Chapter Text
It took them three years, close to the fourth, until Will Graham and Hannibal Lectern finally settled down, for what was looking to be a longer time. They've moved from one country to another over the years, and as great a continent Europe seemed to be to stay hidden, there were still too many risks at large to stay put for too long. That was until Hannibal Lecter found their current place. A small village in Spain, Galicia. Combarro was the perfect place for both of them, offering pretty sights and scenery for Hannibal, while Will could go back to fishing in silence and enjoy his alone time. Hannibal never let him go off on his own for too long, fearing they'd be caught and end up separated, but this place was safe. It could be their safe haven.
Things were looking good after they settled down. Although Hannibal complained from time to time about the small house and Will complained about Hannibal's complaints, it was all fun and laughter, as much as they were allowed and could enjoy those moments.
The talk had been talked, the deeds were done, and they'd accepted their unconventional love for one another, but sometimes reality still hit, and Will Graham took a few steps back.
They could share a kiss after their morning coffee one second, and the next, Will would go silent, say he'd be out for the whole day, and go off fishing. Hannibal learned to accept those moments. After everything he's put Will through, with his psychiatric knowledge and understanding, it would be wrong to judge him for seeking solitude and peace away from Hannibal.
Despite those moments, they still had their fair share of great times. Over the years, more good moments came along, and more fond memories were stored in a new memory palace.
And now, in this new place, Will sought out new pleasures when Hannibal was out. He missed his dogs but understood it was a bad idea to bring them into their lives. Maybe he could convince Hannibal now to at least get one. They'd stay here for as long as possible; it wouldn't be the worst idea to bring one small pup into their lives.
But for now, Will delved into another hobby: the great world of pop culture. He was never interested in music. Hannibal was, but the things he listened to weren't pleasing to the empath's ears. They made him feel anxious and small; sometimes it was hard to breathe when an opera was going on for too long. And they all went on for too long.
But he found music he liked one day. It was two years ago, in Sweden, in a small pub he ran to after a small fight. He kept his face low and muttered for orders of one beer after the other as he listened to everything around him. People were talking, but he didn't understand them. So he focused on the only thing he did understand. Music. He heard a female voice, fast beats, crude lyrics, and bobbed his head along. The night went on, and Will wrote a few things down on his phone. A few of the lyrics he understood, wanting to seek the songs out at another time.
And that's where he was at now. Alone. In their small house, on Hannibal's reading chair, with his phone playing one pop song after the other. He drank a bottle of beer and looked out of the window, following a few raindrops with his eyes as they rolled down the glass.
"--good for you, you look happy and healthy-" Sometimes, Will found himself humming along; other times, he even dared to sing. It wasn't much; the words barely muttered in the right tone. Moreso, he just spoke the words at the right time, as if reciting poetry.
In his little trance, this time not even noticing he was mumbling along, he also didn't notice the arrival of his partner. The car drove up the street, pulled up their driveway, and parked perfectly straight in front. They didn't own a garage, and Hannibal often muttered complaints about the damage this would do to the car over time. But he also complained about the car itself, not liking the Volvo nearly as much as his dearly missed Bentley.
He was a quiet man, opening the door and scrunching his brows in distaste as it was unlocked. He ought to teach him better. But the sound of music and Will's sweet voice filling the otherwise silence in the house made him relax. He was fine. Will was fine and safe.
"-Good for you, you're doing great out there without me, baby.."
Hannibal took off his shoes and jacket, placing them where they belonged, and moved further inside, leaning against the doorframe to the small living room. His frown was back.
"-I've lost my mind, I've spent the night crying on the floor of my bathroom. But you're so unaffected--"
He could clearly hear Will's voice now. The man knew the lyrics by heart, it seemed. He was taking big jugs from his bottle—the cheap one, Hannibal noted in distaste—and still hadn't noticed the dark presence lingering behind him.
Will had spent longer in the bathroom the night before, Hannibal suddenly thought. It wasn't a big concern yesterday evening, but now the stone was rolling, his thoughts a whirlwind, trying to make any sense of it all.
"Remember when you swore to God I was the only person who ever got you? Well, screw that and screw you. You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do"
Will really didn't put any effort into his mumbles; he just enjoyed the tune. He liked the beats, the instruments, and the girl's pleasant voice. The lyrics were fine, but nothing he really thought about.
