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Fate's got a funny way of nudging you in the right direction. Most of the time you don't even know she's doing it, but she is. Little things, here and there. Not so much steering the ship as much as... shifting the breeze a bit.
Maybe that's why the elevator in Nigel's building breaks down when it does, leaving him to walk down the steps from his fifth floor apartment on this sunny Spring morning.
He winds down the flights, mind on nothing in particular as he descends. He passes a small man, face obscured by the overlarge cargo he's hauling. Three good-sized cardboard boxes, stacked precariously in his arms.
The sight has Nigel dreading the walk that will be awaiting him when he eventually gets back from the liquor store. He's still fit but his knees aren't quite what they used to be. California's making him soft, he reckons.
His reflexes must still in alright shape, though. When one of the man's boxes goes tumbling from his arms halfway up the steps, Nigel manages to grab it before it can go tumbling the rest of the way down.
"Shit," he says, holding it out to the stranger. "Careful, there. Can't even see where you're fucking going, you might—"
Oh, fuck.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he's fucking beautiful. All dark, tousled curls and porcelain skin. Nigel's stopped in his tracks from one damn look at him, that's how fucking beautiful he is.
"...fall."
The man offers him a tight smile, nodding stiffly. "Thank you," he chirps. Voice like music, like flutes and strings echoing around the stairwell. "You can put it on top of the others, now."
His fingers tighten a bit around the box. "Do you want some help, maybe? What floor are you on, I could carry some of these for you."
The man looks at his arms. Nigel can't help but flex a bit under the gaze.
"You'd do that?"
Nigel grins, moving to take another box from the arms of this angel. "Absolutely, gorgeous."
Another smile, and this one almost knocks Nigel on his ass. It's big, bright. Perfect. "Thank you," he says again. "My apartment is on the fifth floor. I hope that's okay."
He laughs. He can't believe his luck. Most magnificent fucking creature in all of Los Angeles, and he lives on the same goddamn floor as Nigel.
Maybe that's why he feels so drawn to the guy. Nigel sees beautiful people every day, he doesn't stop halfway out the door to haul boxes for them. Maybe they've crossed paths before? No, surely Nigel would've remembered seeing that face.
He asks anyway, though, because he can't shake this feeling. Like this man is... familiar, somehow.
"Have we met somewhere before?"
Agent Graham barely looks up from his coffee. A flitting glance, barely paying Hannibal any mind.
"Don't think so," he says tersely. "If my name rings a bell, I've uh, written some papers that have made the rounds through certain psychological circles."
"No," Hannibal says, frowning to himself as he searches his memory. It's strange, but he has an overwhelming sense of Deja Vu. "No, that's not it."
The other man just shrugs, taking a long sip of coffee as he scowls at the evidence board across from them.
Hannibal takes a seat beside him. He doesn't want to make Will uncomfortable, but it's nearly impossible to look away. Looking at him feels like seeing something he once saw in a dream, something hazy and long since passed. It's unlike anything he's felt before. Instantly, he's fascinated.
Will glares at him from the corner of his eye. It's juvenile, silly even, but Hannibal's heart flutters at the attention, negative as it is. Will coughs, leans forward in his chair, braces his elbows on the desk before them. "How many confessions are we at now?"
Right. The Shrike. The killer whose mind Will is meant to be crawling inside. Hannibal feigns interest in Agent Crawford's debriefing. In reality, his thoughts remain stubbornly focused on Will. His reactions, his movements. As much as he can glean from his periphery alone, at any rate.
Hannibal's ears perk up a bit when Jack mentions a one Freddie Lounds. Even more so when Will contributes to the discussion.
"Tasteless," he mutters, voice all but dripping with disgust. Passion. Always a plus.
"Do you have trouble with taste?" Hannibal prods, and Will grimaces.
"My thoughts are often not tasty."
Hannibal sends his thanks through the ether to his former pupil, then. If Doctor Bloom had not sent Jack Crawford his way, then Hannibal might never have met this tempting, walking anomaly.
Jack’s description of Will alone had been enough to pique his interest. More than. A strange but undeniably brilliant academic, one who specializes in empathizing with the violent and vile— How could Hannibal possibly refuse?
