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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The late afternoon pressed warm light against the stone, and the fountain’s spray kept tossing a fine mist onto everyone brave enough to sit close. Hannibal balanced on the rim with his boots on the lowest ledge and his motorcycle helmet tucked beside him. The hoops in his left ear caught the sun whenever he turned his head. Antony tried to steal the crispiest fry from Bedelia’s paper cone and failed twice. Margot leaned back on her palms and watched the tourists orbit in slow circles. Abel flipped a coin, missed the catch, and stared at the ripples as if he had planned to do that.

Hannibal looked over the crowd like someone scanning a painting for the one detail that proves the artist was paying attention. He was not bored. He only acted like he was because it kept him from picking fights with the day. His eyes snagged on a group that moved like a school of fish, all matching shirts and loud chaperones. He would have let them pass without a second thought if one boy had not lagged behind, loose curls pushed forward by the breeze. The boy checked a map. He checked the fountain. He checked the sky like it might have instructions. The light took his eyes and made them bright even from here.

Bedelia followed Hannibal’s gaze and did not even pretend to be casual. She watched his mouth flatten, then lift, then try to return to neutral. She did not bother with subtlety.

“Do not stare,” she said.

“I am not staring,” Hannibal said, while continuing to look.

“You are absolutely staring,” Antony said, generous with the tease.

Hannibal did not answer Antony. He did not look away either. The boy with the curls had that quiet readiness Hannibal liked in people who knew how to fix things with their hands. He tracked the way the boy held himself, like he had learned to make his own gravity in rooms where people did not always see him.

Bedelia nudged his ankle with the toe of her shoe. “If he is interesting, be interesting back. If he is not, finish the fries.”

“He is interesting,” Hannibal said. He slid off the stone without announcing anything and caught his helmet with two fingers before it slipped. Margot bit into a fry and handed the cone to Bedelia.

“Try not to be a menace,” Margot said.

“I am always a menace,” Hannibal said.

“We know,” Abel said, and then he grinned when Hannibal did not rise to it.

Hannibal cut through the loose clumps of tourists, not unkind, just unapologetic. The boy’s friends had already drifted toward a shuttered gelato cart. The boy lingered where the mist blew over the lip of the fountain and turned the air into a thin silver veil. He re-folded his map with unnecessary care. He looked up right as Hannibal stopped a few feet away.

“Hi,” Hannibal said.

“Hey,” the boy said.

“You look like you want the city to lower its voice,” Hannibal said. “I do too.”

“I can handle noise,” the boy said. “I just like to know where the exits are.”

Hannibal smiled, small and private. “Same.”

Behind the boy, Beverly marched toward a pigeon that had planted itself in the direct path of three different families and refused to move. She pointed at the bird with something like admiration.

“Check this pigeon,” Beverly said. “He has no fear.”

“Bold life choices,” Jimmy said, drifting with Brian at his shoulder.

“Icon,” Brian added.

The boy looked past Hannibal toward his friends, then back at Hannibal like he had made a decision, and it was not the kind that needed a speech.

“I am Hannibal,” Hannibal said.

“Will,” the boy said, and his mouth softened around the word like it belonged to him in a way he liked.

Bedelia appeared on Hannibal’s left with the quiet speed of someone who had practice interrupting trouble before it started. She held the cone of fries like a prop and studied Will for half a second, long enough to read intent.

“If he is bothering you,” she said, “I will remove him.”

“He is fine,” Will said. “I am Will.”

“I heard,” Bedelia said. “I am Bedelia. Hannibal is tolerable most days.”

“I am a delight,” Hannibal said, not taking his eyes off Will.

“Sure,” Bedelia said. She tipped the cone toward Will. “Do you want a fry.”

“I should not,” Will said. “Our guide acts like we will die if we touch food from anywhere that does not issue us a receipt.”

Bedelia handed him a fry anyway. “Live a little.”

Will took it and ate it and smiled because it was still hot. Margot strolled over and nodded at Will like they had already been introduced, and this was the follow up. Antony trailed behind and made a show of investigating the helmet sticker.

“Nice fox,” Antony said.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said.

“Are you with the school group?” Margot asked Will.

“Yeah,” Will said. “We are staying in dorms for three weeks. Museums and lectures and the catacombs. Cultural experience. It is a lot of lines.”

“It is always a lot of lines,” Margot said, kind but factual.

“Do you like it so far?” Hannibal asked Will.

“I like that you cannot walk five feet without seeing someone who loves where they live,” Will said, and then he looked startled that he had said it out loud.

“Good answer,” Bedelia said.

Will shifted his backpack strap higher on his shoulder and looked toward the chaperone, who had begun the head count with the intensity of someone guarding a treasure. Beverly waved impatiently from the gelato cart and made a dramatic gesture toward the sun.

“I have to go,” Will said.

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “Come back to the fountain when you are bored of being managed.”

“I am already bored of being managed,” Will said. “But I like not losing my classmates in foreign countries, so I will pretend to cooperate.”

“Practical,” Margot said.

Will touched two fingers to the edge of the cone in Bedelia’s hand like a little thank you and then stepped away. He did not move fast. He moved like someone who knew exactly how long he could stretch a moment before anyone could accuse him of stalling. Hannibal watched him go. Bedelia watched Hannibal watching. Antony passed Abel a coin he claimed to have rescued from the fountain. Abel pretended to cry.

Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian fell into step with Will as he rejoined them. Beverly leaned in low so only he could hear.

“You met him,” she said.

“I said hi,” Will said.

“You met him,” Beverly repeated. “The earring boy.”

“Hannibal,” Will said.

“Strong name,” Jimmy said.

“Potential chaos,” Brian said.

“Focus,” the chaperone called. “Phones away.”

“Rude,” Beverly said under her breath, and then she pointed with a look of triumph at the same pigeon, now refusing to yield to an entire stroller brigade. “He is a legend.”

The group rolled away toward the next landmark, a tight knot of voices and elbows and commentary. Will glanced once over his shoulder and caught Hannibal still near the fountain, sunlight lifting off the water to hit the hoops in his ear. Hannibal did not wave. Will did not either. They looked, and then they looked away as if that had been the plan all along.

The museum swallowed them in cool air and stone. Beverly narrated their progress with an eye for details that did not make it onto the placards. Jimmy miscounted columns on purpose until Brian laughed and told him to try again. Hannibal did not drift far from the fountain. He took Will’s place on the rim and lifted his face into the mist. Bedelia re-folded the fry cone and tucked it into a bin. She stepped into his line of sight, so he had to look at her or admit it by not looking at her.

“He is pretty,” she said, as if confirming a weather report.

“Yes,” Hannibal said.

“He looks like he knows how to fix noisy things,” Bedelia said. “Engines. People.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said again.

“You could be gentle about this,” she said. “I am aware gentle is not your favorite setting. Try it anyway.”

“I am being gentle,” Hannibal said.

“You are staring,” Bedelia said, but her voice had lost the sharp edge it used when she needed to pull him back from something stupid.

“I will be less obvious,” Hannibal said. He ran a hand through his hair and left it in a better kind of chaos. He picked up his helmet and set it down again. He was not restless. He was making sure his body did not bolt.

“You could ask for his number,” Antony said, because he never knew how not to stir.

“I could ruin it by moving too fast,” Hannibal said.

“Points for restraint,” Margot said. “Do not make a hobby of it.”

“I will not,” Hannibal said. He tilted his head toward the direction Will’s group had gone. “He will show up again.”

“You sound very certain,” Bedelia said.

“I am,” Hannibal said. “Some things are worth deciding early.”

Margot gave him a look that was almost a smile. “Study tonight,” she said. “Your notes are a mess. Draw something clean before you pretend you understand it.”

“I will,” Hannibal said.

“You will not,” Abel said, delighted.

“I will,” Hannibal said again, and he meant it in the way he only meant things when something had cut him open and asked for honesty.

The square shifted into evening without making a scene about it. The water kept moving. The tourists kept orbiting. The musicians changed songs and the new one fit the light better. Hannibal watched the paths that led away from the fountain the way you watch a door in a crowded room. He did not look impatient. He did not fidget. He let the day decide whether it wanted to be obvious or clever. He could be both.

Across the city, Will followed the group through a courtyard that smelled like dust and lemon floor cleaner. He listened to a guide explain how people used to believe things for reasons that made sense to them at the time. He added a note in the margin of his program. He thought about a boy who wore earrings like punctuation marks in the sunlight. He felt ridiculous and did not care. He took a picture of a statue for his dad because the expression looked like someone who had seen an invoice that made no sense.

The bus ride back slid along streets that had more dogs than Will had expected. He counted them without telling anyone he was doing it. Beverly leaned her shoulder into his and pretended not to see him look out the window like he might spot a familiar profile in a reflection. She took his phone, typed her number again under the contact she already owned, and added a heart she would later deny.

“You are allowed to like something,” she said.

“I know,” Will said. “I am trying to remember how.”

The bus rolled past a flower stall on a corner Will decided he would be able to find again without a map. The clerk flicked water onto the pavement, and the drops darkened the stone and disappeared. Will watched the empty space beside the stall the way you watch a stage before the actor walks on. He shook himself and laughed under his breath so Beverly would not accuse him of losing his mind.

Back at the dorms, the air inside was warmer than the air outside, and the stairwell breathed out a tired smell of wet concrete and soap. Will showered, changed, and stood by the window while Beverly narrated an overlong story about a statue that could not commit to a hairstyle. He listened with half his brain and used the other half to decide whether the city wanted him to go back out. The answer rose as soon as he asked the question. He found his shoes. He said something about fresh air. Beverly waved him off with a warning to text if he ended up talking to a mime.

The sky had softened to that wide blue that cities wear before the lights find their strength. After sneaking out of the dorm,Will walked toward the tower because it felt like a promise you could see from any street. He kept to the smaller roads on instinct. The greens opened in front of him like a blanket already claimed by strangers. He picked a spot and sat with his knees up. He listened to the people around him instead of reading them, which took more patience. He breathed until the day let go.

A few minutes later Hannibal’s shadow crossed his shoes. He did not say hello yet. He stood there as if making sure Will wanted him in the frame. Will looked up and felt the careful part of him settle.

“Do you always listen to the city before you talk to it?” Hannibal asked.

“You make that sound like a thing,” Will said.

“It is a thing,” Hannibal said. “It saves you from saying the wrong thing to a place that is already speaking.”

“Then yes,” Will said. “I do that.”

“Good,” Hannibal said, and he dropped to the grass beside him like he had been asked.

Chapter Text

Morning peeled itself over the city like a promise it intended to keep, and the market woke up in clatter and chatter that belonged to people who had done this a thousand times. Hannibal stood near the flower stall with two paper cups and the easy posture of someone who never minded waiting when the reward was certain. The hoops in his ear flashed each time he glanced down the street. He did not check the time. He already knew the school group would pass in the same seven-minute window they had used yesterday. He had learned the rhythm without trying.

Will appeared on the far corner with his backpack strap across his chest and a fresh curl stuck to his cheekbone from the damp in the air. Beverly walked tight on his left like a very cheerful security detail. Jimmy and Brian trailed behind and argued over whether oranges or apples were better travel fruit. Jack tried and failed to look casual when Bella fell into step near him. Alana read the day’s schedule out loud so the chaperone felt useful.

Hannibal did not move toward Will until Will saw him. When Will’s mouth turned up, Hannibal pushed off the post and lifted the nearer cup.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said.

“Good morning,” Will said.

“I brought truce coffee,” Hannibal said. “Better than yesterday. The woman scowled at me because I asked for fewer beans ground too early.”

“You bullied coffee,” Will said.

“I educated coffee,” Hannibal said.

Will took the cup and tried not to look soft about it. He failed in a decent way. He sipped and closed his eyes once, quick. “This is good.”

“Of course it is,” Hannibal said.

Beverly stopped next to them and looked Hannibal up and down in one efficient sweep. “I am Beverly,” she said. “I approve of coffee. I will decide about you later.”

