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The way Hannibal Lecter sees the world, there are two types of people: those who are meant to be onstage, and those who aren't.
Some folks are obsessed with the spotlight. They taste the sweat on their upper lip after a particularly draining number, gazing into the blinding beam and grinning even brighter. They close their eyes and revel in the delicious sound of cheering, obsessed with the attention. The world looks upon them, sees them, and that is enough. They don't care about the show itself; they care about the attention.
Those people, in his opinion, are not suited to be onstage in the long term. Eventually, the numbers become too easy. The cheers start to never be enough anymore. The attention simply becomes boring.
For him, the real fun comes from reveling in the show. Embodying lines with fervor, even if he's repeating them for the millionth time; putting thought into every graceful movement; letting the music guide every one of his senses. Performance comes naturally to those who love it -- not for the external gratification, but for the internal rush.
He's been through many acting endeavors. He tried his hand at opera before realizing he'd rather swallow glass than subject an audience to his attempts at classical vibrato. He took to dancing, relegating himself to the background in productions and letting his voice blend in with the rest of the ensemble. That wasn't enough for him.
He transitioned to play acting, but none of the roles were dynamic. He'd always stand there, droning on and on without being instructed to move. When he tried to make things more interesting, he was told to knock it off. That wasn't enough for him either, not with this dancer's body.
Dancing is his forte -- both recreational and in the form of martial arts. He's always been a fighter, picking up various forms of the craft from his aunt, and it is still one of the only forms of movement he finds truly exhilarating. Especially when his target isn't expecting such a challenge.
The problem was his reputation. Even with gobs of old money under the Lecter name, fumbling for underground acting jobs and sitting around at home for hours during the day without a degree wasn't going to cut it for long. The closest thing to suit his skills was physiology, so medical school it was. He sped through his undergrad and master's within a few years, and at twenty-two he was one of the youngest of his medical school peers.
He breezed through at the top of his class and spent half a decade as a surgeon, saving up for the day he could step away and pursue his dreams. The moment he could, he was on the next plane to audition for a production that had caught his eye from the moment he first saw it.
Once an artist, always an artist. He's always yearned for the show, the movement. He was going to get a part even if it meant he had to take care of anyone else standing in his way.
That attitude is what put him in the lead role in four major Rocky Horror Show productions, along with countless other minor productions and guest performances in shadow casts throughout the past decade. The stage is his. The curtain is his. There is no other Frank that compares to him. Tim Curry himself has looked him in the face and sung his praises after seeing him perform. He and Nell Campbell have met four times, and she knows him by name. After his second run, productions started asking for him, and he no longer had to worry about the stress of auditions.
He's not the only one who recognizes his own talent. When cast lists are released and the word gets out that he's on the roster, every other actor hitches their breath at the sight of his name at the top of their show. Simply knowing he is going to be there every night, touching them, flaunting the body he's spent years perfecting, is enough to send them into a tizzy. It's an honor to perform with him.
When they actually get on stage, however, they are struck by a certain fear that never fully leaves until they are home past one o'clock and their front doors are dead bolted. It melts away when he flashes them a grin backstage, replaced with exhilaration.
This is especially the case for each Rocky. Hannibal has worked long-term with about twelve of them -- one main actor for each production, as well as some understudies -- and seven of them have given into his advances and allowed him to have a taste outside of the theater. They simply can't resist once he trails his finger down their abdomens, thrusts his leg around their hips, leans his lithe body against theirs in an attempt at feigning death.
Some he visited more frequently than others; his fling with Tobias ended after one night, while another with Antony lasted multiple months before the man decided to move back to Italy. The last cast he took part in had left him disappointed, since the main actor and his understudy were in a committed relationship and refused to stray from it. He admired their steadfast nature, but it certainly made their onstage touches feel stilted.
Now, after about six months with no work and no hookups, he's pleased to receive an email from a theater in Baltimore. Close to home, good money, a well-known theater company. The corners of Hannibal's mouth quirk up, and his stomach flutters at the opportunity to seduce another gold-clad boy.
As he dials the number left for him, he hopes that boy is handsome.
~~~
Will Graham's new casting director is speaking to him, but he can't stop thinking about getting naked in front of strangers.
