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Summer’s scalding presence was relentless, unforgiving, unwavering. Beads of sweat rolled down Jack’s warm, sticky body, exacerbated by his own suit jacket, pants and button-up. It rolled down on him in waves, pooling at the back of his neck, and there wasn’t a breeze on sight to aid him.
His body was warm, yes, but his veins were cold, the blood coursing through them enough to give him frostbite if he did not find a way to shake off the dread that clung to his shoulders and wrapped around his stomach.
He held, in his right hand, a gun. In his left, a letter, once neatly folded into a hound, now a crumpled mess in his hands. The origami had been Lester’s doing, undoubtedly — the man had a penchant for the arts and the dramatics —, but its contents had been written by his now former profiler, evidently so by the scrawny, hurried handwriting he knew so well.
Will Graham was a good man. An honest, hardworking, kind man. Jack believed this to be true in his heart. The Will he knew would always make the right choices, would abide solely to morality, would never allow himself to be dragged in too deep with the sharks he hunted.
Yet the letter in his hands pointed to the contrary in an indubitable manner.
Jack,
It’s over. I quit. I’m leaving this job, this place, with the only person that matters to me most. Don’t try to look for me, it would be futile and imprudent. I wish you well, so long as you let it all go and let me live my life with Hannibal unperturbed.
I won’t even tell you to not blame yourself. I warned you. I told you about the risks and you kept pushing and demanding. If we ever cross paths again, it will be Will Lecter, not Will Graham — our wedding is in planning, but unfortunately for you, you did not make it to the guest list.
I suppose I owe you a modicum of gratitude. If not for you, I would still be that unsociable, unconfident, hermit Will Graham. I would not have known love. But now I do.
This is goodbye.
— Will
‘Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ The man crumpled the letter tightly in his fist again, and his other fist darted towards a vase, shattering it against the floor when it fell.
Perhaps if he hadn’t been so intransigent in his actions and overall demeanour, Will Graham would not have fallen into the arms of a monster. Perhaps if he had heeded to Dr Bloom’s multiple warnings of never allowing Will to get too close, this situation would have been entirely avoided.
Part of him remained stubborn, unable to simply sit still upon the visage of this poignant situation, and wanted to believe Graham had gone against his will, kicking and screaming, cursing Lecter and all his lineage.
But even he could not fool himself to such an absurd extent.
The chemistry and potential for a relationship between the two had always been present; Jack was blinded and undiscerning through a fault of his own to have been unable to see it. Graham kept no friends, he detested looking at people in the eyes, and physical touch was perpetually banned except for the rare occasions which society deemed imperative, yet Lecter had been an odd exception from the start, and, with his presence in Will’s life, the professor had bloomed in manners Jack had deemed unthinkable.
It was only a matter of time until something like this happened.
And God, he was angry. Enraged. There was an acrid taste on his tongue acquired after reading that letter that simply wouldn’t vanish. It blended with a metallic tinge, forming a stomach-churning liquid that he could barely swallow down.
Will Graham was dead.
And he would make sure Hannibal Lecter was too, even if it was the last thing that he did.
—
Florence, Italy
If one had asked Will Lecter what his favourite season was merely a few months ago, his answer would have been straightforward and cold as the season he would have answered — winter. But times were different.
Italian summer clung to his very skin and bones, elevating his usually warm body temperature, yet he had no qualms about it. He welcomed it with open arms; the sweat rolling down his chiselled arms and muscular thighs, the sun bathing his porcelain skin —now with a little bit of a tan, thanks to Apollo —, the form in which the city shone brightly, and the habitants were far more joyful too, at least in comparison to those back in the U.S.
His glass of wine was never empty so long as he desired, h ate organic, delicious produce from markets and farms of utmost qualities, and pigs roamed aplenty too; meat was never scarce, his bloodthirst always clenched.
Abigail had daily piano lessons, consistent fishing lessons and she was attending a prestigious university.
But the best of all was him.
His husband, his one and only, his everything; his equal in measures unfathomable to Will long ago, long before he was even aware of the need for an equal; his soulmate, his twin flame, his heart personified as a living, breathing fallen angel.
It had all changed during summer nights — the switch from hating from afar to breaking the sexual tension between them, then Will’s confession, Hannibal’s proposal and the departure for a new life, unstained by those around them who would do it all to see them apart —, and so Will had grown to love Summer and all it entailed.
Now, he adored it more.
Will swayed in his husband’s arms, bashing in the attention from Hannibal’s warm, loving gaze and smile, his arm secured around Will’s waist to hold him close, his other hand holding Will’s. Will’s hand on Hannibal’s shoulder was tight, but caring nonetheless, and he was smiling broadly — beaming, even, at his beloved.
They waved elegantly and expertly with each sound of music. Will was not a born expert, and hadn’t the advantages of an aristocratic upbringing like Hannibal’s to teach him various manners of dancing, but his husband had been dedicated to teaching him.
He had made tremendous progress.
And most importantly, for the first time in his life, he was happy.
Happiness and Hannibal Lecter walked hand in hand in Will’s life, never one present without the other.
’What’s on your mind, my dearest?’ Inquired the object of his affections.
’You,’ Will responded simply.
Unable to help himself, he leaned in for a kiss, and was eagerly received.