“I am Hannibal,” Hannibal said. “I appreciate your process.”

“Nice earrings,” Beverly said. “I like shiny things.”

Hannibal nodded as if that were a formal greeting and not a test. Beverly’s mouth twitched and she allowed it to count as acceptable. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the group. “We are moving. Will, two-minute grace. Then I text your father.”

“You do not have my dad’s number,” Will said.

“I will get it,” Beverly said, and she left with a wave that managed to include Jimmy, Brian, and Jack in one motion.

Hannibal watched Will laugh after she was out of earshot. “Your friend is dangerous.”

“She is good,” Will said. “She has knives in her pencil case.”

“Respect,” Hannibal said. He sipped his own coffee and looked at Will’s mouth as if he could hear how the heat felt. He met Will’s eyes and did not look away. “Can I see you after your museum thing?”

“Yes,” Will said, because the word had been ready all morning. “Our tour ends at two. We have a free block after. I can sneak out without actually sneaking.”

“Text me,” Hannibal said. He took out his phone and held it between two fingers like an offer. “Numbers make the day easier.”

Will gave his, thumb steady even though his heart jumped in a way he refused to be embarrassed about. Hannibal called him so the contact would stick. Will’s pocket buzzed. He liked the weight of it. He typed a name for the contact and hesitated. He settled on Hannibal (Paris) because the parentheses felt honest in a way that made his chest feel light.

The chaperone clapped for attention as if he were summoning a dog. Will tilted the cup toward Hannibal like a toast. “Later.”

“Later,” Hannibal said.

Will pushed into the stream of students. Beverly glanced back once and gave Hannibal a two-finger salute that was not approval but was not not approval. Hannibal saluted back without sarcasm. He threw away the empty cups, then bought sprigs of eucalyptus from the flower stall because the scent unknotted something in his head. The seller wrapped them in brown paper with quick hands. He tucked the packet under his arm and headed for the apartment with the kind of walk that kept people from touching him without knowing why.

Bedelia had taken over the kitchen table and spread notes in a grid that scared most people and calmed her. Margot sat at the counter with tea and a cut apple. Antony leaned in the doorway with a shirt that used to belong to someone older and richer. Abel texted in the corner with the heavy sighs of a person who wanted everyone to ask about his drama and would be offended if they did.

Hannibal placed the eucalyptus near the window and opened it so the breeze pulled through. Bedelia glanced up at the sound and then at his face. She did not need to ask. She knew the answer.

“You saw the boy again,” she said.

“Yes,” Hannibal said.

“Did you continue to stare like a raccoon that learned about pastries?” Bedelia smirked.

“I behaved,” Hannibal said. “Beverly inspected and permitted me to exist.”

“Beverly has taste,” Margot said. “Was he happy to see you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, and the single word held a quiet satisfaction that made Antony grin like a friend who loved a good mess.

“You look better,” Bedelia said, not as a compliment but as an observation. “Study while you are bright. Draw first so your head slows down.”

“I will,” Hannibal said, and he meant it without having to prove anything.

He took his sketchbook to the small table by the window where the light hated no one. He sharpened his pencils and lined them in a way that would have embarrassed him last year. He turned to a clean page and drew the bridge of a nose he had not allowed himself to trace yesterday. He drew the angle of a jaw, the curve of a mouth that liked to hide, the curl that stuck to a cheekbone when the air went wet. He did not pretend his head was neutral. He let the lines be honest and then turned to tendons in the wrist, to bones beneath skin, to the structural things that did not depend on a face. The page became two pages. The smell of eucalyptus drifted over the charcoal and settled in the room like a reminder to keep breathing.

Around ten, Bedelia closed her notebook and pulled on a jacket. “I have a tutorial. Antony, stop picking classes by title. Margot, do not leave those messages unread or your brother will turn up here and I do not want to make tea for him. Hannibal, eat lunch before two so you do not turn into a charming corpse.”

“Yes, doctor,” Antony said, stage bow.

“Not yet,” Bedelia said. She touched Hannibal’s shoulder on her way out, a light press that said keep going without putting the words in the air.

Hannibal ate half an apple, then the other half, because he heard Bedelia in his head and decided to be obedient in the ways that did not cost him anything. He washed his hands, rubbed the charcoal off his knuckles, and checked his phone without letting his face give anything away. There was nothing yet. That was expected. He did not take it as a slight. He closed his eyes, pictured the museum courtyard, and felt the hours slide into place.

Will’s hours were not neat. The first half of the morning was a lecture from a professor who liked to hear himself think. Will wrote good notes anyway, because he never knew which detail would matter later. Alana asked a question that made the professor rephrase an entire section, and Will watched the class remember how to listen when someone did not talk to them like toddlers. Beverly doodled the professor as a potato with a tie and slid the sketch to Will under the desk. He shook with silent laughter and coughed when the professor looked up.

On the walk across the courtyard, Bella drifted closer to Jack. She did it like someone aligning objects on a shelf in a way that felt natural to the eye. Jack noticed and turned red in a decent way. He tried a joke about pigeons as city employees. It was not amazing. Bella laughed like she liked the attempt. Will liked both of them for how hard they were trying to keep it light.

At lunch they got released into a cafeteria that pretended to be a café and almost managed it. Will ate a sandwich that had too much bread and not enough anything else. He checked his phone under the table, which was ridiculous because not hearing from Hannibal for ninety minutes did not mean anything. He told himself to relax and then his phone buzzed, and the relief hit hard enough to make his knee bounce under his chair.

H: Two-thirty at the café with the green door near the florist

W: I remember it

H: You will like the pastry

W: I already like the pastry

H: You are easy to spoil

W: Good luck

He put the phone face down and finished the sandwich like it mattered who won that small argument. He wiped his hands and told Beverly he had a date with a pastry. She made a heart shape with her fingers and then held them up to frame Will’s face like a photographer. He swatted her hands away and grinned.

Two-thirty came fast and not fast enough. Will slipped out with the trick of a person who knew how to move with a crowd without belonging to it. He took the left at the corner that felt like a right in his chest. The café door was green and had a bell that chimed like it did not want to draw attention to itself. Hannibal was already at a table by the window with two glasses of water, a plate of almond pastry dusted with sugar, and a folded napkin that he had arranged into something that looked accidental and was absolutely not.

“Hi,” Hannibal said.

“Hi,” Will said, and the rest of the world clicked a notch down. “This looks good.”

“It is good,” Hannibal said. “You eat first. Then you tell me about the lecture that made you make that face.”

“What face,” Will asked.

“The one you make when you want to argue and win, but you also want the adult to feel like they discovered the truth themselves,” Hannibal said.

Will made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sigh. “You see too much.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, unbothered. “Eat.”

Will broke the pastry and the layers gave way with the soft crunch that makes you forgive your entire day. He chewed and closed his eyes once. “Okay. You were right. I like it.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “What made you want to argue.”

“The professor called people ‘cases’ like it was neat,” Will said. “I do not like it. People are messy. You do not get to flatten them to make your chart look pretty.”

Hannibal held his gaze. “You will be good at this.”

“I want to be useful,” Will said.

“You are already useful,” Hannibal said. He said it like a fact, not a compliment. Will felt a small, hard knot under his ribs loosen a little.

“Tell me about you,” Will said. “You said you draw. What today.”

“Tendons,” Hannibal said. “And your face when you try not to smile.”

Will flushed and looked at the pastry as if it had revealed a secret. “You drew my face?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “Do you want to see?”

Will hesitated. He wanted to see more than he had wanted anything this week. He also wanted to handle his want without embarrassing himself. He nodded. Hannibal slid the sketchbook across the table and turned it to the page with lines that still held the nervous energy of the morning. The drawing was not soft. It did not try to flatter. It was clear and careful and honest. Will recognized himself in it and also saw something else, a steadiness he talked himself out of claiming most days.

“It looks like I know what I am doing,” Will said.

“You do,” Hannibal said. “You just pretend you do not, so no one asks you to carry everything.”

Will looked at him. “Do you always talk like this?”

“I can talk like a normal idiot if you prefer,” Hannibal said.

“No,” Will said, too quickly. “I like this.”

“Good,” Hannibal said, and then they both ate more pastry so they would not have to sit in a feeling with their hands empty.

Bedelia came in with a stack of printouts and raised an eyebrow when she saw them. She set her papers down at the next table and leaned against the back of a chair in a way that felt like a question.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you stealing my seat?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said.

“Good,” Bedelia said. She turned to Will. “Are you being fed?”

“Yes,” Will said. “Thank you.”

“Eat more,” Bedelia said. She looked at Hannibal. “Do not make him share your guilt for sugar.”

“He likes the sugar,” Hannibal said.

“I do,” Will said, which made Bedelia’s mouth turn up.

Margot texted Bedelia something that made her eyes soften and then sharpen. “I have to go. Antony has chosen a class titled ‘Avant-Garde Experiments in Nothing’ and I have to fix that.”

“I will not be fixed,” Antony called from the doorway as if summoned. He blew a dramatic kiss toward the room in general and left with a flourish that made two tables look up and then look delighted when they realized he was harmless.

Bedelia set a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and then on Will’s. It felt like permission and warning in equal measure. “Do not be stupid,” she said, and left them to their afternoon.

Hannibal cleared the plate of the last crumbs and slid the water toward Will as if he were refilling something more complicated than thirst. “Walk.”

“Where?” Will said.

“Anywhere,” Hannibal said. “You will pick. I will not lead every time.”

Will picked a route that took them along a narrow street with laundry strung so high it looked like flags only children could read. He pointed out a workshop with gears in the window. Hannibal paused so Will could stare through the glass at the teeth lined up like soldiers ready to behave. Will talked about engines. He did it in simple words that made the subject feel like a friend instead of a gatekeeper. Hannibal listened with the kind of attention that makes people tell more than they planned to. Will told him about the shop back home, the smell of oil that never really left his hands, the first time his dad let him open an engine without hovering.

“What about you?” Will asked. “Do you have people?”

“I have my sister,” Hannibal said, and the words dropped in the space between them like a stone that belonged in a pocket. “Mischa. She is not here. She would have liked you.”

Will did not say he was sorry. He knew most apologies did not fix the part that hurt. “I bet would have liked her.”

Hannibal looked at him sideways and nodded. “I know you would have.”

They kept walking. They stopped at a crosswalk even though the street was empty, which told Will something about how Hannibal broke rules. He did not run red lights when someone else might get hurt. He ran them when it was only him.

“Tell me what your day looks like at home,” Hannibal said. “Not the good parts. All of it.”

Will told him. He talked about school, about the shop after, about how he changed out of good jeans into bad ones in the back room without thinking about it. He talked about the cheap fan that blew on the floor because the air got hot near the concrete. He talked about dinner with his dad when they were both too tired to use more than half their words, and how that still felt like a kind of peace. He talked about the nights he sat on the porch steps and watched stray cats try to become local. He did not dress it up. He liked his life even though it was hard.

Hannibal listened and did not try to compete with it. “I lived with my aunt and uncle before they sent me here for school” he said. “They try to help. They also like to try and patrol. I do not always like it, but I am trying to be appreciative.”

Will nodded. “My dad does not patrol. He just watches. It is worse.”

“It is,” Hannibal said. He kept his hands in his pockets and did not bump Will’s shoulder. He adjusted his pace so their steps lined up without having to plan it.

They reached the fence at the edge of a small square and sat on it like a ledge that had been waiting for them. A group of students across the way attempted to play guitar and failed with good humor. Will’s phone buzzed, and he checked it and suppressed a smile.

B: If you are alive, blink twice

W: Alive. Blinking a lot

B: Hydrate. Also tell your hazard he has good hair

Will held up the phone so Hannibal could see without taking it. Hannibal read the message, made a pleased noise, and handed the phone back by resting it against Will’s palm and letting Will close his fingers around it.

“I like her,” Hannibal said.

“She will like you if you keep liking me,” Will said.