He doesn't mean to not pay attention; it's just that the prospect of stripping in front of a new cast, a new crowd, is always nerve-wracking. He can't shake the idea that Beverly, the director yapping away about costuming, is also about to be their Columbia. He has to act out an orgy in a fake swimming pool with his boss in a few weeks.
He's in a one-on-one meeting at Bev's request. He needs to get the lay of the land, investigate the theater, and learn steps with her. He's done the show dozens of times by now, and he doesn't suspect this theater would be much different from his past ones. At least he only has to wear heels for one number — he doesn't have to learn of rogue carpet peels and uneven flooring the hard way. That will be Frank's problem.
Rocky is a relatively easy role, at least from Will's point of view. Only one quick change, hardly any lines, and mostly standing around flexing his biceps. No "Time Warp", only a few running scenes. The kick line is a challenge, sure, but he's had plenty of time to practice. He has faith in this theater.
He does what he can to quell his anxieties and focuses carefully on Bev's words. He'll be doing a run-through soon, so he can air out his mistakes then.
"You know the drill, I'm sure. Keep things in your own cubby, don't intrude on anyone else's space for the night. You will most definitely walk in on someone getting changed, but no one here gives a shit." She pats the makeup mirror, which is ringed with light bulbs that flicker on and off. "This thing is broken as hell. Sometimes you have to beat it up to get it to work." She gives it another hard whack, and all but one of the bulbs light up. She nods, satisfied, then blinks as her phone begins to vibrate in her pocket.
"I'm sorry, one second." She pulls out her phone, holding up a finger and leaning against the makeup counter. "Hello? Yes, that's me."
Whoever is on the other line delivers some rather jaw-dropping news. Beverly's lips part, and she stares at the wall with wide eyes.
"I...oh, my God. It's so good to hear from you. Yes, if you have the time -- yes. Yes, September second through February fifteenth. Sundays off, Saturdays will go a little bit later...oh, that would be perfect. You have the address?" She's clearly trying to keep her cool, a grin forming on her face. "Amazing. I'm doing meetings with individual actors, if you're open to that...tomorrow? Yeah, I'm open tomorrow. I'm meeting with the Transylvanian group at twelve, but I can do after that. Like, three?" She pauses. "Perfect. We're so glad to have you. Thank you so much...of course. Of course, see you then. Bye."
She hangs up and immediately lets out a loud exhale, followed by a squeal of excitement. Will can't help but smile at the outburst.
"Everything okay?"
"He said yes," Bev says, so quickly that the words are hard to decipher. "Will, he said yes."
"Who said yes?" From the way she's acting, it sounds like O'Brien himself is on his way to the theater.
"We have our Frank. God, I thought it would be a long shot. I thought for sure he'd be too busy, or that our cast would be too small, or...oh, my God."
Will resists the urge to comment on how they're weeks out and, apparently, only just now getting a Frank. "Is it someone you've been hoping for?"
"It's Hannibal Lecter."
Now it's Will's turn to be surprised. "Oh, shit."
Hannibal Lecter is one of the most well-known actors within the Rocky community. He's played Frank in a few major productions and countless smaller ones. He's extremely talented; Will saw him perform once and was utterly entranced by it. He has a certain Curry-esque flair not many others can recreate. The last thing Will heard about him was that he'd been performing in the West End for the past few months.
He's heard more than just shining reviews, though. He's spoken with a few fellow actors in the past who have all heard rumors about Lecter: that he's a whore, he scoffs at anyone who doesn't swoon over him, he's pretentious. Hearing all that has only solidified Will's belief that no one should ever meet their heroes.
Unless they're Tim Curry. Will can make an exception for him.
"Yeah. He only just got done in London a few months back, so I thought he'd only be shooting for the big leagues now. But he gave me a call just now, and it wasn't even an agent. It was him."
Will raises an eyebrow. "So, that's it, then? He's our Frank?"
"Yeah. I had some others on the docket in case he didn't respond by next week, don't worry. I'm not insane. Well, not completely. I know I waited a long time, but I was just hoping...God. I can't believe that worked out."