’Do elaborate, Mr Lecter.’
He chuckled. It had been a couple months since the wedding. Months of pure, unadulterated bliss. Of lying beside each other and weakening together each night and day without qualms about the future; of breakfast served over quiet conversations and familiar banter, in the company of their surrogate daughter; of evenings of strolls hand-in-hand, taking in the beauty of Florence when golden lamps littered the streets; of the refreshing evening breeze combing its fingers through Will’s curls, yet leaving Hannibal’s hair intact. In those moments, the younger man felt compelled to undo his husband’s meticulously slicked back hair with his fingers. He often did, and was received with a glint of admonishment and a fond smile on those pouty lips.
The smile he kissed.
The casual mention of his new name was always sufficient to awaken the moths in his stomach, to send them fluttering along his insides in unabashed happiness. It was new and thrilling, and Will knew he could never get accustomed to such an intense feeling of belonging, to feel so right it often stole the oxygen from his chest cavity, right out of his lungs, and origamed it into a smile set upon his lips.
‘You are happiness. The true embodiment of it in my life,’ Will smiled. ‘I can't believe I spent so long without you. Living without you. I was a parched man in the desert, seeking a droplet of water and finding nothing but mirages in the way until you came along and shook my world to its foundations,’ he said, gazing at Hannibal oh so lovingly. Underneath the love, there was a hint of possessiveness — danger just lurking in the corner within this wolf in sheep skin. ‘I’d destroy this whole fucking world if I couldn’t have you, and I’d destroy it so that only I could have you too. I will destroy it all if anyone tries to take this from us. From the three of us.’
Hannibal’s eyes gleamed with enough adoration and worship to weaken the ligaments that kept Will’s knees upright and once again steal the breath from his lungs — and it did. The blond man leaned forward for a kiss, catching Will with strong, steady arms around his waist, an anchor guiding him to shore, and poured with all his devotion. Will parted his own lips to let him in, sighing as Hannibal licked into his mouth. When they parted, Hannibal had a lazy smile on his lips.
’A mere a few months ago this would have been a dream I would have guarded with great care in my Memory palace. Now it has become reality, and I may visit when I wish, but there’s no need. I have you with me. I will always have you with me.’
A promise and a threat at once.
Will kissed him again, more urgently this time around, still smiling.
‘Knives and roses.’
‘Always, dear one,’ he said, mischief in his tone and eyes. ‘Is the thrill not something you enjoy?’
‘Greatly. Although now I prefer to reserve the knives to our bedroom if we are going to point them at each other’s throats. When they come out and play, it’s for blood.’
‘Indeed,’ Hannibal agreed. ‘Roses for you and I for now and through eternity, in the lives we have lived and in the ones we have yet to reach.’
Will rose an amused brow at his husband, playful and lazy.
‘You seem awfully certain we will be paired again in future lives. Are we not deleterious enough together that God might want to separate us?’
Hannibal frowned as if to say perish the thought — Will knew from the slight crease in his brows and the quirk of his lips, the closest to an eye roll a man like Hannibal Lecter would get.
‘God knows that because we are so deleterious together, it’s best we do not become anyone else’s problem. It’s a conundrum he’s familiar with,’ he said simply. ‘In addition to that, dear William, God knows we will unleash hell if he attempts to separate us.’
Will hummed in agreement, eyes twinkling with the hint of something crimson at the mere concept of being apart from his other half, even in a hypothetical future life.
‘I would treat God as one of his sinners if he dared.’
‘Hey, you two! You can stare into each other’s eyes when we get home. Let’s keep it moving,’ up ahead, Abigail shouted, bringing them both back to reality.
Hannibal shot her an apologetic look while WIll simply laughed. Hand in unloveable hand — or rather, solely loveable by each other, two monsters before a mirror, two sides of the same coin, never one without the other — they walked up the bridge, meeting the girl at where she enacted the role of impatience and tiredness. The slight curve of her lips denounced a concealed smile.
‘Done planning the demise of the people you left behind?
‘We were having a pleasant conversation about planning the demise of God, allow me to correct you,’ Hannibal said, playful in his own manner. ‘Although if the situation ever called for it, the demise of those we left behind would also come to fruition.’
’Well, now is the time. He’s here. Waiting.’
Hannibal hummed, eyes never drifting from WIll’s visage.
‘Mhm. I know. Uncle Jack should not have followed us in our happiness.’
Will laughed.
’No, he shouldn’t have.’
‘Are you two planning on really killing anyone that crosses your path?’
Will glanced up at Hannibal. He didn’t need a mirror to know the crimson in Hannibal's golden green irises and darkened pupils matched the one in his own cerulean irises.
‘We’ll do what we have to protect the three of us,’ Will answered simply/
‘As if you won’t enjoy it,’ Abigail pointed out, casually, like one would point out they would like a glass of water.
Will’s chest swelled with pride.
‘Would a duck not enjoy swimming? Would a bird not enjoy flying?’ Hannibal retorted. ‘It’s nature, Abigail.’
‘Whatever. As long as you let me pick what’s for dinner once you have him. Maybe lasagna.’
The two men shared a look. Love and affection, pride and joy. Utter bliss and, underneath, a murderous urge, the desire to hunt and kill.
It was time that Jack learnt a valuable lesson.