Now, seeing Will up close, he's transfixed. Intelligent, yes, and biting in his wit. No less icy for his empathy. Lovely, too, beneath his unkempt surface. If only he could get a proper look at that face, but Will isn't interested in offering even that morsel of intimacy.
"Nor mine," Hannibal says, leaning a bit closer to the other man. Perhaps he can garner some attention from Will yet, with some effort. "No effective barriers."
Will sighs. "I build forts."
"Associations come quickly," he counters.
"So do forts."
Hannibal eyes him thoughtfully, taking him in. He's drawn tense enough to snap. It wouldn't take much effort at all, to push him past the proverbial edge. A vision flashes to his mind with the realization. Will Graham, bloodied and beautiful. He could be marvelous, with Hannibal's assistance. Marvelous.
It's forward, but he says it regardless.
"Not fond of eye contact, are you?"
Adam shakes his head, frowning ahead of them as they round another landing. "Looking people in the eye makes me uncomfortable," he explains flatly. "I don’t like doing it, if I don’t absolutely have to.”
Nigel smirks, slowing his ascent to stay in step with the other man. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He eyes Adam, admires how his cute nose wrinkles when he’s confused. “Thought you didn’t like me, or something.”
“Oh,” Adam says, and the way his lips part makes him look unbelievably kissable. “No, it’s not that.”
It’s not exactly a green light, but it sure as fuck isn’t a red one. “Good.”
Adam smiles, eyes still straight ahead. “I’m glad that you checked. People tend to assume that I’m being rude or inconsiderate, but I try to be a nice person. I’m just… more upfront than most people. Nuance gets lost on me.”
Nigel huffs. “Yeah, me too.”
“You seem nice enough to me. Most people wouldn’t have offered to help me.”
And Nigel nearly informs Adam that he wouldn’t usually be the kind of person to do this, either, but he bites his tongue. Instead he says “Well, I’m definitely fucking upfront.”
That sweet smile gets bigger. Nigel nearly trips over his own feet, he’s so caught up in that smile. “I like that about you, Nigel.”
The sign above the door on the next landing informs them that they’ve reached the fifth floor, and Adam props his box awkwardly on one bony hip as he pulls it open for Nigel. Nigel nods in gratitude as he passes through.
“It’s supposed to be apartment five-oh-seven,” Adam says, looking around the hallway to gather his bearings.
Holy shit, what are the fucking odds? “Well, that makes the two of us neighbors, Adam. I’m in five-oh-eight. I’ll uh, try to keep it down so I don’t bother you— I work nights so if I’m ever making noise while you’re trying to sleep, just beat the shit out of your wall until I shut up.”
Adam just nods, very seriously. “Okay, I’ll remember that.”
Nigel's chest turns tight. He hasn’t been faithful since he was fourteen, but he’s starting to think that all of the prayers his Bunica had said for him just kicked in at once. No other explanation. Adam is a fucking angel and he moved in right next door.
He tries to shrug off the starstruck feeling running through him, clears his throat. “Gotta tell you, gorgeous, you picked a hell of a day to move in,” he says with a grunt. He adjusts his grip on the boxes, eager to set them down. “Don’t think that elevator’s been out of service once in the year I’ve been living here.”
“Just bad luck, I guess,” Adam sighs. “I seem to attract a lot of problems, lately.”
“Story of my fucking life,” Nigel replies with a rough, self-deprecating chuckle. “I think everything for the past forty years has all been one big problem, if I’m honest with you.”
Adam pauses in the hallway. Turns Nigel’s way at last. He frowns up at the scar on Nigel’s forehead, gives him a proper glimpse at those bright blue eyes of his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He sounds so sincere that Nigel feels his face turn hot.
“What was that?”