"We're in a good theater, though. It's a pretty big production."
"Of course. We've got a capacity of near two-thousand. But we're not the West End."
"Look, let's just hope he's not a diva about it."
"I'm sure he will be. But I'll take it. Having his name attached means we're guaranteed to sell out for at least the week of Halloween. Maybe even the ones around it." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Damn. I feel like the stakes are a lot higher now."
"Hey, don't let yourself panic. He's just another man." As far as Will is concerned, Hannibal Lecter isn't any more special than the rest of them. Sure, he's talented, but that doesn't make him deserving of any kind of pedestal. Will doesn't have any plans to bow down to Hannibal like some sort of acting god.
Still, Beverly looks at him like he's just denounced the Almighty Himself. The look only lasts a split second, though, and her shoulders relax.
"You're right. Yes. It's all gonna be fine." She nods. "It's all gonna be fine."
Will isn't sure who she's trying to convince.
~~~
The first full-cast rehearsal takes place that Saturday, which is lucky for Will. He's studying at a local community college, getting his wits about him in Baltimore while he sorts out what he really wants to do with his life. Right now, he's torn between continuing school versus sticking to a mechanic job for the foreseeable future -- one is a massive step outside his comfort zone, while the other allows him to stick to the final remnants of his childhood, the moments he would spend with his father in the boat yards.
It's a hard decision, one compounded by the stresses of academia as a whole. It's hard being one of the older students in his intro classes; taking some years off before starting school was a good idea for him overall, but being twenty-five and learning basic psych with kids fresh out of high school is a little strange. Not only that, but he can sense this is merely the beginning, and the work is about to get a whole lot more difficult.
It's probably why being on stage has always appealed to him. It's a way to block out the clutter and simply focus on the moment. He's not very good at living in the present otherwise.
Bev told him she wanted to accommodate those with day jobs, so rehearsals are only in the evenings and during the weekends. Full-cast rehearsals will be rare, so no one's time is wasted.
He'll be busy the next few months, then. Classes during the day, rehearsals any other time. If anything's going to block out the clutter, it's that.
Will usually doesn't get stage fright. As far as he's concerned, he's been performing his whole life, putting on a face for the rest of the world. He's used to being perceived as someone he's not; honestly, he prefers it to the alternative. Today is different, though. He can't shake the butterflies in his stomach, can't stop himself from sweating as he walks through the doors.
But stage fright isn't the right word for what he's feeling. The audience hasn't even showed up yet. The show is weeks away.
The closest thing he can think of is backstage fright. He's not afraid of the people in the crowd; he's afraid of what's waiting for him behind the curtain.
Some actors are chatting in the lobby, huddled in a circle to keep their voices low. Will recognizes one of them as his understudy, someone who will almost definitely have to take his place at least once. There's no resentment, though; the guy auditioned as a Transylvanian and got that part. Being a Rocky understudy was just a bonus for him.
He gives Will a small smile, and Will fights to remember his name. Thankfully, it comes to mind -- Matthew -- right as he beckons Will into the circle.
"Hey, welcome in," Matthew says, nodding. "You ready to meet the star of the show?"
Will forces out a laugh. Bev sent out the formal announcement in the group chat last week, welcoming their new Frank to the cast. Hannibal himself isn't in the chat -- he apparently isn't interested in social media apart from basic advertisements for his performances -- but Beverly still asked to keep gossip to a minimum. While the main chat has stayed quiet, Will is almost certain there are all sorts of conversations happening in private DMs.
"We're all stars of the show. He's just another name on the cast list." He takes a quick glance around at all the faces in the small circle, all of which are registering various levels of surprise at his comments. "Um, I'm Will, by the way."
He's introduced to Brian, who Will recognizes as their Brad; Molly, their actress for Janet; Freddie, their Magenta and Usherette; and Georgia, another Transylvanian. Will's glad to put faces to the names in the group chat and on the cast list.
"I wonder how his meeting with Bev went," Molly says. She's a pretty blonde woman a few years older than him. "I wouldn't be able to handle myself if I were her."
"Hopefully he didn't treat her like shit," Brian replies. "I've heard he's kind of a diva."
