Work Text:
cy·no·sure (sī′nə-sho͝or′, sĭn′ə-) n.
an intense attraction to something for the brilliance, profound philosophical and physical beauty and interest it possesses; due to this overwhelming appeal, this particular object or person calls an immense amount of attention and allurement,
-or-
something serving for guidance or direction.
[1590-1600; < Latin Cynosūra < Greek Kynósoura the constellation Ursa Minor, equivalent to kynós dog's (genitive of kýōn) + ourá tail]
It’s been a year since Hannibal surrendered himself.
A year since their eyes have met, yet Will remembers every inch of Hannibal’s face perfectly.
Hannibal remembers his just as well.
Will’s memory palace has expanded, its corridors snaking through his mind to reach the rooms in the recesses of his mind. He finds Hannibal around every corner, their palaces having intertwined so tightly that they are indistinguishable from each other.
The house in Wolf Trap is the base of the blueprints for his palace. The innumerable additions extend in every direction, creating a jigsaw maze of rooms. Lake Eerie surrounds it like a moat, the boatyards of his childhood in the distance. Reaching it is much like Charon crossing the river Styx, traversing from physical life to the death of that life, leaving memories behind in its wake. Most are too intimidated to attempt to cross, too scared of what lies on the other side; those who start across either turn back or topple overboard and drown in the murky water.
Hannibal walks straight across it, asking Will to abandon his boat and walk across with him. Will takes his extended hand, stepping onto the water. Hannibal pulls him in, pulls him into his house, pulls him up the stairs before Will can even tell if his shoes are wet or not. His mind is set on a faster frequency than Will’s, always thinking two steps ahead. He adjusts it for Will, relishing in the comforting undulations of his mind.
Sitting on the mostly flat roof, Hannibal pats the space beside him. Will joins him, watching the night sky unfurl above them.
"Look up at the stars, Will.”
So he does, the distant light reflecting on his eyes like tiny fireflies as it reflects on the lake.
"They always make me feel so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe," he wonders aloud, pausing as he feels Hannibal begin to scowl. "It feels better believing that none of this really matters; death, life, any of it.”
"Even the good things?”
Will sees Hannibal's eyes dart to him out of his peripherals, taking a moment before returning the gesture.
"Things aren't really good or bad, they just are. They happen and then they're over. We're the ones who give them any meaning.”
Hannibal shifts, his socks snagging on the splintering wood shakers. "Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?”
"Do you?”
A pause, the corners of his mouth threatening to curl into a smile. ”I believe that I met you because of a reason; fate, God, whatever you'd like to call it." His fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of Will's, trying to remember them like a line of poetry. "You and I were meant to meet, to change one another in the ways that we have.”
"It was written in the stars," Will chuckles, eliciting a rare echo from Hannibal as well. "They seem so close to us, yet we can never reach them. Even the stars that form the points of constellations can't reach one another.”
Hannibal sighs, hand still lightly caressing Will's arm. "Two parallel lines go on forever, side by side, but they will never touch." Warm fingers slide between his, caging his hand with a squeeze.
"In a parallel universe," Will ponders, "in another life, maybe, they could come together.”
"In your mind.”
"And in yours. We are decidedly inseparable." Leaning forward, he places a chaste kiss on Hannibal's lips, which is returned by a deeper one. One that almost felt real.
"Reality is solely dependent on perception. Does this feel real, Will?”
"Yes." His voice cracks, salt burning his tongue from tears he was choking back. Another kiss, more desperate than before, trying to replace the taste with Hannibal’s. Will imagines he tastes like the sharp bittersweetness of red wine, a taste that once acquired is intoxicating. Their palettes merge effortlessly, complements that create something new when mixed together, something better than either is apart.
When they break away, they stay intertwined, foreheads touching as their breath dances on each other’s lips.
"I wish I had memories of this instead of my imagination. I regret not taking advantage while I had the chance.”
"Don't let regret consume you. The future holds many things unable to be seen in the present.” He gently strokes Will’s hair, pulling lightly on one of his curls. “There's still a chance for us. For this.”
High hopes only allow the fall to hurt worse. Both know that from experience, yet they stand on the edge of the cliff together, peering at the crashing waves below.
”I used to regret meeting you; now I regret telling you goodbye.” Will lets out a somber laugh at the humorless irony of it, letting it trail off into the air between them.
"You're always welcome to say hello and start up the conversation again. You know where to find me.” Pulling him onto his feet, Hannibal indulges in the apocryphal intimacy. He wraps his arms around Will’s waist, musing about how perfectly he fits there.
"Like the North Star, guiding me home,” Will suggests, searching for it in the sky. “Reliable even when stormy skies or the full moon obscures most of the starry heavens.”
”Ursa Minor is harder to spot than Ursa Major, despite the inclusion of Polaris. It's easier to look for Ursa Major first then follow where it points you to find the North Star.” Hand in hand, Hannibal outlines the constellations with his index finger, deliberating on the bright star in the tail of the Little Dipper.
"I can always look through myself to find you.”
“You can always find me in here,” Hannibal reassures him, just a moment before he separates into light, air, and color. Once again, he falls apart in Will’s grasp, their returning consciousnesses tearing them apart.
Will checks the roof, a tinge of nostalgia spearing through him for memories of what could have been. It’s empty and untouched, the stars hidden by the sun.
It isn’t enough time. There never could be enough to satisfy either of them, how an addict might crave more at the feeling of the needle sliding out of their skin, despite the fresh hit rushing through their bloodstream. Even after recovery, they cannot be exposed to the drug again; the temptation of feeling that rush too strong to resist because there is nothing else like it.
There is no one else like Hannibal, nor is there anyone else like Will. They are identically different; a unique arrangement that cannot be played by anyone else, written in a language that only they understand. The word for what Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have together and are together does not yet exist.
It’s been a year and one day since Hannibal was imprisoned.
A year and one day, yet Will still dreams of Hannibal’s lips against his own.
Hannibal dreams of his just the same.