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arm in unstable arm, they were swaying on the edge of the precipice, heaving against the very force of the world that threatened to collapse their lungs.
the slaying of the great red dragon had sapped a great deal of their strength. blood-soaked and weary-boned, will slung himself onto hannibal’s shoulder, rocking on his feet so as to lean in on their weights. the pooling black ground beneath them turned. he was exhausted. all feeling had been drained from his legs, his left cheek felt as if aflame. and yet, in his unbroken mind, his thoughts slurred sharper than ever. he could think clearly, clear as the ballroom stars above them that served as witnesses, this merciful crime of theirs. and to will’s unsteady movements, hannibal followed in step, righting them both with his shoulders wide, arms firm; hannibal, will chuckled faintly as he thought, his perfect dance partner, his tilting house on the sea.
around them, the night uncoiled, lapping at their ankles like snaking tides, the tendrils gripped tight and relished in what they finally knew could only be theirs. it was terribly dark, brittle, as a gust blew by, but neither were willing to part and forfeit the other’s warmth. in defiance, a last savour.
they would not part, then.
with hannibal’s jaw shaped in the bend of his arms, will passed an unspoken prayer between his teeth and threw them over the edge.
*****
the frigid winds lashed at their skin as they fell, the sensation akin to burning alive.
they held each other tight as they plummeted, hannibal in his arms, and he in his. gravity mocked them with its power, tearing with its might at their armour, baring its teeth. this was their barest selves, and hannibal offered no stuggle, only closed his eyes in quiet acceptance, the ghost of a smile on his lips. he had been waiting for this, and some buried piece of will did, too.
briefly, he wondered if this was what frederick had felt, huddled in his wheelchair as he hurtled towards his near-demise, a scream tearing past his lips. he was icarus, strapped in those oil-slick wings, his end.
but this fire felt different. it was purification, holy. it burnt with righteousness down his spine, ridding them of their sins. never had will imagined that there was such a bitter triumph in setting the world alight, in cradling the beast from the breast of the flames. in taking theirs, they saved the countless lives of others. in their descent, they unfurled their wings. they turned to angels.
from the distant shores beneath them came the tune of a lyre, ghostly and soft.
it’s beautiful, will thought. it truly was.
then the cement waters rose up like a reckoning and feet first, they were swallowed whole.
*****
will awoke to find himself alive.
the evening sun was bright, blood red as it dipped into the ocean, stretched in panorama. the dimly-lit spread of sky above him was empty. he was lying on his back, submerged up to his waist in the sea. he grimaced, the saltwater stung his wounds.
as he propped himself up on his elbows, worry pulled at his chest as a thrill of thoughts rushed through his head. the fall should have killed them, at least, that was his intention. but here he was, sticky in sand, breath heaving in his chest. and the next possible consequence came with a wave of panic seized him whole. he was alive, which meant, which meant―
"will," intoned a familiar voice behind him. “may i join you?”
his heart pounded in his throat as he spun back. there was no need to. the voice, the timbre, the pitch and the way it was teeth that shaped his name, he had recognized it all, his soul tugged with remembrance. he nodded his head. the twin sensations of relief and dread rose through his spine.
hannibal flashed him a grateful smile. shirt still bloody from the battle, he exhaled soundlessly as he sank down gracefully beside will, landing with a soft thump on the sand. he had pressed a hand to the gunshot wound on his stomach, the circles were pronounced beneath his eyes. will let himself stare at the way the fading light angled hannibal’s features to look almost beatific, the way his irises still lit the same plated gold as he stared into the setting sun. with a sting through his heart, will wondered just how much time he had lost.
it was hannibal who first broke the silence, clear eyes fixed on the horizon. “everything is more beautiful because we are doomed”, he mused, “you will never be lovelier than you are now. we will never be here again.”
will listened and felt the claws of those words sink into him, rocked by the currents as they beached themself on shore. strangely, it felt like less a goodbye, more like a welcoming, a choice. he had to choose his next words with great care. when he finally found the courage to speak, his voice was glazed in awe, in raw truth. it took them both by surprise.
“you’re beautiful.”
the two words swerved like a hot knife to break open the stiffness between them, like drinking an ocean whole. hannibal looked at him then. his expression was undecipherable until he collected himself and wore one of amusement. “blood loss patients often have no qualms about speaking the truth,” he said
“is it the truth, in your case? in mine?”
“in our breasts dwell both grace and beast. we simply choose which to serve.”
that was all it was, wasn’t it? to choose. the war between them could be fought, or it could be ceased. will felt the weight of the words ringing again and again in his head, thundering. he closed his eyes and thought back to the nights he had spent on his father’s boat, awash at sea, listening to the faint tune of the waves crashing against the frail wood, the hull both changed and changing the waves. to change or to be changed. to break free or lie in the chrysalis, starved of the world he could have had.
“we survived,” he said instead.
disappointed, hannibal turned away, back to the setting sun. his teeth showed as he spoke. “the angle at which we entered the water was injudicious. i’m afraid it left us with a greater probability of pulling out alive.”
“you should have known,” countered will. “i wouldn’t put it past you to go cliff-diving, or whatever it is psychiatrists resort to for entertainment.”
that earned him a hint of a smile. “i can’t say i have. my dear patients need me so.”
it was a well-earned point, and will found himself grinning back. they fell into an easy silence after that.
the quiet was partly for will to think, to choose. choose the light of the setting sun or the darkness of the cocoon, wound around himself, and partly for him to come to terms with the knowledge that he had already made his choice, in the split seconds needed to tilt them past the edge, that precise angle, the lyre and its song to the sea. it would be worth the risk.
“i will never leave him. it will be this, always,” will finally said, the quoted lines borrowed and made his own. he pressed his finger to the sand between them, shaping an arc, the mouth yawning open towards himself. he searched for hannibal’s eyes, and held the other’s gaze. “for as long as he would let me.”
hannibal understood. with soft, flowing movements, he closed the circle will had drawn in the sand with his thumb, as if smoothing out a sketch. this art was theirs, two yawning mouths, two fractures to fill, to balance the scales. there was a strange fire in his eyes, burning golden in the evening light. will found himself wishing he could bottle the sight like fireflies in jars, to shelve and never take back out.
hannibal scooped will’s hand in his and held their liquid in shape.
“i wouldn’t wish for it any other way.”
*****
will lost time after that, and when he came to, it was to the warmth of a beating chest, his body being gently lifted from the ground and cradled.
it was the arms that engulfed him, the mould of the waves that held him. they were moving across the beach, each jerk of a step rhythmic, in tune to the lyre song, growing into a crescendo. vaguely, will could make out the distinct crush of sand, the crashing rush of the sea behind them.
closing his eyes, will let himself be content. slipping into the quiet of the stream, the ocean took him in his mouth, and swept them both towards softer seas.