"Is he even here yet?" Will asks, checking over his shoulder to make sure Hannibal hadn't somehow sneaked up on them. "Did any of you see him?"
He's met with a chorus of "no's." Will checks his watch, then murmurs something about having to put his stuff down. He's been around others for too long, and he's not interested in small talk with the combination of nerves and annoyance running through him.
The theater itself is empty aside from a few other cast members, and Will manages to avoid them. He slips backstage with his head down, which nearly sends him colliding right into Bev. She laughs, but it's tense.
"Hey, sorry," Will says. "You doing okay today?"
"Hm? Oh, I'm great. I'm great." She leans a little closer. "Look, he's here. He got here earlier than everyone else. I didn't want it to be this huge deal when he walked in, and I wanted to get some more time to talk with him, you know?"
She's acting like Will is about to stumble into a sacred temple. "Do you want me to stay out of there, then?"
"No, no, of course not. Just wanted to give you the heads-up. I'm trying to tell everyone myself, so don't bring it up with anyone else yet."
"He's treating you well?"
Bev smirks. "A whole lot more polite than I expected. Very...prim? I guess that's the right word. You kind of have to just see for yourself. I think you'll be the first to meet him, besides me."
Will glances over her shoulder, clearly showing he's done with this conversation. "Great. I'll just..."
Bev shimmies out of the way, leaving the hallway open. The dressing room door is wide open, and a faint rustling sounds from the inside. The cubbies are visible from where Will stands, all of which are empty apart from two.
He takes a deep breath before striding inside.
Hannibal is nearly unrecognizable. Without any makeup, and clad in sweats instead of a corset and fishnets, he's set drastically far from the man Will's seen in pictures. His light hair is swept neatly back, and his cheekbones are sharp on his tanned face. His almond-shaped eyes are trained on his script as he sits straight in one of the makeup chairs, thin lips ever-so-slightly twisted in concentration.
He looks up once Will enters the room, and Will notes the way the other man drinks him in. It's more than simple analysis; Hannibal's eyes linger a little too long on Will's body for that. When he finally meets Will's gaze again, he smiles politely.
"Good afternoon," he says, and Will is immediately struck by his voice. He always figured the accent was just for the show.
"Afternoon," he replies, saying nothing else. He hates when people interrupt him while he's reading his scripts, and he assumes the same for everyone else. Plus, he's not terribly interested in conversing with Hannibal at the moment.
After a moment of silence, during which Will is focused on getting his water bottle out of his backpack, Hannibal speaks up again. "This is the seventies-era script."
"That's what Bev told me, yeah."
"I've only ever performed this exact script once. So many modern productions default to the nineties iteration. I'm quite fond of this one."
"I didn't know there was a difference until recently." It was true; Will had picked up his interest from the movie at first. It was only once he began stage acting that he realized there are multiple versions of the script, depending on the decade.
"I prefer the raw quality of this one. It has a spark of pure creativity, untouched by editing. It means more work, however. More lines to learn."
"I can handle the work."
"I'm sure you can." To Will's surprise, he stands, passing the packet to his left hand to hold out his right. "Hannibal Lecter. It's a pleasure."
"Will. Will Graham." He shakes the man's hand. He's not much taller than Will, but he's clearly older. There's more age in his hands, the corners of his eyes.
"I'm eager to be onstage again. Will I have the honor of having you there with me?"
Will's face grows warm. "Uh, yes. Yes, you will. I'm your Rocky."
His eyebrows raise. "Oh, beautiful. Even better." Once again, his warm brown eyes are taking in every detail of his clothed body. Will can't imagine how intense it'll be when he's in costume. "Then you and I are going to be getting rather intimate, aren't we?"
"S'pose so." Will doesn't smile. Flirting isn't his strong suit, even when he wants to engage. "Just try to keep it professional."
"Or we could socialize like adults," Hannibal replies, unflinching. "God forbid we become friendly."
All the little moments of the cast treating Hannibal like royalty have sent frustration clawing up Will's chest. Against his better judgement, it makes it to the surface, and he can't help but let out the bitter words that have been sitting in there since the moment Bev told him Hannibal was joining. "I don't find you all that interesting."
