Chapter Text
He looked like something out of film noir. Silhouette of a man, leaned up against his taxi just out of reach of the streetlamps. Smoldering cigarette in one hand, he took a drag and let his head fall back to breathe out the smoke. There wasn't any traffic, pedestrian or otherwise. No one was looking for a ride and he wasn't looking for a customer. He was just killing time until his shift was done.
Footsteps echoed off the dark, dead houses. The world was asleep except for these two men. This one, approaching, looked like he was in the wrong zip code. Dressed to the nines without irony or occasion, he stuck out like sore thumb. But his presence was deliberate and greeted with a grin.
"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon." Will called, tossing his cigarette to the pavement only to reach for the pack to replace it a moment later.
Hannibal sped up at the sound of his voice. "I couldn't help myself."
"But all the way down here? For you this is practically the slums."
"I've been all over the city, actually. Hunting you down." His hair was a blonde flash in the split seconds he passed under the lamps, his features hollowed with shadows. He looked like death approaching, a skull in a finely tailored suit. "You're more elusive than I thought."
"Sorry to put you out." Will offered the cigarette. "I'm hardly worth the trouble."
Hannibal ignored it and instead wrapped himself around Will. He put his weight into it, pressing them against the cab so that he'd have the leverage he needed for a kiss deeper than was decent. Will took with a nonchalant grace, eye closed, body slack except for the hand holding up that cigarette. As they separated he tapped the ashes loose and offered it again. This time it was accepted.
"So," Will tugged the other man's lapels lightly, "now that you've found me."
"Do you have plans?"
"Surprisingly, yes. I'm celebrating. It's going to be a party of one, the best alcohol the gas station has to offer and a warm bath." With a hand on Hannibal's wrist, he guided the cigarette to his mouth.
"Room for one more?"
"That's not how we usually do things."
"Is that a no?"
"If you think you can stand a night away from the finer things, you're more than welcome."
Hannibal kissed him again, softer, sweeter. It felt like a thank you and had something in Will's chest swelling. He hoped it didn't show in his face. Suddenly they were standing too close. Thrusting his hips out, he put some space between them. Hannibal stumbled and Will pulled open the driver side door.
"Meter's running." The engine roared to life. "I will leave without you."
Hyper aware of each other in the close quarters of the car, neither managed to think of a thing to say. Despite their clumsiness at a normal night, one that went beyond backseat fucking and sweet nothings, there was a special kind of silence between them. One that didn't need to be filled with useless words.
When Hannibal did speak Will nearly jumped.
"If there's a special occasion perhaps we could stop somewhere for dinner. My treat."
"Only if I get to pick the place."
*
The sign in the windshield proclaimed BEST DOGS, CHEAP POP. The look of skepticism Hannibal gave it made Will laugh. It was his favorite food truck and he was enough of a regular that its employees recognized him. The boy in the back waved happily as Will tugged Hannibal into the short line that was curling up onto the sidewalk.
"Heard you got the part. Lucky fucker." The man working the cash register grinned. "Everything for you and your man here is on the house."
"I'll take my usual and . . . " Will scanned the menu. "He'll have the number four."
"I'll double the fries if you give me a light."
Will fished out a his lighter along with a ten for the tip jar. "Thanks, Ni."
And again Hannibal allowed himself to be guided down the sandy sidewalk to a bench. They settled on opposite ends, food between them.
Will's regular was two Italian sausages with more onions and ketchup than Hannibal could fathom necessary. A number four was a burger that looked like something off a steak house menu, dripping with grease and cheese. A few fries were wedged soggy between the tomato and lettuce.
This wasn't their first meal together. Once Hannibal had decidedly taken a liking to Will he'd brought him food. He hadn't even realized he was doing it at first. He'd simply packed a second sandwich, ordered an extra bowl of soup to go from his favorite place uptown. It wasn't until he slipped into a taxi and someone other than Will was sitting behind the wheel that he realized the intention behind his actions. Rather than crush it he nurtured the fixation. He made calls to the cab company claiming he'd forgotten his phone in Will's taxi. Soon the excuses were foregone altogether and he simply requested Will as his driver, meals for two in tow when the cab arrived.
But this was their first meal outside the usual habitat. Hannibal wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Will out from behind the wheel, ever seen him standing. Those times when Will was slipping into the backseat, was lying beside him with a cigarette to be shared, those didn't count. They were blurred like a surrealist daydream, absent of rational thought.
Will was shorter than he'd thought, smaller overall. The perfect height for Hannibal to tuck his chin atop his head were they to embrace. Their kiss earlier, it'd felt natural. As if they'd done it a hundred times before. Never like that, they'd never done it like that. They were so new, still practically acquaintances. Yet every first felt like a reflex, like a well-learned action branded into his cerebellum. Muscle memory.
"You never told me you were an actor."
"Didn't think to." Will shrugged.
"Not even when I mentioned my involvement in the film industry?"
"I thought it might make things awkward." He shrugged again. "It's just a small theater production. Nothing major."
"What role will you be playing?"
His sudden awkwardness gave way to coy shyness. "How about I show you later? I'm supposed to be practicing my makeup anyway."
