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The fall wasn’t exactly… Easy on them. They nearly died. Chiyoh helped, though. It was mere months ago.
At least, they’ve healed enough to be on their own, in a hideout in Cuba. Will liked it there, he could go fishing whenever he wished, Hannibal had the ocean to paint and sketch.
They were safe.
They were happy.
On most Sundays, they’d wake up in their bed together, a mess of tangled limbs and Will’s outgrown hair.
This time, Will woke up to the neighbouring side of the bed empty and cold. His brows furrowed as he saw that and he sat up immediately, alarmed. Hannibal normally wouldn’t disrupt their routine like that.
So, the ex-profiler stood up and grabbed a pink scrunchie from the bedside table, tying his shoulder-length curls into a messy bun as he made his way out of the bedroom, wearing only his pyjama trousers.
He went out to the corridor and looked around, listening for some sound that Hannibal was in the study or the unused guestroom, but no. Will walked to the stairs and went down them, his footsteps silent despite the distracting concern clouding his mind.
Downstairs, he looked around - the drawing room, dining room, kitchen, the living room. Only there, he finally found his lover - who was propped up on the daybed on the terrace, behind the glass door. Will went out there, to the sea breeze ruffling through some loose strands of his hair.
“Hello, Will”, Hannibal said calmly, turning to Will, and the brunette gaped at him. Even in the past few months, Hannibal never looked so… Normal, so domestic. He was wearing loose cotton trousers and a thin cashmere sweater. A short stubble graced his cheeks, he was barefoot, and now, what surprised Will most, he pushed a pair of glasses up his nose.
“You’re wearing glasses”, Will blurted out without a second thought.
Hannibal closed the sketchbook he had in his lap, the perfectly sharpened pencil dropping onto the daybed, next to his thigh.
“That is correct, Will”, his voice was calm, as always.
Will scratched the scar on his cheek, the scar that hasn’t gone white yet, and itched sometimes.
“Why?”, he was positively bewildered.
“Well, my dear, as much as I hate to admit it, I am over fifty. Some parts of my body are out of my control”, he took the glasses off.
“I sometimes forget you’re human”, he sat down next to Hannibal, who chuckled.
“That’s just silly, mylimasis.”
“I know, just…”, Will sighed, leaning against the warm body next to him. “I’ve never seen you wearing glasses.”
Hannibal looked away, to the ocean, and back at Will.
“I don’t wear them in front of you because I’m embarrassed about them. Insecure, you might call it.”
“You? Insecure?”, Will raised his eyebrows.
“Yes.”
The brunette blinked twice, trying to make himself believe Hannibal’s words, but it was tough for him.
“You. Insecure.”
“Yes, Will, me, insecure. What about it?”
“You’re not insecure. You’re never insecure”, Will seemed incredulous.
“Will, everyone is insecure about something…”
“Not you, though. Why would you be, even?”
“Well… I’ve always had full control over my body. Every aspect of it. And now, I feel like it’s… Failing me. Like I am failing myself.”
Will blinked twice again.
“You’re kidding. Hannibal, you’re perfect!”, he laughed.
“I am not.”
“You are, for me”, Will embraced his lover.
“That’s statistically-”, he was interrupted by a gentle kiss planted to his lips.
“I don’t give a shit, Hannibal. You’re a beautiful man. You’ve got soft hair. Your eyes… God, your eyes, like ancient amber embedded in your face. Your lips are like velvet on mine and on my skin, and you’re so intelligent, and empathetic, and a great artist, and I’m shit at this, because you’re the poet here… I just… I love you. And I want you to see yourself like I see you”, he took a deep breath after that, realising he spoke all those words on just one inhale.
Hannibal smiled and pulled Will close, so that he was in the ex-psychiatrist’s lap, his back pressed against Hannibal’s chest.
“I love you, too”, he spoke quietly, his face pressed into the nape of Will’s neck, inhaling.
“Did you just smell me?”, Will asked with a grin.
“Difficult to avoid” was the answer delivered with a smirk.
Will took a deep breath and relaxed in the embrace. Hannibal pulled down the scrunchie and put his hand in the dark curls.
“My hair’s gonna get tangled…”, Will murmured.
“I’ll help you wash it.”
They half-laid there for some time. It was calm. It was serene.
Amber and azure gazing upon their source, dark brown and grey locks gently swaying in the salty breeze.
Hannibal brushed his left hand through Will’s hair, his right hand gently caressed the scar on Will’s abdomen that was created and forgiven so long ago.
The brunette’s eyes strayed from the ocean to the sketchbook discarded next to them on the daybed. He reached for it.
“What are you doing, mylimasis?”, Hannibal asked softly.
“Just checking”, he opened the sketchbook.
He flipped through it, page after page. Most of the drawings were just studies, some were hyper realistic, all had one thing in common - they depicted Will.
“Really?”, he chuckled softly, looking at the portrait, one after the other, all perfect, beautiful. They showed him as he was now - with the scars and his long hair - him in the past, with the shorter hair and the stubble he now took care to get rid of daily.
“Yes, really, mylimasis”, Will could feel the smile on the back of his neck.
And they were just there, together, not a care in the world, looking through the sketchbook, lost in the soft breeze, the searing sun, the sound of the ocean; all caressing them gently, making them the only two people in the world, enveloped by their love.
“Hannibal…”, Will turned his head to look at his partner.
“Yes, mylimasis?”
“Why do you draw me so much?”
“Well…”, Hannibal nuzzled at Will’s neck. “You’re my favourite subject.”