the type of dining Hannibal preferred (not more than his own mind you, but if he had to eat another chef’s cuisine), were completely banned by Will, which was a constant argument in their house. “You never know where Alana has eyes and ears, Michelin restaurants would likely be on the top of her list, Hannibal!”
On occasion, when they did go out to eat, they would attend a “slightly fancier than the normal” restaurant, where the prices weren’t on the menus, but where the average upper middle class resident could still eat once or twice a year. Hannibal would groan and complain about how it wouldn’t be a big deal if they experienced finer dining just once, but Will would just shake his head and sigh, “When we’re in a safer position to do so, we’ll go to the fanciest restaurant you can possibly imagine.”
He knew Hannibal secretly enjoyed the time out on the town, even when he made an outward show of hating it. Or maybe he just enjoyed dressing Will up like a Ken doll and showing him off to anyone who would glance their way. This night in particular he had chosen a charcoal gray suit for Will, paired with a thin forest green tie that featured a subtle checked pattern. The tie, of course, matched Hannibal’s three piece ensemble: a dark, midnight blue suit with green plaid and a golden brown vest underneath. The suits were one item Will could not pry out of Hannibal’s grasp, so he reluctantly allowed Hannibal to find a local tailor, but limited his number of visits and the amount of noticeably extravagant suits he purchased.
They were having a pleasant time out together, chatting over their meals and wine. Will had shared about the book he was reading and Hannibal was talking about a new exhibit he had seen advertised at the museum when their conversation was interrupted by a commotion a few tables over. A birthday. A dessert was being delivered to the table and the friend group of the young woman began singing loudly. Hannibal shuddered. He found the annoyance quite rude. “This wouldn’t happen at a Michelin star restaurant,” he mumbled as he took a sip of his wine.
His eyes flicked up to Will, who was seemingly fixated by the ordeal. Hannibal studied him briefly, taking in the crease on Will’s forehead, the firm line of his lips, the glassy look cast across his bright blue eyes. “Will?” he said gently, placing his glass back on the table.
Will pulled his eyes away from the group as the singing died down and the restaurant goers turned back to their own meals. He caught Hannibal’s concerned expression and gave a shake to his head, his dark curls bouncing slightly around his ears. He cleared his throat and stared down at his almost empty plate. After a beat, he picked up his wine and took a sip, still avoiding eye contact.
“Are you alright?” Hannibal asked, a strange tenderness to his voice that Will wasn’t used to hearing. He forced himself to look Hannibal in the eyes, then suddenly spilled out, “I’d like to go home now.” Hannibal gave a quick nod, placed some cash on the table and stood swiftly, extending his hand to Will. Will slid past him, ignoring the offered arm, and was out the door before Hannibal could even blink.
They circled each other in the house for two days. They shared their meals in silence. Usually, their evenings were spent lounging in the living room, Will reading and Hannibal sketching Will reading, but Will had locked himself in the study for the majority of the day, only to be seen when it was time to eat.
After just a few weeks of sharing a space, Hannibal had quickly become familiar with Will’s silent episodes as he processed through whatever he was feeling. At first, he made the mistake of trying to coax information out of Will, which only prolonged the silence. Then, he attempted to do things that might cheer Will up, like cooking fresh fish for dinner, buying him a book he might like, but Will always ignored the gestures. Eventually, Hannibal learned the best way to help Will was just to wait until Will was ready to either share his thoughts with him or return back to their routine as if nothing had happened.
Finally, on the third evening, Will stepped out of the study and quietly sat in an armchair in the living room. He was wearing sweatpants and a cozy sweater he had insisted on buying at a secondhand shop. Hannibal had argued about it, saying he’d be happy to buy him a much nicer sweater brand new, but honestly, he loved the maroon color on Will’s complexion and he was happy to buy Will whatever he asked for.
Hannibal had been drawing a piece of art that had caught his eye on his most recent museum venture. He glanced up at Will, gave a half-smile, and resumed his sketching. Will was staring up at the ceiling absentmindedly, his eyes tracing along the edges of the walls.
“I’ve never had a birthday,” he said simply. He leveled his head and looked at Hannibal, who closed up his sketchbook and placed it on the couch beside him, his full attention directed toward Will. He gently rested his hand on his crossed knee and inclined his head toward Will, acknowledging his statement with attentiveness.
Will sighed and dragged his hand through his already mussed hair. “I mean, I had birthdays every year obviously,” he corrected, “but I never celebrated my birthday. Growing up we traveled around so much that my dad usually forgot it was my birthday altogether. When he would remember every few years or so, he’d buy me a dollar store toy that would break right away, but he never even said happy birthday, you know. He would just toss it to me and nod, like I was supposed to know that’s what he meant.”
He paused and Hannibal prodded him forward, “And when you were an adult?”
“I don’t know, I spent so much time not having a birthday when I was younger, that when I was older, it was just another day. I spent so many birthdays crying myself to sleep when I was a kid, that I never even attempted to share it with anyone else as an adult. At the time I credited it to avoiding the attention, being at the center of it all, but I think I really just wanted to avoid the embarrassment and shame birthdays held for me.”