“I plan to,” Hannibal said, simple and clean.

“We should head back,” Will said after a moment. “Curfew is a suggestion, but I do not like getting scolded as a group activity.”

“I will walk you to the corner,” Hannibal said.

“You can walk me to the gate,” Will said.

Hannibal did. They took the same quiet path with the trees. They stopped in the circle of light that turned the sidewalk into a small stage no one was watching. Will shifted his weight and then stilled. Hannibal stood close enough to feel the warmth through the air and not close enough to be rude. He let the choice sit in the space between them like a coin on a table.

“Can I?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes,” Will said, and he did not make the word small.

Hannibal leaned in and pressed his mouth to Will’s, careful and sure. It was a short kiss, steady, not messy. Will felt the world go quiet in the exact way he had hoped it could. He did not chase when Hannibal pulled back. He did not need to. He could feel the truth in his chest and the clean line of the moment in his head, and it helped.

“Goodnight,” Hannibal said.

“Goodnight,” Will said.

He went inside with a pulse that felt like a humming wire and found Beverly sitting on the floor with a bag of chips and a very serious look that did not match the chips. She peered at his face and then tossed him the bag.

“Progress report,” she said.

“I like him,” Will said.

“I know,” Beverly said. “Do you want to talk about it or do you want to sit near a person who knows you and not talk.”

“Both,” Will said, and that was what they did. They sat on the floor with salt on their fingers and the strange comfort of a room that had not been theirs three days ago and already felt like it could hold them as they figured out how to be new.

When the lights went out in the hall and the quiet pressed in, Will climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling until his eyes adjusted enough to see the faint outline of the vent. He took out his phone and typed without thinking too hard.

W: I am still awake

H: Me too

W: I liked today

H: I liked today

W: You are not allowed to steal my lines

H: I will write new ones

W: Good

H: Sleep. I will find you tomorrow.

W: Find me

He put the phone face down and then face up again, because he was human. He pictured the green door, the pastry dust, the sketchbook paper under his hands, the clean weight of a yes. He slept with a small grin he would deny if anyone asked.

Across the city, Hannibal sat at the table with his sketchbook and added a line to the mouth he had drawn that morning. He washed his hands, ate what Bedelia left on a plate, and listened to the apartment breathe. He set an alarm for a time that would let him meet Will without rushing. He looked at his phone one more time and then let it rest on the table as if he trusted it not to betray him. He lay down on the couch because he liked that it faced the window and the night, and because sometimes you sleep better in the middle of the place you intend to keep.

The city kept its noise low. The eucalyptus curled in its paper. The night decided to be kind to two boys who had asked for very little and found, finally, the right person to ask.

Chapter Text

Morning stretched across the dorm window and made the dust look like it wanted attention. Will blinked awake to the sound of Beverly arguing with her zipper. He rolled over and checked his phone before his brain had a chance to warn him not to. There was a message waiting that was simple and did the job.

H: Good morning

W: Good morning

H: Coffee at the corner. Three minutes

W: Two

He brushed his teeth and tried to tame his hair. He failed and decided not to care. Beverly tied her sneakers and glanced over with a grin she did not bother to hide.

“You look like a person with plans,” she said.

“I am a person with coffee in my future,” Will said.

“Same thing,” Beverly said. “Tell your hazard that his coffee yesterday ruined me. Now the cafeteria coffee tastes like a prank.”

“I will tell him,” Will said. “You are dramatic.”

“I learned it from you,” she said, which was not true and also not wrong.

They clattered down the stairs with the rest of the group and spilled into the street. The corner with the flower stall already smelled like green stems and cold water. Hannibal leaned on the post with two cups and a spare napkin. He looked like he had woken up ready, which was infuriating and nice at the same time.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said.

“Good morning,” Will said.

Beverly took the second cup without asking. “Thank you,” she said. “Consider yourself on probation.”

“I will try not to fail,” Hannibal said.

“You will fail,” Beverly said, and took a long drink. She made a face that was not a grimace. “Fine. You can stay.”

Will laughed and hid it behind his own sip because he was trying to be cool. The coffee was hot but not mean. He looked at Hannibal over the rim of the cup and found the same careful interest as yesterday. It made his stomach swoop without making him dizzy.

“What is your plan?” Will asked.

“Get you through your day without letting bad coffee hurt your feelings,” Hannibal said.

“I am resilient,” Will said.

“I know,” Hannibal said.

The chaperone started his head count with the seriousness of a person being paid to be serious. Beverly tipped her chin toward the group and started herding people with two fingers and very little patience. Will passed the empty cup back to Hannibal and kept the heat of it in his hands even after it was gone.

“Later,” Will said.

“Later,” Hannibal said.

The first lecture of the day came from a young professor who did not try to sound older than he was. Will liked him immediately. He talked about the weight of words people use to label themselves. He asked questions and did not answer them for too long. Alana raised her hand twice and each time the professor smiled like she had pulled a thread he liked. Bella took notes in neat blocks. Jack pretended not to copy her. Beverly drew a pigeon in a graduation cap and slid the sketch to Will. He failed not to laugh.

At lunch they were turned loose with a list of sandwich shops that did not match the map. Will bought a baguette filled with vegetables and cheese and ate it on the curb with his back against a warm wall. His phone buzzed and he did not look at it right away because he did not want to look eager. He looked anyway.

H: If you are free at four, I will be at the bookstall near the bridge

W: I can do four

H: Good. There is a book you will like

W: You have not seen my shelves?

H: I have seen your eyes when people talk about engines. It is the same thing

W: You talk like you know me

H: I am learning.

Will put the phone away so he could finish the sandwich without wearing half of it. Jimmy stole a piece of bread and then apologized to the bread. Brian told him to apologize to the person who had paid for it. Jimmy apologized to Will with a bow and then tripped over his own foot. Beverly narrated the fall like a sports announcer and handed Will a napkin he did not need.

“Tell me again what time your book date is,” Beverly said, as if she had not just read the message upside down at an angle.

“Four,” Will said. “We do not need to call it a date.”

“It is a date,” Beverly said. “If there is paper, it is official.”

The hours between lunch and four were longer than most hours. Will watched the clock and told himself not to watch the clock. He watched it anyway. The group moved with the slow momentum of teenagers full of food. They sat through a seminar on public health that veered into a debate that made Will feel both sad and hopeful. He wrote more notes than he meant to. He thought about his town and his dad and the kids he knew who did not go to the doctor until the problem got scary. He wanted to be useful in places like that. He wanted to be useful everywhere if he could.

When they were finally released, Will found the path to the bridge without asking for directions. The bookstall ran along the river like a patient animal. Hannibal stood in front of a stack of paperbacks, turning them over like he was checking for bruises. He held up a thin book with a cover that looked older than it was.

“This,” Hannibal said. “Short stories about people who do not understand themselves yet. The writing is not angry. It is honest.”

Will took it and read the first line. He liked it. He tried not to look like it.

“What if I say I do not read short stories,” Will said.

“I will say you are lying,” Hannibal said.

“I am not lying,” Will said.

“You are,” Hannibal said. “You read them at night because you like the way they end without warning.”

Will rolled the book in his hand. “Fine. Sometimes.”

Hannibal paid for the book before Will could argue. He slid it into a brown paper sleeve and handed it back with a look that made Will warm in the face. “You can repay me with stories about your town,” Hannibal said. “Tell me where you get breakfast. Tell me who has the best coffee for two dollars. Tell me where you go when you are tired and do not want to talk.”

Will told him. He talked about the diner where the eggs were always the same and the waitress always called him honey. He talked about the tiny coffee window where high schoolers worked in the summer and pretended, they were not flirting with each other. He talked about the porch steps and the crack in the third one from the top that caught your heel if you were not careful. He did not make it sound bigger than it was. He made it sound like something that fit in a pocket without breaking.

Hannibal listened with a focus that made all the noise around them feel far away. “I want to see it,” he said.

“You would be bored,” Will said.

“I am bored when people use money to turn interesting things into small versions of the same thing,” Hannibal said. “I am not bored when people love what they have.”

“You talk like you are eighty,” Will said.

“I have old opinions,” Hannibal said, unbothered.

They walked along the river for a while and watched a street performer juggle five clubs without hitting anyone. A dog decided Will should be greeted and leaned against his legs until the owner apologized five times. Will scratched the dog behind the ear and said it was fine. Hannibal watched the way Will’s hands moved like he had been trained by animals and engines at the same time.

“Do you ride your bike every day?” Will asked when the dog was gone.

“Most days,” Hannibal said. “Bedelia hates it. She is practical. She thinks high speeds and other drivers are a bad mix.”

“She is not wrong,” Will said.

“She is not wrong,” Hannibal said. “I am careful.”

“I believe you,” Will said.

“Do you want a ride someday?” Hannibal asked.

Will looked at him like he was calculating risk and reward with the seriousness of a person who usually said no to fast things because the slow parts of life were already fast enough. “Someday,” Will said. “Not on this trip. Our chaperone would have an aneurysm.”

“I do not want to be responsible for that,” Hannibal said.

“You say that like you have a spreadsheet of other things you would rather be responsible for,” Will said.

“I do,” Hannibal said. “You are on it.”

Will laughed and kicked a pebble into the water. The pebble made a simple circle and disappeared. He watched the place it had been for too long, then shook his head and kept going.

They drifted toward the park without planning it. The grass was already busy with people who had decided the evening belonged to them. The lights on the tower waited with a patience that made the whole place feel unhurried. Will picked a spot and sat. Hannibal dropped beside him with the grace of someone who had practice making hard things look easy.

“Tell me about Bedelia,” Will said. “You move like siblings around her.”

“She is not my sister,” Hannibal said. “She acts like it. She notices when I am being an idiot and will not let me enjoy it for long. She has a boyfriend who thinks I am a problem and likes me anyway. He is dramatic and kind in equal parts.”

“I like her already,” Will said. “I am a fan of people who refuse to let you be your worst self.”

“They are rare,” Hannibal said. “Margot is good too. She believes in quiet fixes. She does not waste energy on people who make a mess and call it a personality.”

“Who are you without them?” Will asked. “Do you like that person?”

Hannibal thought about it. “I like him more now,” he said. “He is less busy pretending he is impossible to help.”

Will turned that over like a small tool in his hand. “I pretend I do not need help because asking for it feels like I am trying to get away with something.”

“You are allowed to get away with needing someone,” Hannibal said.

Will looked at him. “What about you?”

“I need you,” Hannibal said, and he did not add anything to soften it. “I do not mean in a way that breaks either of us. I mean I think better since I met you. I study more. I sleep slower. I do not pick fights just to win them. I like myself more when I am imagining telling you what I did that day.”

Will let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He looked at the tower lights as if they would help him find the next words. He found them anyway. “I need you too,” he said. “It feels weird to admit, but it also feels like the only thing that is not weird today.”

They did not touch for a while. They let the talk do the work. They ate a paper cone of fries Will bought with coins he did not count right. Hannibal salted them better without being asked. They passed the cone back and forth until they could see the bottom. Will wiped his fingers on a napkin and took one that had fallen into the fold. Hannibal’s hand brushed his. It was not an accident. Will kept his hand there when he could have moved it. It did not feel like a big thing, but it settled something deep.

Will’s phone buzzed and he checked it with one eye.

B: If you are not dead, text me a color

W: Green

B: Eat protein

W: Fries count?

B: No

W: Fine

He slid the phone away. Hannibal tilted his head like he wanted to ask what Beverly wanted but would not if Will did not offer. Will told him anyway because it felt right.

“She wants me to eat protein,” Will said. “She is right.”

“I can fix that,” Hannibal said. “There is a stand with grilled things that will not kill you. Wait here.”

“I can come with you,” Will said.

“You will lose the spot,” Hannibal said. “I will be fast.”

He was fast. He returned with two paper plates and a kind of skewer that smelled like smoke and lemon. Will took a cautious bite and then a second one that was not cautious at all. He ate quietly and felt his voice settle lower in his chest.