Once again, Hannibal doesn't take offense; in fact, he seems to take it in stride. "You will."
~~~
At the very least, Hannibal doesn't seem to be too much of a diva.
He takes feedback well, and he admits mistakes with ease and moves on from them. Of course, his mistakes are few and far between, and his "fondness" for the original script is evident. He doesn't flub a single line the entire time. The only issues he has are with blocking, which is common on a new stage.
They start the rehearsal with the floor show, which is probably the best ice-breaker the cast could ask for. It requires a lot of cooperation and coordination. He's just glad doesn't have to stand right next to Hannibal.
Next is "Time Warp", which gives Will a welcome chance to sit down. Luckily for him, Hannibal chooses to sit on his own. It is, however, embarrassing how many times Will finds himself glancing over at him. He hopes he can't sense it.
He busies himself with some basic muscle stretches instead, and then it's the rest of the cast's turn to spare him glances. He pays them no mind. He knows he's muscular, and he knows his looks are half of what got him the role. He's not a terrific singer, and his acting skills are only really good for a role like this: stilted, unsure of this world he's been thrust into. He doesn't perform outside of this show, apart from some modeling gigs.
He doesn't have to worry about singing today. They're focused on choreography, which is a good thing right up until Bev says it's time for the lab scene.
He's fine with laying in a tank for a while. He's fine with blocking for "Sword of Damocles." He's not fine with what comes after.
Hannibal Lecter is about to have his hands all over him. He'll be gripping Will by the hand a lot, dragging him along. Wrapping his arms around him, trailing a finger down the center of his abdomen until he's tantalizingly close to his waistband. The thought makes Will's upper lip twitch.
Even worse, Bev is probably going to ask about lifts. He's not sure he has enough faith in his ability to lift Hannibal off the ground. He's muscular, but Hannibal is, for lack of a better word, broad. He looks entirely made of muscle, with wide shoulders and strong arms. His legs are currently hidden behind workout pants, but from seeing photos Will knows his thighs and calves are just as powerful.
He's thankful Hannibal isn't putting his all into the character today. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle the chase scene right now. Instead, the two simply walk the designated path around the theater, with Hannibal following at a respectful distance. Will notes how strictly he sticks to the middle of the aisle, as if anticipating that the audience would try to reach out and touch him. It's probably justified, given his fame, but the ego of it makes exasperation simmer within Will.
He keeps up that respect through the training montage. His contact is stilted, and he always asks before touching Will in any way. When they hold hands or shuffle across the stage together, there's no emotion behind it.
Will almost gets away without any issue. They skip Eddie's infiltration for now-- the actor's busy today-- and they move right into the reprise. Bev asks Will if he can lift Hannibal, Will says probably not, and the hard part is almost over. But then:
"I could lift him instead."
Hannibal has to open his mouth. Will forces himself not to look over at him.
"You don't have to do that," he replies. "The point is to show that Frank's all over him. Not the other way around."
"Well, you don't have to jump into my arms. I could pick you up like I'm carrying a new toy to my room."
Will folds his arms across his chest, dread setting further in as he watches Bev consider it. She seems to like the idea.
"Let's try it," she says, much to Will's horror. "Can't hurt to see how it looks."
Will keeps his expression impassive as he turns to Hannibal. "I'm gonna let you lead the way here, because I'm not exactly sure what you have in mind. You can touch wherever."
Hannibal gives another infuriatingly polite smile. "Leave it to me."
They walk to the back of the stage, where the curtain will be closing in front of them. Hannibal offers his arm, and Will reluctantly slips his arm inside to lock elbows with him. Before he can even register it, though, Hannibal's releasing the hold, and he's being lifted off the ground with a gasp. Hannibal has his arms wrapped around Will's thighs, and he hoists him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing.
"Hey, this isn't what I was expecting," Will scolds, lightly slapping Hannibal on the shoulder. "A little better warning next time?"
"My apologies." Hannibal sets Will right back down, turning to Bev like nothing happened. "How did that look?"
Bev looks a little shocked, but she's otherwise impressed. She mulls it over for a second, then finally nods. Will's stomach drops. "I like it. Let's keep it for now, but we can change it if it doesn't end up working out. You'll have to be able to do it that smoothly every time."