Hannibal didn’t want to ask his next question, but he knew he probably should, so he stabilized the churn in his stomach and forced out, “What about with Molly and Walter?”
Will gave him a look, Hannibal never brought up Molly and Walter. Will certainly avoided talking about them at all costs. He continued anyway, “It was horrible. They wanted to celebrate my birthday one year, Molly wanted to make it a family affair, but I couldn’t handle it. I stayed in the bedroom all day with the door locked. I felt so pathetic. Walter slid a nice card under the door, which just made me feel worse. The next day I pretended like nothing had happened, like it was just another day…”
Hannibal waited quietly, his focus still on Will. Instead of continuing anymore, Will turned his gaze toward the sketchbook on the couch and asked, “What are you drawing?”
Hannibal scooped it up and motioned for Will to join him on the couch. They spent the rest of the evening looking through Hannibal’s recent sketches. Excitedly, Hannibal described the bridge he had crossed when he went for a walk in the city, the paintings and statues he admired at the museum, and the dog he had seen playing with his owner in the park. Will smiled.
The next weekend, Will returned home from a trip to the store to find Hannibal waiting for him in the foyer, a devious grin on his face. Will raised his eyebrow at him. “Here let me take those from you.” Hannibal reached for the grocery bags. “Now, I have laid out an outfit for you in the bedroom, if you would please change and seat yourself at the table at your earliest convenience.”
Slightly perplexed but intrigued, Will provided Hannibal with a breathy “okay” as Hannibal spun on his heel, carting the groceries into the kitchen. Will rolled his eyes when he entered the bedroom and saw the suit that Hannibal had picked for him. It was one he had not seen before, so clearly Hannibal had broken the “no new suits this month” rule for whatever he was planning.
After pulling it on, he looked himself up and down in the mirror, feeling his confidence grow. It certainly wasn’t anything Will would’ve gravitated toward on his own, but he had to admit, he looked quite dapper. The suit was a deep burgundy, paired with a solid white shirt, and black shoes. Will looked around the room but apparently Hannibal had forgone the tie this evening.
He fluffed at his hair, doing his best to tame the loose curls, straightened his shoulders and headed to the dining room. The table spread was elegant. Flowers the same color as Will’s suit graced the centerpiece, scattered throughout fresh greenery. Tall black candles were spread out among them.
Hannibal swept through the door as Will took his seat, balancing a tray in his hand. “Smoked trout brined with lemon, served with seared vegetables,” he said as he placed the fancy plate in front of Will.
Before he sat down at his own place to Will’s right, he looked Will up and down and nodded, “You look very becoming, Will.”
Will hid his blush by looking down at the fish laid out in front of him. “What is all this for, Hannibal?”
Hannibal didn’t respond, but smirked as he took his seat and began carving into his fish. It was delightful, one of Will’s new favorite dishes. “You’ll have to make this more often,” he mumbled after swallowing his final bite.
“If I make it too often, it will lose its novelty.” Hannibal stood to clear the table as Will stretched back in his chair. “I will be right back, don’t go anywhere.”
Curiously, Will tried to peer around the corner from his chair to see what Hannibal was up to in the kitchen. “Close your eyes, Will,” he called, just out of sight.
“If this is all you building up to finally kill me, Hannibal, I’m not going to be very happy,” he teased.
“I’m not going to kill you, Will. Close your eyes.” Will obliged, a hint of a smile on his lips.
He could barely hear Hannibal’s soft footsteps as he sauntered back to the table. He did hear the light clink of the plate as it was set in front of him. Then, the strike of a match. He waited until Hannibal sat down in his own seat. “Can I open them now?” he asked, impatience dripping off of his tongue.
“Yes, you may.”
A small cake sat in front of Will. It was covered in white icing, decorated with raspberries and petals from the same flowers on the table. There was a single lit candle in the middle of the cake. Confused, he looked from the cake to Hannibal.
“A cake?” he questioned.
“A birthday cake.”
Will slowly turned his gaze back to the cake. The wax was dripping down the side of the candle onto the icing.
“It’s not my birthday,” he said matter of factly.
“I know.” Hannibal just smiled at him, his eyes glued to Will’s face.
“Why did you make me a birthday cake?” He brought his gaze back up to Hannibal’s face, searching for an answer.
“I wanted to make up for the lost birthdays.” He could tell Will was studying him intently. “I wanted you to know you are loved.” Hannibal allowed the silence to cover the both of them, giving Will a moment to absorb his words.
He locked eyes with him and stared hard into the blue, doing his best to convey his true feelings. “And I will not forget you. I won’t forget you, Will.”
Will’s eyes were watery, he gave Hannibal a small nod. He pulled his gaze from Hannibal and brought it back to the cake. He swallowed.
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to make a wish?” Hannibal asked gently.
“Yeah, I think so.”
He looked back up at Hannibal and pulled out his right arm from under the table. He placed it on the wood, palm facing up. Hannibal looked down at the open palm beneath him, then slowly placed his own hand onto Will’s. Will squeezed him tightly, wrapping his fingers around Hannibal’s. He closed his eyes, and blew out the candle.