“Thank you,” Will said.

“You are welcome,” Hannibal said.

They finished and threw away the plates and came back to the grass. The lights did their trick and a cheer rolled through the crowd on cue. Will leaned back on his elbows and looked up. Hannibal lay beside him and turned his head like he wanted to watch both the tower and Will at the same time.

“Do you think about the future a lot,” Will asked.

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “I am trying not to let it make me rude to the present.”

“Same,” Will said. “I think about home and how much I want to leave and how much I do not want to leave at the same time.”

“You can do both,” Hannibal said. “You can build a bridge without setting the shore on fire.”

“I like that,” Will said. “It makes sense.”

Hannibal shifted his hand so their fingers touched again. Will did not move away. He curled his fingers around Hannibal’s knuckles and felt the simple truth of skin and bone. It came without warning and settled without drama.

The chaperone’s voice rose at the edge of the park, counting by tens and then by fives. Beverly stood with her hands cupped around her mouth and shouted Will’s name like she was calling a dog that did not listen. Will lifted their joined hands before he let go. He stood and brushed grass off his jeans and put his hands in his pockets so he would not grab for Hannibal again too soon.

“I should go,” Will said.

“I will walk you,” Hannibal said.

They walked without words for a while. The city lowered its voice for them without having to be asked. When they reached the gate, Will stopped in the same circle of light that sometimes made everyone look tired. It made Hannibal look sharper. Will could hear the dorm hum behind the door and Beverly’s footsteps coming closer with purpose.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “I will be at the corner at eight. If your chaperone moves faster, I will find you on the path and make it look like an accident.”

“You are good at accidents,” Will said.

“I plan them,” Hannibal said.

Will smiled and leaned forward a little. Hannibal met him halfway with a kiss that was as careful as it had been at the gate the night before and a little longer. Will felt his heart race and then slow. He pulled back and opened his eyes and found Hannibal looking at him with something steady that did not make him want to run. He stepped backward as Beverly’s steps reached the door.

“Goodnight,” Will said.

“Goodnight,” Hannibal said.

Inside, Beverly kept her voice low out of respect for people who were already asleep. “You look happy,” she said.

“I am not going to pretend I am not,” Will said.

“Good,” Beverly said. She bumped his shoulder with hers and then squeezed it. “Brush your teeth. I will text your hazard and tell him the protein worked.”

“Do not text him,” Will said.

“I will not,” Beverly said, already typing. “I will text Bedelia. She seems like the type who likes data.”

Will groaned and laughed and did as he was told. He stood at the sink with the water running and thought about the day like it was a list he could check off in his head. Coffee. Lecture. Short stories. River. Dog. Fries. Protein. Lights. Hands. Kiss. Yes. He added sleep to the bottom and let himself want it.

In the apartment across the city, Bedelia sat at the table and circled an item on a printout while Hannibal washed dishes he had already washed. She watched the way he took his time with the last plate even though it was clean. She did not tease him tonight.

“You look calm,” she said.

“I am,” Hannibal said. “I am not bored. It is better than calm.”

“Do not forget to eat breakfast,” Bedelia said.

“I will not,” Hannibal said.

“Do not pick fights with your uncle on the phone,” she said.

“I will not,” Hannibal said, and then he almost smiled. “Not today.”

“Good,” Bedelia said. She tapped the page and then put her pen down. “Sleep.”

Hannibal dried his hands and stood by the window. The city threw back a thin version of his face and he ignored it. He looked out and tried to picture the path Will would take to the corner in the morning. He could not, which pleased him in a way he could not explain. He liked not being right about everything. He liked the part where the day surprised him and then handed him the simple thing he wanted.

His phone buzzed once on the counter.

W: I liked today

H: I liked today

W: I said it first

H: I will let you win

W: Goodnight

H: Goodnight

He set the phone face down and finally turned away from the window. The eucalyptus near the glass had dried a little and started to curl. He left it there because he liked the way the scent still tried. He turned off the lights. The apartment went quiet in a kind way. He lay down and closed his eyes with the feeling of Will’s hand settling into his like a word that fit the sentence on the first try.

Chapter Text

The drizzle started before breakfast and kept at it like the city was trying to rinse itself without making a big deal. Will stood under the awning outside the dorm and watched the rain bounce off the sidewalk while he waited for Beverly to find her umbrella. He pulled his hood up and checked his phone. There was already a message waiting and it made the morning better by itself.

H: I have an extra umbrella. Corner in three minutes.

W: I am here

H: So am I

Hannibal stepped out from the edge of the flower stall with a black umbrella and the kind of posture that said he would rather take the weather than let it take him. The hoops in his ear made the gray light look less stubborn. He tilted the umbrella to cover Will as if it had been made for the both of them.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said.

“Good morning,” Will said. “You plan everything.”

“I like when people do not get wet because of me,” Hannibal said. “I brought coffee. Beverly will hate me if I forget her.”

“She already hates you in a friendly way,” Will said. “You are fine.”

Beverly jogged up with her umbrella finally tamed, hair in a bun that could have held the roof up if the building lost interest. She accepted the second cup with a curt nod.

“Credit where due,” she said. “This is decent. Do not relax.”

“I never relax,” Hannibal said.

“I can tell,” Beverly said. She glanced at Will. “Schedule says lecture in hall B. Lunch near the museum. Group walk in the afternoon unless lightning. If you disappear, text me so I can lie for you.”

“I do not intend to disappear,” Will said.

“You always disappear,” Beverly said without heat. “It is part of your charm.”

The chaperone rallied his flock and they moved toward the metro. Will stayed half under the umbrella with Hannibal, which made the walk feel like a private lane. The flower seller had covered the buckets with clear plastic that gathered drops like beads. The rain made the market smell brighter.

“Are you busy later?” Will asked.

“I will make time,” Hannibal said. “There is a small gallery near the river that hangs student work when the owner is in a good mood. He is in a good mood on rainy days. I would like to take you.”

“I want to see what you like,” Will said. “I want to see anything you made if that is allowed.”

“It is allowed,” Hannibal said. “I will not hide the bad pages. They teach more.”

Will bumped him with his shoulder on purpose. “You pretend to be impossible. You are not.”

“I am trying to retire that trick,” Hannibal said. “It gets in the way.”

They paused at the top of the metro stairs. Will handed back the umbrella and felt the moment pull like a small tide.

“Later,” Will said.

“Later,” Hannibal said.

The lecture room tasted like chalk and old wood. The professor had a voice that could have carried across a field. He talked about moral injury and the way people twist themselves to fit stories that hurt them. Will filled a page and a half without remembering to look up. Alana asked if calling something an injury helped people stop blaming themselves. The professor said yes and no and told a story about his first year working in clinics. Bella wrote down the name of a book he recommended and slid the note to Jack. Beverly drew a superhero pigeon again and gave it a tiny umbrella.

At lunch, Will tried to eat slowly. He failed because the soup was hot and the bread was the right kind of crusty. His phone buzzed. He checked the screen and felt his chest loosen.

H: Two-fifteen. Gallery on Rue des Écoles. Green awning.

W: I will find it

H: I will stand outside and pretend I am a statue.

W: If you do that, I will laugh at you. W.

H: That is the idea.

“Show me yours,” Will said when he had looked at everything twice and wanted to see the thing that mattered most.

Hannibal led him to a corner where three sheets of paper had been clipped to a board and hung with the same care as the framed pieces. The first held a study of bones in the hand, each knuckle and curve set down with crisp attention. The second mapped tendons that crossed the wrist like clean cables. The third was the one Will recognized without needing a tag. His own face, not the vanity version, but the version that looked like early morning when the coffee had not hit yet and everything still felt possible. The mouth had the line it carried when he was hiding a smile. The eyes were sharper than he believed he had a right to look. The curls were stubborn in a way he lived with.

“It looks like me,” Will said softly.

“It is you,” Hannibal said. “The part that refuses to perform for a camera.”

Will stood there and tried to think of a better way to say thank you and could not find one that did not sound like too much. He took out his phone and lifted it a little. “Can I take a picture?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “Take it. Live with it. I will make more.”

Will snapped the picture and then took a second closer shot that made the line of the mouth front and center. He saved both and felt the weight of them settle into the pocket of his day.

“Do you sell your work?” Will asked.

“I give it to people who know how to hold it,” Hannibal said. “Money will make me behave in ways I do not like if I let it.”

“You could set rules,” Will said.

“I am setting this one,” Hannibal said, and he looked at Will in a way that made Will tuck the phone away because he needed both hands for the feeling in his chest.

They left the gallery and walked along the river. The rain had turned into a fine mist that made hair lift and shirts cling a little. The street vendors had rigged plastic covers and were still doing business because the city had not trained them to quit. Will stopped at a stall with old postcards and picked through a box until he found one with a picture of a bridge that looked good even in black and white. He bought it for Beverly and another with a pair of dogs in a sidecar for himself because it made him grin. Hannibal found a small print of a fountain with figures that had been smoothed by time. He bought it and did not justify the choice.

“Do you like the catacombs?” Hannibal asked as they turned off the river and took a side street where the buildings leaned in close.

“I do not know yet,” Will said. “We have tickets tomorrow. Beverly is excited. Jimmy wants to count skulls and Brian will make him stop.”

“Skulls are better in drawings than in walls,” Hannibal said. “But they are still honest. You know what you are looking at.”

“Do you ever get uneasy?” Will asked. “Nothing seems to shake you.”

“I shake,” Hannibal said. “I learned not to show it unless it helps. I do not like that everything ends. I am trying to use that as a reason to be kind instead of a reason to be cruel.”

Will took that in with a nod. “You scare people sometimes,” he said. “In the way you look at them.”

“I know,” Hannibal said. “I am trying to learn when to look away.”

“Do not look away from me,” Will said.

“I will not,” Hannibal said.

They passed a bakery that made the street smell like sugar and heat. Hannibal bought two small tarts and handed one to Will without ceremony. Will ate in three bites and licked a little filling from his thumb. Hannibal watched without pretending he was not looking. Will caught him and did not mind.

Bedelia called while they walked and Hannibal answered on speaker so Will would not feel shut out. She asked where he was and told him to be respectful of schedules. He told her he was walking and that he would be home in time for dinner if she wanted him home. She said she did. and told him to stop picking fights with rain. He told her rain was losing which made her laugh in a way that did not happen often and told him to bring greens if he passed a market.

“What does dinner look like with you?,” Will asked after the call.

“Bedelia cooks almost as well as she argues,” Hannibal said. “Margot eats with precision. Antony talks with his hands until the glassware gets nervous. Abel shows up without warning and leaves before you can ask him to help with plates. I clean the kitchen because it makes my head quiet.”

“I like that,” Will said. “I like sinks and hot water and a job with an end.”

“Come for dinner tomorrow,” Hannibal said. “If your schedule lets you. Bedelia will want to meet the person who makes me check my phone during lectures.”

“She has met me,” Will said.

“She will want to meet you without a time constraint.” Hannibal said.

“I want that too,” Will said. He looked at the time and exhaled. “I have to check back in. The chaperone is taking attendance as a hobby.”

“I will walk you,” Hannibal said, which did not need to be said anymore and still mattered each time.

They reached the dorm just as the rain stopped pretending and began again with intent. They stood under the shallow overhang while drops hit the pavement like a thousand small drums. Will leaned his shoulder against the wall. Hannibal stood close, not touching, as if touch would be too much with the rain making privacy out of noise.

“Can I kiss you?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes,” Will said.

Hannibal kissed him in the shadow of the door, slow and steady, as if the rain had given them permission to take their time. Will lifted onto his toes without thinking and felt the rest of the world slide out of focus in a decent way. He drew back and kept his eyes closed for one second to hold it.

“Later,” Will said.

“Later,” Hannibal said.

Inside, Beverly stood at the bottom of the stairs pretending not to be waiting. She handed Will a towel like a nurse and took the postcard without reading the back. She looked at his face and chose not to make a joke.

