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It started with a flower petal. Soft as silk. Small in the palm of his hand. Pure white, with only the smallest speck of crimson blood. Rather beautiful. It almost felt like a sin to toss it into the trash bin, to watch it slowly fall into the bag.
When Hannibal looked into the mirror after that, he was different. He immediately knew, immediately understood. What was there to not understand?
Will Graham was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was a siren, he was a succubus, and he was utterly hypnotizing. Will could ask for anything– absolutely anything –and Hannibal would cave in. Because Will was ethereal. A being of perfection that shouldn’t exist, but did anyway.
And Hannibal loved him. An annoying yet undeniable fact. It was a fact that tainted every move that Hannibal made. He couldn’t kill anymore, not without thinking about Will. He would spend hours on a display, hoping that Will would recognize it. Only Will, with his limitless understanding, could comprehend Hannibal’s work.
But every time, Hannibal was disappointed. There were never words of praise. Rarely any acknowledgement at all. There were only tense words and cut down sentences. Sometimes, sometimes , Hannibal thought he saw something in Will’s eyes. A momentary look of fondness, warm as the sun. A look that was gone as soon as it came. Yet Hannibal managed to savor it every time he saw it, however brief, because he never quite knew if it would be the last.
Will was the only thing on Hannibal’s mind when he left the restroom. He was eternally on the forefront of Hannibal’s mind, therapy session be damned. When another petal tried to force its way up, Hannibal forced it right back down.
…
It was only difficult to hide when he was around others for an extended period of time. For example, a dinner that he had set up multiple weeks in advance. The whole thing was superficial, really. He had to keep up with his appearances, after all. So if that meant inviting Jack Crawford over to his home for dinner, then that was what he would do.
There were two primary issues. One, was that it was more than an occasional cough now. It was a stream of petals, floating up and up until they could no longer be ignored; a small handful of white, pink, and red after every cough. The smooth petals turned his handkerchief into a miniature canvas of preserved flowers that would be enchanting in just about any other circumstance.
The second problem was that Hannibal was an extremely healthy man. He cooked every morsel that made its way into his mouth, he exercised multiple times a week, and to top it off, he was a certified doctor. He could pass one cough off as nothing. Something stuck in his throat, perhaps. A current of coughs, however, was a sickness– one that a doctor could not shrug off as if it were nothing. So Hannibal would have to sharpen up his suit. Refine the edges. Curate his words carefully . Jack was an easy man to fool if he was already searching in the wrong places– which he was.
Hannibal graciously invited Jack inside his home at seven pm, his handkerchief heavy in his back pocket.
“Thank you for inviting me, Hannibal,” Jack said as he walked inside. He was without his wife tonight, unfortunately. Hannibal found that she often made better conversation than Jack.
“It’s my pleasure. Take a seat, it’ll be just a moment.” Hannibal led them to the dining room, and pulled out a chair, only leaving for the kitchen once Jack took a seat.
The meat was fresh out of the oven, topped with asparagus. It radiated with heat, and its scent had flourished into the kitchen in the brief time that Hannibal was away. Before he picked up the dish, he took out his handkerchief, sensing the blooming flowers trying to escape.
He willed himself to be quiet. To simply let it happen. A swarm of petals licked their way up Hannibal’s throat, threatening to gag him. They forced his mouth open and seeped into the handkerchief. He gave them only a glance before washing his hands. The water swirled down into the drain, accompanied by the petals; a taunting river.
And then he brought the dish out, and he cut slices off for each of them, and he pretended that everything was fine. As if his heart didn’t skip a beat when Jack mentioned Will. As if they weren’t discussing the man he ached for.
Jack had politely dismissed the first time Hannibal coughed. The second time, he just gave a small chuckle and asked, “Feeling under the weather, Doctor?”
In which Hannibal replied, “I’m afraid so. A slight cold is all. I believe I will be back to full health in no time.”
And that was that. Hannibal forbade the flowers from emerging– somehow, that was enough.
God, Jack was a fool.
…
There was no fooling Will Graham. Not for an extended period of time, anyhow.
It had been three weeks since their last therapy session, due to a shockingly swift-stepped killer. Will entered Hannibal’s office looking tired and pained, his dark curls just slightly out of place. There was a twitch in his fingers, which was the nonverbal equivalent of asking for a drink. After the session, Hannibal supposed.
“How are you, Will?”
Will shrugged his jacket off and placed it on the coat rack. “Exhausted.”
“Understandably so.” He certainly looked the part. There was a faint yet noticeable dark ring below his eyes, and even his demeanor seemed more tired than usual. “You were gone for three weeks– a rather long time to be away from home. Tell me, how was dear old Uncle Jack?”
Will gave a dry chuckle, and then wiped his hands down his face. “Absolutely horrible. I’ve never seen him so tense about a case. Well, other than the ripper.” He sat down in the seat opposing Hannibal, and looked into Hannibal’s eyes.
Words flooded into Hannibal’s mind: Eyes are distracting– you see too much, you don’t see enough. And-and it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, um, ‘Oh those whites are really white,’ or ‘he must have hepatitis,’’ or ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’ So yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. He thought about that rant often– specifically every time Will looked into his eyes. There was an indescribable feeling that came with being an exception to Will’s golden rule.
“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink, would you Hannibal? I desperately need it,” Will asked. A look in his eyes said that he already knew the answer.
“Indeed I do. I was thinking we would wait until after our conversations.”
Will continued to look at him, his eyebrows now minutely raised. Hannibal couldn’t do anything but cave in. If Will wanted it, then Hannibal would give.