"I can manage. We did this at my last production, as well." Hannibal nods. "It's up to Will as well, though. Is it something you're alright with?"
Will refuses to give Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing he's affecting him. If just being lifted off the ground is going to shake him, he isn't fit for the show. He knows that.
"What about the death scene?" he asks. "I can't lift you bridal-style."
"We can do the arms around the shoulders," Bev says. "Instead of trying to lift him, sort of drag him across the floor, wrap his arms around your neck, and then get in front of him to hide his legs moving. Easy enough."
By the look on her face and the rushed tone in her voice, Will figures the conversation is already over. There's no point in trying to fight it.
"We can keep it, as long as it goes smoothly," he says. "I trust he knows what he's doing."
Hannibal smiles, satisfied.
~~~
The rest of the rehearsals leading up to the final days before the show are busy, yet uneventful. Hannibal keeps a respectful distance, not touching Will without his permission. Will seems to be the minority in the cast; the rest of the actors relish the moments they get to speak to Hannibal. They walk away from each conversation happier than before, which makes Will wonder if he's immune to whatever magic Hannibal's using on them.
Then it's time for a run with costumes. They have to get used to quick changes, which Will thankfully doesn't have to deal with. He's practically naked the entire time. The only thing he has to do is the floor show change, which isn't difficult with the entire team backstage to help. They can throw a boa, some garters, and a corset on him in record time. They don't have to go all out with the makeup--movie magic doesn't exist behind the curtain--so there's little stress.
The main issue is the whole "naked" thing. He's gone from not knowing any of these people to suddenly having to strip in front of them, showcasing the hips and abs he's, admittedly, let fill out a little too much. He's not as toned as he used to be; being a student isn't the best for his budget, free time, or diet.
He can't help but do a little observation as they get changed. Hannibal's body isn't cut and toned, but it's certainly strong. He has a more rectangular shape to his body, with broad shoulders and defined back muscles that travel down to a small set of love handles on a wider stomach. The hair on his chest and abdomen is thick and dark, visible even from under his corset. It's undeniably attractive, or it would be if Hannibal wasn't terribly rage-inducing.
The cast is full of compliments. The show itself is a haven of sexuality, so no one is afraid to marvel at their coworkers' bodies or, in some cases, blatantly catcall their friends. Beverly tells him he's looking good as he walks out of the dressing room, and Matthew shoots him a wink on his way to the stage.
"I feel very exposed right now," he says to no one in particular as he steps onto the wooden floor. The air conditioning is chilly on his naked chest.
"You certainly look stunning," a posh voice replied from the left wing. The clicking of Hannibal's heels echo through the whole stage area, and Will realizes just how alone they are. Hannibal's an expert at changing into costume by now, and Will had the least to do; now it's just a matter of waiting for everyone else. "It's not going to be difficult to fawn over you, Will."
I'm not interested, Will fights the urge to say. He can't risk antagonizing the man too much. "Whatever gets you into character."
"I never have trouble getting into character." Hannibal smiles. "The character takes over very easily. Frank and I have a lot in common."
Will raises an eyebrow. "You engage in murder and cannibalism?"
That gets a small laugh out of him. "Of course not. But the confidence and attitude are there."
As is the arrogance. "I guess that makes me a dumb blond at heart."
"Not at all." He takes a step closer. His makeup is expertly done, not a single line or smudge out of place. His brows, once light-colored and hard to see, are now drawn dark and thin against his pale face. "Although the two of you are similar in some aspects. You're curious. You're lost about your place in the world. You're wary of your surroundings."
Wariness is certainly a good word for this situation. "None of those feel like good things."
"I disagree. Being wary is how you keep yourself safe from danger. And all of us are lost; nothing wrong with being lost." His pristine posture and impassive face are out of place in his costume. "It's been exciting to see how you play the character. I can't wait to observe it all the way through."
Will only nods. He can't think of anything good to say. Luckily, he's saved by a larger gaggle of cast members entering the stage and cheering at the sight of the two of them. Hannibal takes it in, beaming, while Will ducks his head with flushed cheeks.