“Dinner plans?” she asked.

“Tomorrow at his place,” Will said. “If the schedule allows it.”

“Tell me what to wear,” Beverly said.

“You are not invited to the dinner at his place,” Will said.

“I meant for you,” Beverly said. “I am not crashing. I am not Jack.”

“Jack is not crashing,” Will said.

“Jack is a walking crash site,” Beverly said, then softened. “I am happy for him. Bella is good for him. Margot is good for Alana. No one was good for you yet and then he showed up.”

“He is good for me,” Will said, and he heard how sure he sounded and did not try to hide it.

That night, the dorm settled one room at a time. The rain softened and turned into a sound that made sleep easier. Will lay on his back with his hands behind his head and the phone on his chest like a warm stone. He typed the message he had been carrying since the gallery.

W: I kept looking at the drawing after I left. It feels like the version of me I want to be most days

H: It is the version of you that already exists. I only traced it.

W: I want to be near you when I am doing the hard parts

H: You are near me when I am doing mine.

W: Do not get too proud

H: I will try

W: Tell Bedelia I will come to dinner if the schedule lets me. I will not be late

H: She will like that. I will send you the address.

W: Send a photo of the eucalyptus if it is still alive.

Hannibal sent a photo of the eucalyptus in the window. The leaves had curled a little but still looked stubborn. Will saved the photo and set it as the background because he liked what it did to the screen.

W: Goodnight

H: Goodnight

Hannibal set his phone on the table and shut off the kitchen light. He stood by the window for a minute because he liked the way rain turned the street into a mirror. He pictured Will under the dorm awning and felt the urge to run out into the night just to stand there again and be stupid together for ten more minutes. He did not. He went to the bedroom and found Margot sitting on the edge of the bed with a stack of mail from her brother that she did not want but would not ignore.

“Dinner tomorrow,” Margot said without looking up.

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “Will is coming.”

“Good,” Margot said. “Alana is visiting after class. I want her here when Will is here so she can say hello and steal him from the tension if you and Bedelia start competing with knife skills.”

“We will not compete,” Hannibal said.

“You always compete,” Margot said. “You will try not to and that, my dear, is progress.”

Hannibal smiled at that because it was exactly true. He took the mail from her and sorted it by envelope weight so she would not have to. Bedelia came in and set a dish to soak because she trusted the future version of herself to be kinder to it. Antony texted a photo of a shirt he had found and asked if anyone needed to be rescued from fashion. Abel sent a message with three skull emojis and the words see you in the earth, which meant he was fine.

The next morning would bring the catacombs, and the air would be colder, and Will would count the steps without announcing that he was counting. The day after that would bring dinner, and Bedelia would test and approve, and Margot would pry without being cruel, and Antony would make jokes that landed better than usual, and Will would help dry plates because he did not know how to sit while other people worked. Tonight was for rain, and for the clean feeling of a kiss that met the moment it belonged to, and for the simple plan of being in the same place again when the city agreed.

Will fell asleep with the picture of himself in the gallery sitting inside his head where it could not be knocked loose. Hannibal slept with the smell of eucalyptus and wet stone in the room and the image of Will’s mouth when he said yes resting like a coin he would not spend. The rain kept up its patient work, and the city listened without promising anything it could not give.

Chapter Text

Will stood in front of the dorm mirror and tried to make his hair do one thing instead of five. Beverly sprawled across the bed with her phone held above her face and her feet kicking the air like she was timing a song only she could hear. He tugged his hoodie straight, then tugged it again for no reason.

“You look good,” Beverly said. “Do not change your shirt again.”

“I was not going to,” Will said, already catching his fingers at the hem.

“Breathe,” Beverly said as she slid off the bed. She stepped in close and flattened a wrinkle on his shoulder with two quick swipes. “You have this. You are charming and terrifying in the way grandmas like. Tell Bedelia I say hi.”

“I will,” Will said. “If I disappear, check the kitchen sink. I hide there when I panic.”

“You hate laundry-day sinks,” Beverly said. “You will be fine. Status checks, please. Photo evidence preferred. Faces, not forks.”

He grabbed his backpack, hesitated, then nodded. “I am going.”

“Good,” Beverly said, softer now. “Go knock them dead. Not literally.”

Will laughed, opened the door, and took the stairs two at a time. The hall smelled like wet concrete and lemon cleaner. At the front door he pushed into the soft air and only then took out his phone.

W: Heading out. Wish me luck

B: Luck. Do not be weird

W: I am always weird

B: Be charming weird

W: Trying

He put the phone away, squared his shoulders, and set off toward the green door.

Hannibal was already on the building’s stairs when Will reached the buzzer. He wore black jeans and a gray shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair looked like he had run a hand through it once and decided to stop while he was ahead. The small hoops in his ear flashed in the stairwell light.

“Hi,” Hannibal said.

“Hi,” Will said.

“You are early,” Hannibal said.

“I got distracted by a bakery window,” Will said. “I am fine now.”

“Good,” Hannibal said, and he held the door so Will could step into a hallway that smelled like clean floors and something with lemon in it. They climbed two flights. Hannibal unlocked the apartment and stood aside as if the room should meet Will first.

The place was bright without trying. Plants lined the window sills. Books lived in rows and in stacks that looked touched. A bowl near the door held keys and a roll of tape. A dish towel with a faint stain hung on the oven handle like a badge of an old fight with sauce.

Bedelia stood at the counter slicing a lemon with neat concentration. She wore a navy shirt and jeans and looked like a person who could run a city out of habit. Margot leaned at the end of the table with a glass of water. Antony sat on a stool and stirred a saucepan with the serious face of a student actor.

“Hello,” Bedelia said without looking up. “Shoes off, please. We have a no dirt on the rug rule. I like the rug.”

“Hi,” Will said. He toed off his sneakers and lined them up, set his backpack beside them, and tried to decide where to put his hands.

Margot came over first. “Will,” she said. “Welcome. I am glad you came.”

“Thanks,” Will said. “Your place is nice.”

“Bedelia is a tyrant about surfaces,” Margot said.

“I am not a tyrant,” Bedelia said. “I am a person with eyes.”

Antony offered Will a wooden spoon with ceremony. “Taste.”

Will tasted. “That is good.”

“See,” Antony told the room. “The youth approve.”

“I did not ask the youth,” Bedelia said. She set the knife down and finally looked at Will. Her eyes were sharp and also kind. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Will said. He held still and let her read him.

“You look like someone who knows how to work,” Bedelia said. “That helps.”

“I do,” Will said. “I like a clean sink.”

“Good,” Bedelia said. “We eat first. We interrogate during salad. If you survive salad, you may have dessert.”

Hannibal looked a shade guilty and also proud. Will took a breath and felt it catch in a decent way.

“I can do salad,” he said.

“Wash your hands,” Bedelia said. “Dry with the blue towel, not the green. The green is decorative. Accept this and live.”

Will washed. He dried with blue, not green. Bedelia approved with a small nod that only Hannibal would have seen if he had not been watching her like a weather vane.

Hannibal set plates. “Sit,” he said to Will. “Here. You can see the kitchen and all exits.”

Will sat with a view of the room and the hallway. He felt better at once. Margot poured water for him and slid a small bowl of olives closer. He ate one to be polite, then took two more because they were good.

Antony brought a big bowl of salad and another of pasta that smelled like garlic and green things. Bedelia set bread in the middle. Hannibal took the chair beside Will and bumped his knee once under the table.

“To dinner,” Bedelia said. “Everyone behave.”

“We never behave,” Antony said.

“Try,” Bedelia said.

Will looked at salad so salad would not feel ignored. He passed the bread. He tried the pasta. The lemon made the garlic feel clean. He forgot to be nervous for four bites. Then Bedelia set down her fork.

“Will,” she said, “tell me about your dad.”

Will put his fork down so he would not talk around food. “He runs a shop. He shows up early, stands with his coffee, and thinks about the jobs before anyone else gets there. He hates paperwork and pretends he is bad at it so I will do it, but he is good if he gives himself time. He does not say much when he is tired. He likes old cars and terrible movies. He claims my mom’s cherry pie recipe, but he pays a woman down the street to make it and pretends he does not. I let him.”

“Does he like that you are here?” Bedelia asked.

“He does,” Will said. “He acts unimpressed, so I do not get a big head. He is impressed.”

“Is he strict?” she asked.

“About safety and lying,” Will said. “He does not micromanage. He stares. That is worse.”

“Good,” Bedelia said. “Staring saves time.”

Hannibal let out a small breath that almost became a laugh. Will felt the line of his knee settle against his own.

“Do you get in trouble?” Bedelia asked. “Do not lie. I have a radar.”

“When I am bored,” Will said. “I used to hang around older kids with bad ideas. I do not as much now. I work after school. That helps.”

“Do you fight?” she asked.

“Not to win,” Will said. “Only to stop something. I am not good at walking away when people pick on someone smaller. It does not make me a hero. It makes me tired.”

“You are honest,” Bedelia said. “That is useful.”

Antony made a tiny drum roll with his fingers. “He lives.”

“He has not met dessert,” Bedelia said.

Will’s phone buzzed against his thigh. He glanced down.

B: Status?

W: Alive. Salad round

B: Send a photo

W: Later

B: Now!

Will lifted the phone in a quiet question. Hannibal leaned into his shoulder and took it, flipped the camera, and lifted it just enough. Neither of them posed. He pressed once and handed it back.

“Approve?” Hannibal said.

“I do,” Will said. He sent it.

B: Saved. Also breathe.

Will saved it. Hannibal peeked and saved it too without making a bit of it. Bedelia’s fork paused midair.

“Are you coordinating a heist?” she asked. “If so, include me.”

“Status report,” Will said. “Beverly requires proof of life.”

“Reasonable,” Bedelia said, and the edge in her eyes softened.

They ate. The room found its rhythm. Glasses clicked gently. The rain outside thought about returning and changed its mind. Hannibal looked calm and was not. Will felt a tiny twitch in his leg where their knees met.

Bedelia folded her hands. “Round two. Normal questions. Do not overthink. Favorite breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast at the diner near my house,” Will said. “The waitress calls me honey and pretends not to charge me for extra jam.”

“Worst class?” she said.

“Group projects,” Will said.

“That is not a class,” Bedelia said.

“It is a curse,” Will said.

Antony snorted. Margot hid a smile.

“First job?” Bedelia said.

“Shop with my dad,” Will said. “Swept floors at nine because I kept showing up.”

“Three things in your pockets?” Bedelia said.

Will emptied them. “Pocket knife. Metro card. A bolt I forgot to put back.”

Hannibal looked at the bolt like a secret handshake. Bedelia tipped her head. “What do you want from my idiot pseudo-brother?”

Hannibal sat a fraction straighter. Will glanced at him, then back. “Honesty,” Will said. “Time. Someone who will tell me when I am being unfair to myself. I can handle the rest.”

Bedelia looked at Hannibal. “And you? What do you want?”

Hannibal did not look away from Will. “To be better for him than I have been for myself.”

Margot’s eyes warmed. Antony declared the air rude and pretended to wipe his eye.

Will’s phone buzzed again.

B: How is the grilling?

W: Charred edges. Still edible.

B: Is he being nice?

W: He is trying to be. He is nervous

B: Of course he is. You are terrifying when you are soft

Will snorted into his water. Bedelia arched an eyebrow. “Share with the class.”

“Beverly says I am terrifying when I am soft,” Will said.

“She is right,” Bedelia said. “Do not weaponize it.”

“I will try,” Will said.

Dessert arrived as slices of something lemony with a just-burnt top that cracked under the fork. Bedelia watched Will take the first bite like it was a test. He closed his eyes once. “This is ridiculous.”

“Correct,” Bedelia said. “Now. Rules.”

Hannibal made a small sound. Bedelia ignored it with love.

