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#1: coffee
In some other life, they would have met at a coffee shop. One americano, black; one flat white. They'd catch each other's attention as the rain beat the roof of that little hole-in-the-wall hipster place they would both be pretending they were above. Hannibal had never looked for an innocuous reason to talk to someone before, but there was something about this man that made the possibility of not seeing him again seem like the worst thing in the world. They'd wrap their fingers around their mugs and their nervous chatter, a new path unfolding in front of them both.
#2: lose
They’d talk into the night of their childhoods, and if they liked their professors, and what they wanted to do after college. They’d laugh over happy hour cocktails in the corner of the cheapest bar. They’d talk about music: “You’re learning to play the what?” They’d go to the arcade and play air hockey, which Hannibal would lose. Unfair advantage, he cites. “I’ve never even seen one of these before.” Will laughs, wide and open, and Hannibal tracks every movement. They walk home in the snow. Do you believe in fate? Do you believe the world is made for us? The words spin away on the breeze.
#3: shimmer
Glitter smeared across his cheeks shimmers in the club lights. Sparkles jump as he smiles, pleasure thrumming through him. Body moving in time to the music, Hannibal sways closer to Will across the dance floor. Will’s hand feels like it was made for his; he pulls him closer, brushing his lips across his neck. Only a tease, of course. The rest is saved for later. One hand clutching the sheets and the other the headboard, glitter falling through muffled moans. Nothing has ever felt as good as chipping away at the marble of this man with his own two hands.
#4: liminal
The great swamp stretches into the night. Fat cicadas bang their drums together so much that the air buzzes with it, the sound floating through the gap in the car window where Hannibal is desperately seeking any inkling of a breeze. Will puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I expected. I just... I thought she’d be better than this.” A long sigh, eyes closed. Hannibal reaches for his hand, his nimble fingers curling around Will’s. His boyfriend's next words, small, curl through the car: “I thought good guys get to be happy.” Anger hot in Hannibal's veins. Sour words on his tongue. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.
#5: unanimous
A little foot kicks against his head in his night. There’s a snuffling against his spine. Hannibal rolls over, irritable, and with a huff Will cracks his eyes open. Sleep laces every syllable: “I told you this would happen. Once one comes up, the rest all wanna join.” Hannibal opens his own eyes to meet Will’s bright pools across the bed. He can just make out the curve of Will’s smile in the dark and everything inside him softens. “Fine,” he bites out, putting more malice in the words than he really feels. “Then I guess we need a bigger bed.”
#6: purple
“You look great in the purple one.” Hannibal comes behind Will, reaching over to adjust his tie. He sees Will's wry smile, saying: You always say that. “It’s true. It brings out your eyes.” He meets his lover’s gaze in the mirror and smooths the lapels of Will’s jacket. “You’re going to be brilliant,” Hannibal states, matter-of-fact. “They’re privileged to be able to learn from you.” He places his hands on either side of Will’s head and leans over Will’s shoulder so he can whisper against the man’s cheek. “To learn from this beautiful brain.” The feeling of Will’s smile against his own mouth is all the reward he needs.
#7: retrograde
“I knew you’d be back,” Will spits, their mouths clashing together. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.” Hannibal’s back presses into the wall behind him as his hands scrabble at Will’s belt. He skims his hands under Will’s shirt to feel the hot, firm flesh under his fingertips. Sinks his teeth into Will’s neck, delighting in the feeling of the man melting beneath his burning touch. “Of course not,” Hannibal whispers, lapping at the little droplet of blood he had drawn. Metal sparks on his tongue. How he needed this. Of course not. Everything always comes back to you.
#8: wound
In this perfect life, Will still has his scars. Same old damage, just better stories behind them. The bullet wound in his shoulder, the scars on his arm, they tell a story: they live in a dangerous city, and Will’s spent years on the front line. Hannibal strokes his finger along the scar ripping his stomach in two, the most recent addition. A robbery gone wrong. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, meeting Will’s eyes. The weight of things unsaid between them: I can’t lose you, I can’t. Will smiles ruefully, wrapping his strong fingers around Hannibal’s own. “You know I’ll always be okay, baby.”
#9: interim
Time slips like dust through their fingers and one day Hannibal looks in the mirror and realises he’s grown old. But he’s fine with that. He’s fine with his slow life: sharing wine in the evenings over decadent meals, reading by the fire when Will goes fishing on the weekends. His life is filled with the interim: pottering in the garden, composing music, baking bread. When Will travels for work, Hannibal waits, moving around the Will-shaped spaces in their little beachfront cottage. Every waiting moment pays off when the front door clicks open and he turns, content to see his husband returned to him safe again.
#10: brush
These thoughts cascade through Hannibal’s mind as Will brushes his hand to his on that fated bluff. A thousand possible lives. If Fate had played a different hand, if he had walked a different path. They grapple with one another and at the last second Hannibal slumps, allowing Will to pull him over the edge. Inhales. He can almost smell that first cup of coffee they could have shared. He can almost smell the home they could have made. This is what fills his mind throughout their long, trembling fall into the merciless sea: a thousand chances to make it right, shattering on the floor.