“I said I’m sorry for wasting your time, Doctor Lecter,” Will says, striding quickly through the building. Hannibal catches up to him easily enough, but it’s difficult to fall into step with him with so many bodies passing through the halls. “But I think you should be heading back to Baltimore now.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would at least hear me out,” Hannibal coaxes. He’d fled Agent Crawford’s office in Will’s wake, chasing after him when he’d tried to storm away from their disastrous first meeting. He had every right to refuse to work with Hannibal, to abandon the Shrike case altogether. It wouldn’t do, for Will to walk away from this. More importantly, the idea of not seeing Will again after today was simply unacceptable. Their conversation was as hostile as it was brief, and yet Hannibal would prefer being despised by Will Graham to being without him. Will’s steps don’t slow. “Please?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed in shrewd appraisal. Hannibal fully expects the other man to send him away, or worse still, ignore him entirely. “I really am late for a lecture,” he says, a bit begrudgingly. “I don’t like to keep my students waiting if I can help it.”
“Then I’ll make the most of what few minutes we have.”
Will stalls at the end of the hallway, before a small elevator. Hannibal doesn’t anticipate the abrupt halt, staggers to a stop just behind Will. He looms over his shoulder for a moment, and Will sighs as he presses the button to call the elevator.
“...I’m listening.”
It’s a small opportunity, but Hannibal seizes it gladly. He takes a courteous step back from Will’s person, but not before taking a subtle breath of his scent. Dog hair, cedar trees, dark roast coffee. At least, he hopes the act is subtle. The way that Will glares at him from behind the oval frames of his glasses make him fear that it wasn’t.
“I’d like to apologize,” he begins at length. In truth, he enjoyed their meeting too much to truly be remorseful, but he says it regardless. “for my analytical ambush. Agent Crawford briefed me on your abilities, prior to my agreeing to assist on the Shrike case. My own curiosity may have gotten the best of me. It often does.”
The elevator opens, then. It’s empty. Will steps inside. “You should learn to keep your impulses in check, Doctor,” he notes dryly. “Or at the very least, learn to pretend that you mean it when you apologize to someone.”
The doors begin to close. Hannibal doesn’t bother to disguise his frustration.
He blinks when Will extends his hand, stopping the doors. He stares up at Hannibal, still every bit as irritated as before.
“Aren’t you going to get in?”
Hannibal’s face is blank for a beat before he smiles. He steps into the elevator, settling at Will’s side as Will jabs the button for the lowest floor.
“Came on a good day,” he says, so low that Hannibal almost thinks he’s talking to himself. “This elevator’s been down for weeks, it only just started working again.” He looks up, catches Hannibal’s eye, smirks. “You would have been chasing me down the stairs.”
“I would have.”
Will turns away just as the look on his face begins to soften. Hannibal is warmed by the expression regardless.
“I really would prefer for us to start this relationship on a more amicable footing,” Hannibal insists. He feels an urge to lean closer to the other man, resists it. “Who’s to say, we might even become friendly.”
Will shakes his head. “I don’t find you that interesting.”
The elevator comes to a lurching stop, and when Will steps off Hannibal is almost too stunned to follow. For all his rudeness, though, Will doesn’t walk away.
Hannibal celebrates this as a victory, however small. “You will,” he says, and joins him as Will takes off down the hall.
Will doesn’t bother smothering his answering smile. “Will that interest be mutual, then?” he asks, with the particular mirth of someone who already knows the answer.
“Jack Crawford is certainly very interested in you,” Hannibal supplies. “One must wonder what behavior on your part inspired so much intrigue.”
He arrives at a wide, heavy door, throws it open to stride into a large lecture hall already filling with students. “To be entirely candid with you, Doctor Lecter, I get the impression that you and Jack are interested in me for very different reasons.”
Will turns, eyeing Hannibal with an all-too-knowing amusement. Lifting a taunting brow, he says
“You can go now.”
“Are you sure?” Nigel asks, because it might come across as desperate but what he really wants to say is ‘Fucking marry me’. He looks around the barren apartment, clocks that there’s almost definitely more boxes waiting downstairs. “I mean, I don’t have anything else going on today. I could stick around, if you need help with the rest of your stuff.”
Adam frowns. He fiddles with the cuffs of the thin hoodie he’s wearing, thinking it over. Nigel hangs in the silence, waiting, hoping.
It’s strange. He’s used to falling hard, always been a bleeding heart romantic at the end of the day. But what he’s feeling right now blows all of the shit he’s felt before out of the fucking water.