“Rule one,” she said to Will. “If you feel unsafe, physically or emotionally, you leave and tell me. I will not ask why until you want to say. Rule two. You do not disappear without telling your friends you are alive. Rule three. You do not let him,” she pointed at Hannibal, “turn problems into puzzles to avoid fixing them in real time.”

“I heard that,” Hannibal said, half smiling.

“You were meant to,” Bedelia said. She looked at him. “Your rules.”

Hannibal’s voice stayed low. “Tell me when I am too much. Tell me when I am not enough. Do not protect my feelings from the truth.”

“I can do that,” Will said. “My rule. You do not scare people on purpose just because you can.”

“Agreed,” Hannibal said, and he meant it.

Antony clapped. “He survives dessert.”

“Barely,” Bedelia said, but the corners of her mouth had dropped their armor. She stood, gathered plates, then stopped and touched Will’s shoulder like a check mark. “You are fine. Eat more.”

Will breathed like the door had opened a little wider. He texted Beverly under the table.

W: Alive. Approved. Lemon thing is illegal.

B: Good. Steal me one. Also the selfie is my lock screen

W: Same

Hannibal flashed his own phone with the selfie now set in place. Will smiled in a way that felt like relief and not performance.

They cleared together because Will did not know how to sit while others worked. Hannibal rinsed. Will dried. Margot stacked. Bedelia allowed it because she liked people who understood the ceremony. Antony tried to help and was told to sit beautifully. He did.

Bedelia packed two slices of the lemon thing into a container and handed it to Will. “For Beverly,” she said. “And for leverage if she requires a full report.”

“Thank you,” Will said. “She will require it.”

“I expect bullet points,” Bedelia said. She grabbed her keys and pointed them like a small baton. “Hannibal, walk him. It is dark. Do not be dramatic.”

“I will be normal,” Hannibal said.

“You do not know how,” Bedelia said, smiling now.

The hallway was quiet. They took the stairs. On the landing the light pooled soft and even. Hannibal stopped there.

“I was nervous,” he said.

“I know,” Will said.

“You still are,” Hannibal said.

“Yes,” Will said. “It is the good kind.”

“Can I have another photo?” Hannibal asked. “Not for Beverly. For me.”

Will stepped close so they both fit. Hannibal lifted his phone. Neither of them posed. The second selfie came out less pretty and more true. They both saved it.

They walked the rest without hurry. At the door downstairs Will shifted the container to one hand and leaned in. The kiss was soft and quick, like a promise they already believed. He stepped back with a grin he did not try to hide.

“I will text when I get back,” Will said.

“I will wait,” Hannibal said.

Beverly was at the dorm door with her hair in a lopsided bun and the exact look of a person who insisted she had only just arrived. Will handed her the container like a trophy.

“Bedelia loves you,” she said after one bite. “Also you are flushed in a wholesome way. Progress report.”

“I was interrogated,” Will said. “I survived.”

“Proud of you,” Beverly said, softer. “Show me the selfie.”

He showed her both. She made a satisfied noise and set the second as his background herself. “Better,” she said. “Now sleep before you spiral about chewing weird.”

“I already spiraled,” Will said. “I am fine now.”

He climbed into bed wired and relieved. His phone buzzed once.

H: Goodnight

W: Goodnight

He set the phone face down and looked at the ceiling until it stopped being a ceiling and started being a quiet. He fell asleep with the memory of Bedelia’s fork-pointed approval and Hannibal’s nervous knee pressed to his under the table. The selfie waited on his lock screen like a small light pointed the right way.

Chapter Text

The next few days ran together in that good way summers do when you are not trying to fix them. The group moved through the city like it had learned their names. They had breakfast at the café with the slow toaster and the fast woman who called everyone darling without making it weird. They found a supermarket with a cold aisle that felt like a new religion and bought too much yogurt and not enough spoons. They went to a student film night in a basement where the projector hiccuped and everyone clapped anyway. They stood on a bridge at sunset and watched a street violinist play a song that made two strangers dance and three more consider it. Someone took a picture of all of them with faces tilted up and light catching on skin and earrings. Will kept that one because you could see Hannibal in profile, mouth soft in a way that did not happen often.

There were days with the five of them moving as one tight unit, and there were hours that belonged to the two of them. Will liked both. He liked Beverly teasing him and then tossing him a bottle of water without looking. He liked Jimmy and Brian arguing about whether pigeons had a union while still holding hands. He liked Jack pretending he did not care where Bella was while standing exactly where she would have to walk past. He liked Alana and Margot finding parallel benches and falling into talk as if they had been doing it for years. He also liked the quiet minutes when the city pretended it had made an empty street just for him and Hannibal, when the sound of traffic went low and the air smelled like warm stone.

One afternoon they all sprawled on the grass near the tower again, and Beverly rolled onto her stomach and squinted at Will.

“What do you think about next week?” she asked.

“What about it,” Will said.

About us going back to the states next week,” Beverly said, not unkind. “Do you feel anything about that? Are you ready to go back home? What has Hannibal said?”

Will stared at the sky and let his eyes blur until the metal turned into lines. “I have not told him,” he said.

Beverly pushed her chin into her knuckles. “Why not? You are going to tell him aren’t you?”

“I do not know,” Will said. “If I say it, it is real. If I do not say it, I get to have this without the clock ticking in my ear.”

“You have a clock in your ear either way,” Beverly said. “Do not wait too long. You will make it worse.”

“I know,” Will said, and he meant it in the way people mean hard things and still cannot make their mouth cooperate. He shrugged and shut his eyes. He did not fall asleep. He just wanted the sun on his face so he could pretend the weight was light.

That night the dorm went quiet the way buildings do when everyone inside is pretending to be better at sleeping than they are. Will watched the ceiling and felt the city under his ribs. He texted without thinking too hard.

W: Are you awake?

H: Yes. Why are you awake?

W: I cannot sleep.

H: Shoes. Jacket. One block north. I will stop the bike where the street bends

He pulled on jeans and a hoodie and took the stairs slow so the old steps would not tell on him. The night air tasted like yesterday’s rain and someone’s late bread. At the corner where the street bent he saw the small dark shape before he heard it. Hannibal cut the engine and let the bike roll the last few feet so the noise would not bounce off the dorm windows. He wore a black jacket and the same small hoops, and his face had the kind of alert calm that made Will’s chest loosen.

“Helmet,” Hannibal said, handing it over like it was a rule and not a question.

Will buckled it and slid onto the seat behind him. He did not think about how this looked from the sidewalk. He thought about the way the city flexed around them as they pulled off, how the streets opened when you were low to the ground and moving just fast enough to outrun the parts of your brain that liked to stick.

They took the quiet roads. Hannibal did not hurry. He took turns like he knew Will was learning his balance. Will watched his hands on the bars and the curve of his shoulders. He let the air cold his cheeks and the dark wake him up all the way. He pressed his knees in when they rolled over a patch of rough stone. He felt safe. He hated that that surprised him.

They parked near the river where the lamps made small islands of yellow on the water. They did not talk at first. They walked along the railing with their hands in their pockets and their shoulders close. Will watched his breath and the reflection of the lights break when a boat slid past like a shadow pretending to be real.

“Tell me what woke you,” Hannibal said, quiet and even.

“I could not sleep,” Will said. “I kept thinking about the same thing and then pretending I was not thinking about it.”

“What thing?” Hannibal asked.

“It is nothing,” Will said. “I do not want to ruin this.”

“You will not ruin this by telling the truth,” Hannibal said. He did not say more. He let the words sit.

Will stared at the water. The right words crowded the back of his throat and did not come out. He shook his head once. He felt stupid and not brave at all. “Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Hannibal said. He did not push. He adjusted his steps until they matched Will’s again. “Tell me something else.”

Will chose a thought that felt big and not dangerous. “Where do you want to go?” he asked. “When this is over. Not just the city. The life. The thing you want to be.”

“Medicine,” Hannibal said. “I want to be so good at it that I am the person people call when they are out of road. I want to draw on the side because it makes my head clear. I want a place that smells like clean paper and the kind of coffee that does not lie. I want a kitchen, but not to show off. I want to feed people I love so they do not forget they have bodies.”

Will smiled before he knew he was smiling. “You already talk like a doctor.”

“I talk like a person who got tired of wasting time,” Hannibal said. “What about you?”

“I want to be useful,” Will said. “I want to fix things that do not stay fixed unless someone cares. Engines. People. I want to learn enough to come back to places like my town and help without acting like a savior. I want a dog that falls asleep with its head on my foot. I want a porch. I want to be able to buy my dad a new coffee maker without making a joke about it.”

Hannibal looked at him, eyes steady under the light. “You will do all of that.”

“You say it like it is easy,” Will said.

“I say it like it is possible,” Hannibal said.

They found a bench and sat close enough that their knees touched. The river said the same word over and over. A couple walked past and did not look at them. A scooter whined on the far bank and then went quiet again. Hannibal turned his head.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he said, gentler than before.

Will swallowed and shook his head again. “It is nothing.”

“Then we will let it be nothing until it wants to be something,” Hannibal said. He did not move away. He did not make a speech. He put his hand on the bench with his fingers spread so Will could cover them or not. Will covered them. They sat like that until the night softened into a kind of peace that did not solve anything and still helped.

On the ride back, Will put his face briefly between Hannibal’s shoulder blades because he needed to and because the helmet hid it. Hannibal did not comment. He parked where he had promised and let Will take off the helmet without rushing. They stood in the dark like the street had made a pocket for them.

“Thank you,” Will said.

“You are welcome,” Hannibal said. “Text me when you are inside.”

W: In

H: Sleep

W: Trying.

The next morning Bedelia poured coffee and squinted at the empty chair at the table. Hannibal came in with wet hair and a clean shirt and that look he got when he was not admitting to a late night.

“Where did you go?” Bedelia asked.

“To see Will,” Hannibal said.

Bedelia stirred her cup without tasting it. “I like him,” she said. “It is a shame it will not last.”

Hannibal took the mug she slid across the table and stood there with it between his hands. “I know.”

“You two have been playing pretend long enough, have you not,” Bedelia said. “He is not staying. You are not going. When are they flying back?”

“I do not know,” Hannibal said. “He has not mentioned it.”

Bedelia frowned. The line between her brows deepened in that way it did when she saw a problem forming and could not stop it without hurting someone. “When he leaves, you will break,” she said, plain but not cruel. “I do not want to pick up those pieces again. I will if I must. I would rather not.”

“I am happy,” Hannibal said, and it sounded like both a defense and a confession.

“I can see that,” Bedelia said, and her voice softened around it. “Be as happy as you can be until it ends. But do not lie to him by letting him think you do not see the end.”

Hannibal nodded once. He did not argue. Bedelia kissed his cheek the way sisters do when they are trying to be kind and efficient at the same time. He took his sketchbook to the window and opened it to a fresh page.

He drew Will in the light from last night because his head would not let him draw anything else. He drew the shadow under the eye from not sleeping. He drew the curl that would not be tamed behind the ear. He drew the set of the mouth when a person is holding a question so carefully that it does not break. He made the background a suggestion of water and lamps and made the face the thing that would not be softened by distance. He cursed the world under his breath for making the hourglass so loud. He wondered if this leaving was the thing pressing on Will’s chest. He knew it was and still felt helpless in the way that makes your hands ache.

The days kept going. There were more run-ins that felt like small gifts. They found a back-alley bakery with bread that cracked like a good joke. They took a picture of Margot and Alana laughing at something on a bench with their heads tipped together. They took a picture of Jack pretending he did not like museums while letting Bella fix his collar. They took one of Beverly grinning with a cone of fries and a triumphant posture that said she had found the best stand and was right. They took three selfies in bad light that came out good anyway. One had both of them squinting into sun and still looking like they had slept. One had a blur because Hannibal made Will laugh at the last second. One had Will’s head on Hannibal’s shoulder and just the edge of a smile that not many people got to see. When they were all together, it was noise and elbows and group chats that buzzed too much and still felt like a net. When it was just the two of them, it was hands brushing and the word later sent back and forth like a clean relay. They sat on steps and shared a pastry because neither of them wanted a whole one. They stood in a doorway during a short burst of rain and talked about the best way to fix a machine that stalls in summer and a person who stalls in winter. They took a short train just to stand on the platform of the next stop and watch the doors open and close. Will tried to tell himself that this was not a countdown, but the numbers would not stay quiet.