“Or we could drink now,” Hannibal said with a slight smile. “It’s all the same to me.”
Hannibal got up from his seat, and moved towards the back of his office. As he did, he heard from behind him, “I see you implemented a new trash bin by your chair, Hannibal. Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Will managed to perfectly balance genuinity and sarcasm with his voice.
He returned with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, offering one of the glasses to Will. “A slight illness is all,” he finally responded.
Will took one of the glasses and held it out for Hannibal to pour. A soft splash filled the silent room. “I assumed you knew better than to lie to me.”
There was almost a certain disappointment in Will. In the deep blue of his eyes. In his voice. Hannibal felt as if he was in the wrong– he shouldn’t have lied.
He sat back down in his own seat, and poured himself a drink. “More than slight, then.”
Will huffed. “So is that it? ‘More than slight.’ I can see the fuckin’ bile trying to rise out of your throat, Hannibal. You don’t have to be a doctor to see that. I can hear it in the way you talk. So are you going to start vomiting into that tiny trash bin, or what? I’m gone for three weeks on the most excruciating case that you can’t even begin to comprehend, and suddenly you’re dying.”
“I’m sure I could understand the case.”
Will took a drink– Hannibal’s eyes flicked to the bob of his adam’s apple and then back to his eyes. “You’re deflecting.”
Ironic, considering Will deflected often. The petals were creeping up, a handful of them. “I am.”
“Do it.”
“Pardon?”
Will leaned forward in his seat. “Take out your handkerchief, or grab the trash bin, or whatever the fuck, and cough it out.” He paused, tense silence filling the voice between them, and then, “Fucking do it, Hannibal. I’m not in the mood for anything else.”
Hannibal grabbed his handkerchief and brought it to his mouth. He barely had to cough. Red and white flowed out of his mouth, covering the handkerchief in full. The cluster was equally as beautiful as the first white petal. If Hannibal was going to die– die from an illness –then this may be the best one. It was a disease powered solely by love; a rare emotion for Hannibal. Well, not so rare anymore.
Will set his glass down on the side table and stood up. He wordlessly took the handkerchief out of Hannibal’s hands, and Hannibal made no effort to stop him.
Hannibal’s stomach was queasy. He hadn’t felt nerves since his childhood. It was almost nostalgic. Will’s face was impassive as he looked down at the handkerchief. There was nothing to read. All he could do was look up at Will and wait for his judgment to come.
“Oh, Hannibal,” Will said softly, his voice light as air. “Oh, darling.” Darling. The word echoed in his ears. Darling, darling, darling. “I’m not sure why I expected anything else.” He set the handkerchief down on Hannibal’s side table, not even bothering to throw the petals in the trash. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he finally looked at Hannibal. “How long?”
Hannibal’s voice broke. “Two and a half months.”
“Two and a half months…” Will repeated. There was something like pity emitting from him. Pity, and something else.
Hannibal couldn’t speak– his voice was lost. He was moments away from rejection, but all he could think about was how stunning the man above him was, how he was at Will’s mercy. Will cupped his jaw. Hannibal felt as if his heart was on the verge of imploding. Flowers bloomed in his lungs and the petals floated up to the surface of his mouth; the beauty of it was so painfully cruel. Will gently forced his mouth open, and he caught the petals that fell out with his other hand. He held them for just a moment before letting them fall to the ground, slowly.
“I wish you told me,” Will said, voice still wonderfully, terrifyingly soft. “Though, it is much more like you to not tell me. You’ve always been one to omit things.”
Will leaned in, Hannibal could feel his breath on his own skin, and it was absolutely electrifying. Will placed a kiss on Hannibal’s cheek, then another, then he moved to his neck, and placed one there too. Will was a divine deity, finally reaching out to his most dedicated servant. Hannibal had never felt more alive.
“Will,” he whispered with a hitched breath.
“Yes?” Will asked, lips still brushing against his throat.
“Please.”
Will moved away from his neck, looking back into Hannibal. “Please what?”
“Please kiss me. Touch me. Anything, Will. Please. ”
Will smiled, a powerful thing. “I’ve never heard you be so polite with a request.” He straddled Hannibal's lap, pleased at the small choking sound that Hannibal made– more petals. “I think I can do that. Open your mouth, darling.”
Hannibal did, overwhelmed with the feeling of Will . Will took out the new flower petals, one by one, examining each one. Finally, when every petal was out, Will kissed him. The sharp taste of whiskey mixed with the bitterness of petals. Will was gentle with the kiss– slow and sensual and loving. More love than Hannibal had ever felt before. He couldn’t even complain when Will broke away because it was so perfect.
Without a hint of mocking, Will asked, “How was that, hm? Everything you hoped for?”
It was like his lungs were contracting; every leftover flower bud bloomed one after another. A river of petals flowed up to his mouth, more than ever before. It was the only time where he absolutely had to cough because the sensation was so jarring in his throat. Tens of hundreds of crimson petals settled upon Hannibal and Will’s lap– some of them floated down to the floor, creating a floral ring around them.
“It was perfect, Will,” Hannibal was finally able to say. “You’re perfect. I’ve never seen a more beautiful being.”
Will put his hand in Hannibal’s hair, caressing it. “You really do have a way with your words.” Will chuckled, softly, “More like a lit major than a doctor.”
A tear rolled down Hannibal’s cheek. He couldn’t help it; this was all Hannibal ever wanted. Just Will.
Will wiped the tear away with his free hand, not giving it a second thought. “I’m here now, Hannibal. Relax. I won’t leave you. You’re okay.” He kissed Hannibal again, shorter, but just as meaningful. “We’re alright.”
And they were.