"Alright, my stars," Bev calls from the middle of the group, clapping her hands. "Let's run this thing."
~~~
Will doesn't see the interesting side of Hannibal until opening night.
He's focused on the chaos of the Eddie number, watching Jimmy run through the audience to raucous cheers and hands outstretched for high fives. The audience is going wild, which was expected. He can't see much over the blinding lights pointing at the stage, but he's sure Jimmy is having fun.
Will takes his place and starts dancing with the two Freddies, as they've been lovingly dubbed by the rest of the cast. Of course their Riff and Magenta had to be played by two people with practically the same name.
He doesn't even notice the look on Hannibal's face until he's grabbing Will's shoulders and ushering him over to the elevator prop. His grip is a little too rough, and he nearly shoves Will to the next blocking spot. Will stumbles, and when he looks up Hannibal's eyes are filled with rage. It's more than mere character acting. There's something unhinged only just barely being contained. It's enough to make Will's stomach churn.
He doesn't have to put much work into pretending he's afraid. He grips the sides of the elevator as Hannibal walks away, suddenly dreading the scenes where that anger is really directed toward him. He's about to have to wither under that gaze, and he's not sure he's going to be able to handle it.
Hannibal rummages by the wall for his axe prop. When he handles it, inspecting it with an evil glint in his eye, Will can't shake the thought he's done this many times before -- and not just on stage. It's a strange impulse, completely outrageous, but the movements come almost too naturally to Hannibal.
That feeling only multiplies when Jimmy runs back onstage and Hannibal stalks toward him. He moves with the skill of an experienced predator, and he brings the fake weapon down with so much joy in his manic grin. This is where Hannibal is in his element. This is clearly where he gets the most joy out of his craft. This is the happiest he's looked through the entire show.
Will blinks, and the scene on the stage shifts before him. He's able to ignore the lights, ignore the audience, and the wooden planks of the stage suddenly become a concrete floor. He's no longer performing; he's living in another world. He's inhabiting another body, breathing the metallic-scented air with a different pair of lungs. His heart is fluttering with excitement.
A faceless victim is on his knees, whimpering. There's an axe in his hand, blood on the blade, and--
Bev's screaming breaks him out of his trance, and he's shot back into the real world, watching Hannibal stumble back onto the stage after Eddie's "murder." The scene is over before Will knows it, and he has to gather himself back together to deliver his lines.
"H-How can you keep him around?" he says, cursing himself inwardly for stuttering. "He's so ugly."
"A certain naive charm. But no muscle." Hannibal saunters back toward him, smirking. They both know what they've seen. An entire conversation takes place with just a seconds-long gaze.
I know what you are.
I know.
You enjoyed that.
I did.
You've done this before.
I have.
"We had a mental relationship," Hannibal finishes.
Out of sheer procedural memory, Will flexes his bicep against the side of the elevator, and the moment is over. Hannibal carries on with the reprise, and Will does what he's supposed to do.
He allows Hannibal to lift him up at the end, just as they practiced. He doesn't think he has any other choice.
~~~
For obvious reasons, Will isn't in a very celebratory mood when the show is over.
Long after the lights go down and the crew has cleaned up the theater, a lot of his co-stars start chatting about going out for drinks. Apparently, none of them saw the same things Will did. None of them caught the same glimpse of malice he was exposed to.
He doesn't see Hannibal. They got separated from each other in the crowd, and Will is very grateful for that. He quickly shuts down the others' invites to go out, claiming he's exhausted, and none of them seem overly disappointed about it.
Will slings his bag over his shoulder and exits the theater without much fanfare. The thought of socializing makes him feel nauseated, and if he goes now he still has time to catch the train home.
The walk to the station is short, and he spends its entirety lost in his thoughts. The episode on stage isn't the first time he's been taken out of his mind like that, but it's been so long since the last occurrence that he was sure he'd outgrown it.
It used to happen quite a lot, before he learned it was much easier to just distance himself from people. He would be sitting in preschool, watching another kid throw a tantrum, and he would suddenly be hit with the exact same rush of despair. He wasn't even the one who had dropped his snack or had another kid steal a toy from him, but he would be overcome with the same emotions, and the teachers would then have to deal with two wailing toddlers.