A week came into view and did not hide. Beverly reminded him when she was sorting her souvenirs into piles of keep and give and pretend you have had forever. She asked again, softer this time, if he had told Hannibal. He still had not. He knew he needed to, but he kept choosing the next hour, the next walk, the next coffee, the next way Hannibal would look at him like the present was not a thing to apologize for.

The night before the day that would turn into the airport, the group met at the fountain without deciding to. The air felt too clear. The water felt too loud. Margot hugged Alana longer than she meant to and made a joke about long-distance being an elective. Bella kissed Jack on the cheek and then on the mouth and then told him to drink water because she had turned into that kind of person. Beverly took a picture of Will and Hannibal without asking. The hoops caught the light. The curls caught the wind. Neither of them looked at the camera. They looked at each other and then looked away, like always. When Will went to bed, he set an alarm he did not need and turned his phone face down. He lay on his back and listened to the quiet in the building and the hum in his head and the city outside that did not care about flights or endings. He closed his eyes. He dreamed he was running through a room with ropes that made lines for people to follow. He woke with his heart loud and his mouth dry and the knowledge in his chest like a hard coin.

Morning would bring the bus and the bags and the checklists. It would bring the bend in the road and the place a bike could stop without drawing attention. It would bring the glass and the rope lines, and the sound of a name shouted over the noise. It would bring the part where hearts were broken and promises were made, because sometimes you do both in the same breath and call it growing up.

Chapter Text

Morning came on fast like the city had flicked a switch just to see if anyone would complain. Will woke to Beverly sitting cross-legged on the floor with a strip of packing tape stuck to her sock and a pile of souvenirs arranged like a weather map. He stared at the ceiling and let the word today settle on his chest until it felt like weight. He sat up and scrubbed his face and tried to decide whether to be brave or a coward. He picked the version that would hurt slower.

“Bus in ninety,” Beverly said, not looking up from her map of trinkets. “Don’t pretend it is not happening. Drink water.”

“I will,” Will said. He stood and found the hoodie that still smelled like last night’s air. He brushed his teeth and made his hair worse by trying to fix it. He looked like someone who had run too far and stopped too fast. He put his phone on the sink and picked it up again. He typed and erased and then typed something he thought he could live with.

W: Morning.

H: Morning. Meet at the corner? Coffee on me.

W: Busy

H: I can meet you where you are. H.

W: Today will be busy for us. I can’t.

H: I’m sure it will be, but you know Beverly cannot start her day without coffee. Just ten minutes. I will see you there.

Will set the phone face down and stared at the little black mirror as if it would give him extra time. Beverly held up a keychain in the shape of a tower and squinted at it like a jeweler.

“What did he say when you told him?” she asked without ceremony. Will remained quiet typing his shoes before throwing the rest of his clothes in his suit case.

“You did tell him didn’t you?” Beverly asked staring at him.

“No,” Will said.

“Why? We leave soon.” she asked.

“If I say it, it is real,” Will said.

“It is real even if you want it to be or not. He deserves to know.”

“I know,” Will said. He looked down at his hands. They looked steady. That did not feel honest. He bent and zipped his backpack in a line that was too straight.

They ate cafeteria eggs that had improved out of pity. Jack looked wired and tried to make a joke. Bella patted his arm and fixed his collar. Jimmy and Brian shared a banana like it was a peace treaty. Alana tucked a list into her notebook and made a second list for Margot in case she forgot to say any of the items on the first list out loud. The chaperone clapped to get attention and talked about luggage tags in a tone that suggested he had a personal vendetta against unlabeled property.

Will’s phone buzzed against the table.

H: Here.

He looked toward the door, toward the corner he knew too well, toward the small bright space where the umbrella had been and the coffee had happened, and the day had started in the right order. He turned his phone, so the screen faced down. He folded his hands and unfolded them. He told himself he would text in a minute, then another, then another.

H: I can come to you if you will tell me where you are.

Will did not answer. He watched the group stand and lift bags and become a little louder to hide that they were leaving. He helped Beverly with the strap that always twisted. He kept his eyes on the floor when he walked out because looking up felt like announcing something.

The bus smelled like vinyl and hand sanitizer. Will slid into a seat with Beverly and watched out the window as the city moved past in pieces. Every corner looked like a place he might have stopped. Every light looked like a signal he could have chosen to obey or ignore. He turned his phone over. There was another message waiting.

H: Will…

He closed his eyes. He opened them. He typed nothing. He slid the phone into his pocket and pretended he could not feel it like a live wire.

Across the river, Hannibal stood at the corner with two coffees and a patience he usually wore like armor. He did not pace. He did not check the time every thirty seconds. He watched the street and knew the rhythm of it and waited for the fold in the crowd that meant Will was about to slip out of it like a card from a deck. It did not happen. He set one cup on the post. He took a drink he did not taste. He texted again because silence can mean lost signal and he was trying to be the person who assumes the kind explanation first.

H: Please say something. Just let me know you are okay.

There was no answer. He stood there one minute more in case the world was about to decide to be merciful. Then he picked up the cups and walked to the apartment with a walk that told people not to try him. He pushed in the door and set the coffee down a little too hard on the counter. Bedelia looked up from her list. Margot checked his face and then checked her phone like she had felt the change in the room from three floors down.

“Problem,” Bedelia said, which was how she said good morning when she did not want to waste time.

“He did not come,” Hannibal said. He was not dramatic. He was not calm. He was somewhere between two settings that did not have labels yet.

Margot’s phone buzzed. She read a message and her mouth softened then tightened. “Alana says they are leaving now,” she said. “She did not want to say it last night. She did not want to make you look at it.”

Hannibal went very still. “Leaving as in leaving leaving?” he said, like there might be another version.

“Airport,” Margot said. “To Louisiana. Ten thirty.”

There were a lot of ways to react to that. Hannibal chose the one that made sense to him. He grabbed his keys. He looked at the door like it owed him something and he intended to collect.

“Hannibal,” Bedelia said, not loud.

He met her eyes.

“You cannot fix the clock,” she said. “But you can get there before it runs out.”

He did not nod. He did not thank her. He left. He took the stairs two at a time and the street in three strides and the bike with a motion that was more muscle memory than thought. He cut the first corner clean and the second one cleaner. The lights were on his side because speed can look like confidence and the city respects that sometimes. He kept his body low and his mind empty. He could not think while moving like this without crashing and he did not intend to crash.

On the bus Beverly watched Will not look at his phone and felt charitable and furious in equal parts. “He is going to go to the corner,” she said. “He is going to stand there with those stupid good coffees and think he can fix this with patience.”

Will pressed his hand over his pocket. “I know.”

“Then text him,” she said, which came out sharper than she meant. She softened it with a sigh. “Or do not. I get it. But do not pretend you did not make a choice.”

“I did,” Will said. He felt sick. “I made a bad one.”

“Maybe,” Beverly said. “Or maybe you made the only one you could make today. Either way, be ready for the spin through the glass. It will be a lot.”

At the airport the line looked like all the lines in the world folded into one. The chaperone did his best impression of a traffic cone. Jack tried to keep a joke alive and then let it die with dignity. Bella squeezed his hand without looking at him. Jimmy and Brian argued about bag weight until Brian started laughing and Jimmy shut up. Alana counted passports and then counted again as if math could be wrong out of spite. Beverly looked at Will and then out over his shoulder at nothing.

Hannibal ran into the fluorescent light like a person who did not believe in bad angles. He parked badly, handed the helmet to a stunned attendant who would definitely remember this, and bolted through the doors. He moved like a rumor, people turning to look because someone had decided to make a scene and was doing it with style. He scanned the ropes and the security arch and the mass of trip shirts and found the shape he knew in a blink. He did not think about the rules.

“Will!” he shouted. “WILL!”

It cut through everything. Will turned so fast his backpack strap slid off his shoulder. He saw Hannibal in the chaos, earrings bright under ugly light, mouth set like someone who had decided not to lose. Will’s stomach dropped and rose at the same time. He stepped out of line because his body knew the route before his brain did.

They met at the rope. Hannibal stopped on one side. Will stopped on the other. They were close enough to touch if they ignored the metal stanchion that did not care who loved who.

“Why did you not tell me?” Hannibal asked. His voice was not angry. It was that steady low that meant the truth mattered.

“I did not want today to be a funeral,” Will said. He could feel his hands shake. He did not hide it. “I wanted one more morning that felt normal.”

“It is sad anyway,” Hannibal said.

“I know,” Will said, the word rough because he had been holding it back too long. “I am sorry.”

“I am going to miss you,” Hannibal said. He did not blink when he said it. He did not make it smaller to make it easier to hold.

“Me too,” Will said, and he heard his voice break on the second word and chose not to be ashamed of it.

Beverly had moved through security already and stood with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Will. We need you. They are scanning in two.”

“Promise me you will message me,” Hannibal said, and he reached for Will’s hands over the rope without caring how it looked. His thumbs pressed at the bases of Will’s fingers like he was trying to memorize the map.

“Every day if I can,” Will said. “Anything. Nothing. Pictures of nothing. I promise.”

Hannibal nodded. There was too much to say and not enough place to put it. He leaned across the small border and kissed Will quick and clean and true. It was not theatrical. It was not messy. It was exactly the size of the moment. Will leaned in like he had been waiting at that particular angle all week.

“Will,” Beverly said again, softer.

Will stepped backward. He did not turn his back. He held Hannibal’s eyes as long as the line allowed him to. He walked into the scanner with a chest that felt like it had been opened and not closed properly and did not do anything about that except keep going, because that was the rule here. He did not look away until he had to. Hannibal stood until the last curl disappeared behind a wall and then stood a second longer because standing was the only thing that understood him.

Security pushed the line forward. The machine beeped. The tray clattered. The rope swayed. Will slipped his shoes back on and grabbed his bag and turned for one last look he did not expect to land. He saw Hannibal through a gap like a punched hole. Hannibal did not wave. Will did not either. It would have made it worse. The look did what it needed.

On the other side of the glass, the airport tried to become a normal place again. People bought gum they would not finish. A child cried because her ears popped too soon. A loudspeaker apologized in three languages for nothing in particular. Will walked with the group and listened to Beverly breathe in the measured way she used when she chose not to cry. He reached out and hooked two fingers in her backpack strap so she would feel him. She bumped his arm without looking.

On the curb, Hannibal stood with his helmet in his hand and a face that had stopped pretending. Margot found him first because she knew where to look when people left. She did not say it would be okay. She did not tell him the future would fix itself. She stood next to him until the air did not feel like it had been punched. Bedelia texted a single line that landed like a hand on the back of his neck.

B: Come home when you can.

On the plane Will found his seat and did not look out the window. He sent one message he knew would land late.

W: I am sorry I did not say it yesterday.

Hannibal’s phone buzzed against his thigh when he was stopped at a light that did not know what it had just interrupted.

H: I know. Let me know when you land.

W: I will

The plane lifted. The city tilted. The clouds reached up like a stage hand catching a prop. Will closed his eyes and saw a corner and a green door and a clean, careful kiss under bad lights. He let himself smile once, small, at the promise he had just made out loud in a place where promises usually went to die. He planned to keep it. He already knew the time difference by heart. He curled against the window and slept like a person who had learned a new version of brave.

On the ground a boy in jeans and small silver hoops took a sketchbook from his bag at a red light and drew one line before the light changed. He swore at the world under his breath and then said thank you to it too, because it had brought him the kind of pain that meant something, and that was not nothing. He put the book away. He rode. He did not let the city out of his sight. He did not intend to let the future out of his hands.