The ugly truth is, he’s been starved for something like Adam lately. The first few months after moving out here were a fucking nightmare. They were hard, and dark, and worst of all they were lonely. Nigel had to lay low for a bit, keep his ear to the ground and jump at every tiny rumble until the dust all settled. He couldn’t work, couldn’t get fucked up, wasn’t even supposed to drink because it would fuck with his meds. That last part didn’t stop him from getting wasted on occasion anyway, though.
Worst of all, he felt like shit. He was recovering from the worst blow of his life, both physically and emotionally. Healing from a catastrophic heartbreak and a fucking bullet to the skull, at the same god damn time, just in case the universe hadn’t made it clear enough that it had a bone to pick with him.
Recently he’s finally been snapped out of feeling sorry for himself, though. Went back to the gym and shaved the heinous monstrosity that’d grown on his face. Realized that even if fate hated his guts, it also didn’t seem to be interested in killing him just yet, so he might as well get out there and fucking live again.
Problem there was that he didn’t really remember how to be himself, anymore. He tried, God knows he tried, but the old Nigel seemed to always stay just out of reach. He’d been alone for too long, maybe. Isolated and stewing in his own grim thoughts. It’s hard to bounce back from that. Especially if you try to do it all at once.
Maybe he could start slow, though. Just connect with one person, someone close by. Somebody who made him feel a bit more alive than he did when he woke up this morning.
Adam opens his mouth, and Nigel holds his breath.
“I can do it on my own. Thank you, though.”
Nigel’s heart drops. Well, there will be more opportunities. They’re fucking neighbors, it’s not like they’ll never cross paths again.
And then he notices the way Adam bites his lower lip, how pink his cute cheeks have turned.
Right. Be upfront.
“I know you can handle it yourself, gorgeous,” he says, leaning on Adam’s empty kitchen counter. “What I’m really asking is: Do you want me to stay and help?”
The other man blinks. His eyes flick up to Nigel’s mouth just in time to see him smile. Adam chews his lip for another moment before saying “I do want you to stay, but I know that it’s not polite to ask strangers to help you with things if it doesn’t benefit them, too, and I don’t have any cash.”
Nigel chuckles, then shuts it down when Adam seems put off by the response. “You don’t need to pay me. I think generally the fee for helping a friend move is just a beer or two.”
“I don’t have any beer, I haven't even been grocery shopping yet. And even then, we just met. We aren’t friends.”
“I’d like to be, though,” Nigel counters, moving closer to Adam with a long striding step. Adam doesn’t move away. “And it doesn’t have to be beer.”
He comes to a stop just before the other man. Adam seems to fully notice the difference in their heights for the first time, and the blush on his face darkens.
“Have dinner with me.”
Will balks. One or two of his students offer him pointed glances, amused looks coming to their faces. A fierce heat shoots to Will’s ears. “I—” His voice cracks, and he coughs. “That’s wildly inappropriate.”
Hannibal isn’t so easily deterred, he’s made that much clear by now. “We can discuss the case, if you’d prefer. Or not. I think you’ll find that I’m quite flexible.”
One of Will’s students nudges her neighbor, speaks hushed words to her. Both girls laugh. It’s almost certainly innocuous, but Will runs an anxious hand through his curls regardless.
“You are…” It starts as an accusation, but then Will breathes out a rough laugh. “You’re going to drive me insane, I can tell.”
He moves closer, though. Speaks low, so as not to be overheard. “How about you help me find the Shrike first,” he mutters. “And then after that, if I haven’t decided that I never want to see you again...”
Will looks up at Hannibal through a curtain of lashes, so long that they nearly bump the lenses of his glasses. The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Then maybe you and I can celebrate.”
Hannibal grins. His heart has set to pounding, the rush of endorphins that swirls through his system rivals that of a fresh kill. “I look forward to it,” he replies, and Will nods sharply.
“Good. Now get out of my classroom.”
It’s harsh, but the look in Will’s eyes turns it playful. Flirtatious. “Of course,” Hannibal says. “And Will?”
Adam just hums, curls bouncing as they head back down the hall together. An odd feeling floods Nigel’s body. Something warm, something comforting. It sets him off balance, but somehow it doesn’t feel new.
“Are
you
sure
we
haven’t
met
before?”