When his father finally decided to do something about it, the therapists they saw called it an empathy disorder. He still remembers the woman who told him about it, the way she looked down at him from behind a large pair of red glasses and explained it in terms she thought his stupid kid brain would understand. Something about how everyone wants candy, but too much of it makes you sick. Everyone wants to have empathy, she said, but too much of it can cause a lot of stress.
Even at that age, he thought it was stupid. He was quick to learn he couldn't rely on adults for help, and it was best for everyone if he just stayed away from others. He stopped having episodes as often, and everyone else around him stopped having to deal with it. It was a win for everyone involved.
Being isolated has its downsides, however, the main one here being that no one has any reason to believe him.
It sounds so ridiculous that he isn't even sure he believes it himself. He can't base accusations off of a fleeting dissociative episode. He'd be labeled a madman. He'd lose any chance at a future career -- or, at the very least, he'd be kicked out of this production. He can't risk that, not with how big this show is probably going to get. Thanks to Hannibal, they've already sold out the first two weeks.
He must have been stressed. He must have been exhausted from all the rehearsals, and it exacerbated his uneasiness about Hannibal. He was putting thoughts in the other man's head that weren't based in reality.
That's the most plausible explanation, and the one that gives him the most comfort. It's easier to imagine Hannibal as a normal person than...whatever it was he saw onstage. He's just a great actor, as much as Will doesn't want to admit it. It makes sense he would have violence running through his mind as he carried out his character's murderous desires.
He's made his peace with that as he walks down the stairs into the train station. The platform is dimly lit and empty, with only a few straggling college students chatting among themselves. Will turns his head to peek at the board, and his stomach drops at the sight of the familiar figure nearby.
Hannibal is sitting on a bench, his bag perched next to him. He seems to sense Will's eyes on him, as he looks up from whatever he's reading to meet his gaze. They stare at each other for a moment, and Will realizes perhaps a little too late that the proper social move is to go over there.
He doesn't want to, but he does. Hannibal moves his bag to his lap to make more space for him, and the two settle into an uncomfortable silence before Will finally decides to speak.
"You did a great job tonight," he says. "Congrats on opening night."
"And you." Hannibal smiles. "I'm happy to have you as my Rocky."
Will can't think of a way to ask about the Eddie scene without sounding suspicious, so he settles on an awkward question about if Hannibal had fun. Hannibal pauses before answering, actually considering his response instead of settling on the automatic "yes" like anyone else would.
"I'd like to get to know some of the cast better," he says, "including you. You're a rather closed-off person, aren't you?"
Will presses his lips together. "I keep to myself. I build forts."
"And why is that?"
Will leans back against the wall. "Am I in therapy right now?"
"I'm sorry, Will. Observing is what I do. I can't shut it off." He holds up his hands. "I spent many years in the medical field. Always have to keep your eyes wide open around patients."
"Well, I'm not your patient." Will holds back the remarks about Hannibal's previous career. An acknowledgement, further admiration, is exactly what the man wants. "Like I said, I want to keep this entirely professional."
Hannibal doesn't seem too disappointed, at least not outwardly. "Have I done something to scare you away? Or have you made assumptions about me you don't care to challenge?"
There's a coldness in his voice that wasn't there before. Will's eyes travel to Hannibal's hands, which are now folded in his lap, and he pictures those very fingers wrapping around the hilt of a knife, the handle of an axe.
"...It's nothing you've done," he replies, hoping that's enough to get Hannibal off his tail. "I've just got a lot of shit going through my head."
It seems to soften him for now. He mirrors Will's position, pressing his shoulder blades against the wall. "You ever have any problems, Will?"
Will puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "No."
"Of course you don't." The floor underneath them begins to rumble as a faint ding over the intercom signals the arrival of the next train. "You and I are just alike. Problem-free."
The corner of Will's mouth turns up at that. He stands, nodding to the approaching headlights. "You going home?"
"That's the east train. I'm going to wait for the west one."
"Shouldn't be too long." He adjusts his backpack. "See you tomorrow, then?"
"Of course."
Will waits until the front of the train has passed before turning his back.