Chapter Text

The plane slept across the ocean and the city woke without him, and the day began to build itself in two places at once. Will’s phone came alive an hour after landing, buzzing with messages from cousins and classmates who wanted to know if he had seen the famous bones and the famous tower and the famous bread. He answered in pieces while customs crawled and the baggage carousel lurched. He did not open the thread with Hannibal yet. He waited until they were out into the wet heat and the bus smelled like a hundred snacks. He waited until the highway settled into straight lines and the skyline he knew rose the way it always rose. Then he took a breath and opened the conversation.

W: We are back

H: I will pretend as if I did not stalk the screen to learn your landing time.

W: I know you did. Don’t try and deny it.

H: I won’t

W: I missed you before we landed

H: I missed you the second you disappeared behind the wall

The bus rattled. Beverly leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes like she was willing sleep to happen through gravity. Jack told a story about how the airport sandwich had offended him personally. Bella said he was dramatic and then took a bite of the same sandwich and agreed. Jimmy tried to make a joke about time zones and failed. Brian corrected him and made it worse. Alana opened her notebook and started a list of errands to keep the reentry nausea from eating her alive.

The group text spun for an hour and then went quiet the way group texts do when everyone admits they have to unpack and shower and find the charger that fell behind a radiator. Will carried his suitcase up the porch steps and into the house that still smelled like oil and coffee. His dad hugged him once, hard and awkward, like two pieces that had learned where they fit. They ate takeout at the kitchen table and said very little and meant all of it. After dishes, Will went to his room with its soft hum of fan and familiar mess and lay on the bed with his phone hovering over his face.

W: Time math. If it is 9:12p here, it is 3:12a there. Are you asleep?

H: I am awake. Bedelia believes in early-to-bed. She has not been able to convince me to do the same.

W: How is she?

H: Protective. Tolerant. Pretending not to notice I am watching my phone like I am trying to make it ring

W: I hope she still likes me

H: She does. She made a spreadsheet of reasons, and I am not allowed to see it.

W: Send a selfie.

H: A demand I approve of.

Hannibal sent one from the kitchen table, chin in palm, hair pushed back, hoops catching the low light. The plants in the window looked like they were listening. Will saved it without hesitating and took one back, lying on the bed with a dog-eared paperback on his chest, curls wrecked, face open in a way he had not seen until Paris. Hannibal saved that too and did not pretend he had not.

Days found a shape. Will woke before his alarm and biked to the shop to help his dad with a rebuild that had sat too long. He returned to school and felt the hallways close in and then widen when Beverly shouldered him on purpose and said, out loud, that he was allowed to like good things. He did homework at the kitchen table and made quick dinners and sent photos of grease-slick hands to a boy six time zones away. He fell asleep with the phone near his shoulder like a portable window.

Hannibal stretched the nights longer. He stopped skipping lectures because resisting them had gotten him nowhere. He sharpened his pencils until the sharpener felt judged. He filled pages with wrists and clavicles and the intricate ropework of feet, then turned the page and drew Will’s mouth again because he could not help it. He did assignments on time. He listened to a teacher finish a sentence without interrupting for the first time in months. Bedelia watched and did not comment. Margot bumped his hip as she passed and called him a reformed rascal. Antony called him lovestruck and bought him a larger phone plan because the data charges were ridiculous. Abel said “tragic” and stole half a croissant.

The messages threaded through everything.

W: My dad let me run the rebuild. He pretended to check my work twice

H: He trusts you. He is a smart man

W: He is stubborn

H: Like father, like son

W: Shut up

H: Never

Photos traveled back and forth like proof. Will sent the shop, the open engine, the old fan blowing at the floor, the chalkboard with parts listed in messy rows, the stray dog asleep on a pile of towels, the mug with a chipped handle. Hannibal sent the balcony at dawn, a half-finished hand study, a stack of books arranged like a fortress, the coffee that did not lie, Bedelia’s shoes by the door, the sliver of a moon caught in the corner of a window like an earring he had forgotten to take out.

Sometimes they typed for an hour. Sometimes they sent one line and let the line do the work.

W: I am tired

H: Sleep. I will watch the morning for you

W: Watch it be nice

H: I will tell it to behave

Hannibal’s friends learned the timing of his smile. Bedelia, on the phone with her aunt, looked over and saw him leaning against the sink, thumb moving, mouth soft. She told her aunt to hold and covered the mouthpiece.

“Studying, I see.” she said.

“I am,” Hannibal said without irony.

“You are happy,” Bedelia said.

“I am something,” Hannibal said. “It is better than the nothing.”

“Do not burn out chasing what hurts less,” she said. “Chase what matters.”

“I am,” he said, and he meant it with a steadiness that made her return to the call with a small, involuntary smile.

The group kept orbiting. Jack asked Bella to a movie and pretended it was not a date and then admitted it was when she squeezed his hand in the dark. Alana and Margot perfected the art of the midday video call, both of them drinking water in unison like a dare. Jimmy and Brian sent Will a photo of a disastrous baking attempt and then another of a store-bought cake with a fork stuck in it like a flag. Beverly installed herself at Will’s house at least three afternoons a week and pretended she was there for his dad’s grilled cheese. She was there to keep the air from getting heavy. She texted Hannibal twice, reluctantly, to coordinate a gift that would arrive on Will’s porch one Saturday morning in a small box: a set of better earbuds, not fancy, just decent, with a note tucked in the lid in Hannibal’s tight, careful hand.

So you can hear me without hating your battery - H.

W: You are out of control

H: Correct

W: Thank you

Hannibal told Will about the weight pulling his days into a shape he liked. He told him about applying for a summer program that would let him sit in on a lab if he did not blow the interview. He told him about drawing late into the night until the city felt like paper under his hand. He did not talk about his uncle unless asked. When Will asked, he answered in brief, true lines.

H: He likes rules when he wrote them

W: Do you push him?

H: Less now. It is not worth the bruise every time. I pick better fights

W: You are picking this

W: Yes

Winter tucked itself in. The eucalyptus finally dried to gray and kept its shape anyway. Will shoveled snow from the porch steps and sent a video of his breath fogging. Hannibal sent back the glare of a white morning and complained about cold fingers that refused to hold a pencil without mutiny. They counted the months without calling it a countdown. They marked exams and shifts and holidays. They built a rope between time zones and held it without making drama about the effort.

Spring. Hannibal sent a photo of a letter with a crest at the top and Will did not open it. He called instead. Hannibal answered on the first ring with the sound of a person who already knew.

“Say it,” Will said.

“I got in,” Hannibal said, voice steady and maybe shaking under it. “Johns Hopkins. Conditional program. If I keep my grades and pass the summer thing, I have a seat.”

Will sat down on the back step without planning to. He put the call on speaker and stared at the fence. “You did it.”

“We did,” Hannibal said. “You kept me honest.”

“You kept you honest,” Will said. “I gave feedback.”

“You gave the reason,” Hannibal said.

There was a small silence in which both of them let the size of the news fit inside the call. Hannibal broke it.

“There is another thing,” he said. “I should have told you earlier. My uncle— my family. The title. It is old. It does not mean anything if you do not want it to. I am technically a count.”

Will blinked at the fence and then laughed, not unkindly. “Like a literal count?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “I did not want to lead with it. It is how I am addressed on the letter and I did not know if you had seen that. I do not want you to think I hid it out of shame.”

“I do not care,” Will said, and he meant it with a force that surprised him. “I will make fun of you about it every day, but I do not care.”

“Good,” Hannibal said, and the relief in the word was impossible to miss.

“Are you going to show up in a cape?” Will asked holding back a laugh.

“No,” Hannibal said. “But Antony will try to buy one.”

“I will tell Beverly,” Will said. “She will print business cards that say ‘hazard dates a count.’”

“She will,” Hannibal said. “Tell her I said no.”

“She will ignore you,” Will said, and both of them laughed hard enough to clear what was left of the awkward.

The next weeks became a ladder: finals for Will, practicals for Hannibal, shop hours, interviews, a minor disaster with a carburetor that Will fixed by letting it sit in his warm hands and talking to it like it was a skittish dog. They sent selfies in bad light and good, in kitchens and stairwells, at lockers and on balconies. Hannibal sent one after an exam with his hair a mess and his eyes bright; Will sent one after a long day with a smear of grease along his wrist and a quiet, tired grin that made Hannibal want to be there to wash his hands for him and tell him he had done enough.

Bedelia watched Hannibal’s life stack back into something sturdy. She watched him say no to old chaos and yes to new work. She quizzed him on anatomy while slicing vegetables and made him answer with his mouth full when he tried to escape. Margot texted Alana pictures of note cards like she was sending flowers. Antony taped a paper crown to Hannibal’s head after the Hopkins letter and took a blurry photo that no one was allowed to post.

On a late afternoon when the light made everything look like a movie, Will stood in the shop doorway and listened to the radio two bays over. His dad wiped his hands on a rag and looked at him like he had been doing math in his head and had finally reached the answer.

“You going to see him soon?” his dad asked.

“I want to,” Will said. “He wants to come here.”

His dad nodded once. “Good. Tell him to bring you decent coffee. I am tired of that brown water you pretend is fine.”

Will smiled. “I will.”

The day came fast after that, as days do when you have decided where to put them. Will cleaned his room without being asked and then messed it up a little so it would look like him. Beverly hovered and pretended she was there to borrow a book. Jack texted twenty questions about airport parking on behalf of Bella’s dad. Jimmy and Brian offered to make a sign and were told no. Alana sent a checklist and Margot added a heart and a knife emoji for no reason except that it made Will laugh.

At the other end of the flight map, Hannibal stood in line with a carry-on and a passport and the dangerous kind of calm he wore to keep panic from getting ideas. Bedelia hugged him hard and then stepped back so he could leave without dragging guilt like luggage. Margot told him to drink water and to send a photo when he landed and not before because she liked to delay gratification in small ways when the big ones were out of her hands. Antony cried and claimed it was the recycled air. Abel said “do not die” and then pressed a hand to Hannibal’s chest like he was giving him a curse and a blessing at the same time.

The plane took the sky and then land appeared and the runway held. Hannibal’s phone woke in a new country and did the brief panic and then caught up. He changed into a clean shirt in the airport bathroom because Bedelia’s voice had colonized a corner of his brain in a helpful way. He walked out of the doors with the carry-on handle clacking against his leg, and then he saw Will past the first line of waiting faces, standing with his hands pushed into his hoodie pocket and a look that said come here and do not be stupid about it.

Hannibal dropped the bag. He did not stop himself. He ran. Will did too. They hit each other at the exact right height and laughed and didn’t, and Hannibal lifted him clean off the ground because he could, and Will let him because not letting him would have been a crime. The kiss happened because it had been waiting in the air between them for months like a magnet. It landed clean. It landed like something they had practiced without ever doing. People looked. No one mattered.

Beverly whooped and then pretended she had not. Jimmy clapped with his hands over his head like a referee. Brian pretended to wipe a tear and failed to hide a real one. Jack cheered and then hid behind Bella when strangers turned to stare. Bella waved at the strangers like an ambassador. Alana texted Margot one word: landed. Margot sent back three: told you so.

“Hi,” Hannibal said, forehead to Will’s.

“Hi,” Will said. “You made it.”

“I told you I would,” Hannibal said. “I do not lie about the important things.”

“You lie about bedtime,” Will said.

“That is not important,” Hannibal said, and he kissed him again just to make sure the arrival had stuck.

Outside, the humid air wrapped around them like a familiar person. Hannibal breathed it in with a face that said the world was weirder and better than it had any right to be. Will took his hand and did not let go even when the traffic made both of them swear under their breath like locals.

They did not need to narrate what had happened to get them here. The texts still lived on their phones. The drawings still lived in a sketchbook that had crossed an ocean. The smell of oil and coffee waited in a kitchen one of them knew and one of them wanted to know. The future was not a promise, but it was possible, and for two boys who had learned to live with clocks, possible felt like a miracle they could hold.