Hannibal only nodded, careful not to be too enthusiastic.
"Do you have a boat?"
"A boat?"
"Yeah. You're rich. It's plausible you'd have a boat. Do you?"
A shake of the head. "The sea was never my fancy. In place of beach houses and yachts I have cabins. Might be something to do with my father. He used to take me hunting."
"Mine took me fishing."
"And your mother?"
"Never knew her. My dad always used to say his life came down to a birth and a divorce. I was the better of the two."
"Where is he now?"
"Dead. Last month."
"My condolences."
"Thanks." Will bit his lip. "Now I've got nowhere to go. No way back, no family. No plans."
Hannibal took a sip of soda that tasted more like the Styrofoam cup and swallowed thickly. His mind was making itself up. He touched his pants pocket, unnoticed. The little box inside felt hot against his skin.
*
"I'm rethinking this." Will sounded small, calling out. "You'll laugh."
"Never."
The earnestness in Hannibal's voice was almost as bad as the expression he'd been wearing all night. Will couldn't ignore it. Still he tried, checking himself in the mirror again.
He felt self conscious about his living quarters. The bathroom and kitchen were cramped, the size of the average closet. Hannibal was out there in the room that served as both a living room and bedroom. He looked out of place, his expensive clothes mockingly juxtaposed. Still he moved as if it were his home, too, comfortably sinking to the center of Will's sad, little bed and agreeing to wait. Take all the time you need.
Will stepped out from the safety and privacy of the bathroom to find him scooted back against the wall. His shoes had been slipped off, jacket laid aside. As undressed as Will had seen him, their times together usually beginning and ending fully clothed, the bare minimum bared.
Even better was the shedding of his mask. Hannibal let Will witness his honest reaction, his usual stoicism left at the apartment's threshold. Eyes widened, mouth agape, that expression glazing his eyes. Will would always remember it.
"You're - "
"Cleopatra, yeah."
And so he was. A fluttering, black dress (which would be white on opening night) hung loose on his body. Around his neck and over his shoulders were costume pieces that looked like decorated armor. Each was solid but carved to look like feathers or coins stacked to form, all in gold. His head dress matched, framing his face and shifting his hair. It smoothed flat on top but poked out from under on the sides. (He'd been promised a wig, the costume department had yet to deliver.) Then there were his eyes. Lined in black, wings pointed and, despite his shaking hands, even. The blue of his irises was all the more striking. Hannibal would always remember it.
The silent staring turned Will bashful. "It's an all male production. I tried out for Anthony but," a shrug, "I'll take what I can get."
In a wordless request, Hannibal held out his hand. Will went, lacing their fingers together when he took it. The dress made it easy for him straddle Hannibal. He almost felt lost in the vast space around them, so much bigger than the cab. He found his anchor in a warm embrace.
"You're beautiful." Hannibal whispered, breathless, when they parted. The second half of his interrupted sentence. Will knew he meant it. The sureness, the sincerity made him feel raw to the touch. It made him ache. He couldn't stand it.
Will shed his armor, leaving it in pieces on the floor. Hannibal's clothes joined it, tossed haphazardly, left to wrinkle. The dress stayed on.
*
"What are you asking me, Hannibal?"
Will heard the harshness in his own voice and flinched. Fear made him mean, made him blunt, made him rude. It was the suddenness of it, the lack of exposition. The fact that he was holding a ring in a box in his hand that hadn't been there just a moment ago. Will had thought he and Hannibal were pretty in sync. It would appear he was wrong in the worst of ways.
"To let me provide for you. To let me take care of and support you. To let me love you."
His eyes brimmed with that look, that expression, so blatantly hopeful. It was too much. It made Hannibal, calm collected distant Hannibal, look like something fragile. Like something that couldn't sustain. He would burn himself out, would hollow all too quickly. Will could practically see the end before his eyes. It brought back that ache, carving deeper.
"No." Will pressed the box back into the other man's hand. "No, that's . . . no."
"Will, I - "
"No." Will said again. He felt tears in his eyes, not of sadness but of frustration. Why couldn't he articulate? Why was he so paralyzed with this fear? Always the deer in headlights, the stag spooked by the smallest of sounds.
It was like watching the aftermath of a murder. Will sat, blood splattered and shocked, as Hannibal moved in slow motion. He watched him take the ring and walk bare-chested to the kitchen. Heard the sounds of a breakfast (which he didn't deserve) being made from a distance. Receding further into himself, he saw the table set. He saw Hannibal pulling on his clothes. (The thought of Hannibal doing the walk of shame might have been funny on a different day.)
It was the sound of a door shut that brought him back. Too late, wasn't he always too late? It echoed through the hours, followed him for days.
Breakfast, even with his sub-par ingredients, was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Slipped under his mess of a grocery list was reimbursement. Will laughed and shed a few more tears. Ridiculous man. And the box, with the ring Will knew would fit, that was just what he would've wanted, was left at the center of the table. Will didn't dare touch it, not until more time had passed. He thought it'd make it easier. He was wrong.
He cracked the box open like there might be a trigger inside, a bomb waiting to blow. Nothing but the simple silver band, gleaming like a blade. Hurting like a knife he'd turned in on himself.