But Hannibal stood there, his eyes suddenly turning wide. To him, it sounded like Will was almost bitter. Maybe, just maybe, the words meant more to him. Maybe they were a reflection of his own feelings. But Will truly was the only person who ever got him. Hannibal's arm moved, his fingers wanting to reach out for the man in the leather chair. He wanted to brush through his hair, tell him, and remind him that no one came even close to understanding Hannibal like he did. But then Will chuckled; he let out a hard breath, and his own hand moved up to his tangled mess of curls, ruffling through it much rougher than Hannibal would have.
"Maybe I'm too emotional, or maybe you never cared at all"
Will had chuckled because a small memory of Winston flashed before his eyes. It had nothing to do with the song. He didn't mumble along to the whole text, only some of it, as if he were on autopilot. There were no thoughts behind any of it.But Hannibal was breathing harder now. He did care. He had never cared about anyone as much as Will. Of course he cared about Misha, but compared to her, he had spent many more years with Will now, and they'd been through hell and back. Why would Will think Hannibal didn't care? And why would he not simply speak up and tell him so?
Through some more soft hums, one last "good for you" was said, almost sang this time, and Will shifted in his chair. Hannibal straightened his back as he realized the song had ended.
As the tune faded out, he cleared his throat and walked further into the room. Standing beside Will, he bent down and kissed the top of his head. They didn't always share kisses—no domestic gestures, at least, as Will often tensed at those. Most kisses were of another passion, with the intention of ending in the bedroom. But Hannibal had to do this now. He wanted to. His lips were replaced by his hand afterwards, detangling a few of the locks and pushing some of the hair out of his face.
"Hello Will." It was accompanied by a soft smile.
"Oh hey.. When did you come? I didn't hear you. Sorry about this--" he cut himself off and waved the empty beer bottle.
His tensed shoulders relaxed quickly, and his frown softened. It wasn't often that he felt embarrassed, not after what they'd been through. But the thought of Hannibal catching Will singing along to music, sitting on the only expensive furniture they had, and drinking the cheap beer he always buys in secrecy in a small local shop was overwhelming.
"I just arrived seconds ago. You could have texted me if you were craving beer. I regret that I cannot brew my own anymore, but there is a liquor store further down the road. I could have made a small detour."
Will didn't bother answering with words. A snort and a roll of his eyes were all Hannibal got.
"And please lock the door next time. The crime rate may be very low, but we do not want any unwanted attention. Especially this early on. Please, Will, be more careful. If not for me, at least think about yourself."
His hands had moved from the curls of his hair down to Will's shoulders. His body may not have been tensed anymore, but his shoulders spoke a different story. His body was beat and roughened up, with scars covering every inch, and the constant stress on top of every physical issue had him tense every second of the day.
"'s all good, you worry too much.." Will closed his eyes as Hannibal worked on his shoulders. He didn't fully massage him, no hard pressure, just softly rubbing along the tight muscles. The younger man shifted just enough in his chair so Hannibal had better access. "You got the car fixed? Told you I coulda done this for free. It wasn't a biggie, I'm sure I'm better than any local repairman here.."
The soft laugh of Hannibal had Will open his eyes, one eyebrow raised.
"That, I do not doubt. But you've been awfully tired the past few days, and the car had to be repaired right away. It's all good now, don't worry your precious head about it."
And again, Hannibal leaned forward to press a kiss on Will's head. A second followed, further down, to his nape, and a last one just above the worn-out shirt at the back. It hung down low already, and if Hannibal didn't secretly enjoy Will in literally anything he wore, he would have burned the shirt already.
"I'll go make dinner. You can nap in the meantime. I'll wake you up." And as Hannibal moved away, going through the door on the left to the kitchen, Will finally realized that something was up.
Hannibal was acting softer than usual. The usual involved a goodbye and hello kiss and encouraging nice words at the end of the day before bed. This was out of the norm, and Will feared Hannibal may have done or was about to do something wrong and was trying to make up for it.
"Guess I'll take a nap, then.."
But he couldn't be bothered to give it much thought. Instead, he grabbed the earphones he purchased last week, plugged them into his phone, and went back to his playlist.
Olivia Rodrigo really writes catchy tunes.
That was Will's last thought before he fell asleep on the big leather chair.