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Walking into the lab of the Behavioral Science Unit, Hannibal could immediately tell that something had happened. What kind of “something”, though, he wasn’t sure.
The forensics trio were all huddled together, arguing fiercely, but once Beverly noticed Hannibal’s entrance, she elbowed Brian and Jimmy and the three of them all fell silent, looking irrefutably guilty.
“Good morning,” Hannibal greeted them, keeping his voice on the pleasant side of neutral and giving no indication that he had noticed their intense discussion, nor the suspiciously-timed end of it.
They all echoed a greeting, shooting uncomfortable glances at each other. There seemed to be some sort of conversation happening nonverbally, because after a moment, Jimmy sighed and stepped forward.
“Doctor Lecter,” he began, sounding nervous. “Have you heard anything from Will lately?”
The question caught Hannibal off-guard. After Will’s release from the BSHCI, he had disappeared. No one had heard from him in almost a year. At first, Hannibal had been tempted to try to track him down, but had decided that Will would surface eventually, when he was ready.
A small part of him dared to hope that perhaps Will was ready now, but the larger, more logical part of him doubted it. If there had been anything substantial, he was sure Jack would have told him before he would have told the forensics team.
Regardless, he answered, “I haven’t. Has there been any news?”
“In a way,” Jimmy said hesitantly. “It’s nothing concrete. It could just be a weird coincidence.”
“It’s not a coincidence,” Beverly argued. “There’s no way. It’s him and he isn’t even trying to hide it.”
Jimmy didn’t look convinced. “I just can’t see him-“
“Jimmy, what other explanation is there?”
“It could be a coincidence!”
“It’s not! Even just the names-“
“But-“
“Guys,” Brian interrupted their arguing. “Doctor Lecter knew him best. He would know better than we would.”
“Alright. You have the floor, then,” Jimmy muttered after a minute, gesturing for Beverly to talk.
“Oh, so I have to-“
“Yes. It’s your theory,” Jimmy snipped.
“You’re the one who showed it to us!”
“I wasn’t being serious about it though!”
Brian rolled his eyes, reaching behind himself and grabbing a book. “So, Jimmy is in a book club and this was their book of the month.” He held up what looked like a fairly generic young adult romance novel, clearing his throat and beginning to dramatically read the summary, “‘Crossing Boundaries’. A novel about ‘the forbidden love affair between a therapist and patient, who find connection as they both come to learn and accept things about themselves—and their feelings for each other’. Written by the up-and-coming queer YA author, Bill Gran.”
“It could be-” Jimmy started again.
“Jimmy. Please.” Beverly sounded tired at this point. “Even if we ignore the painfully uncreative pen-name, he made the main characters an ex-cop who became a professor named Liam and a European psychiatrist named Hadrian. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Hannibal didn’t know what to say and knew what to say even less when Brian asked-
“So were you and Will sleeping together then? Because Jimmy said about a third of this book is porn.” His expression turned baffled for a moment and he turned back to Jimmy. “Do you all discuss the porn parts too?”
“It’s worth analyzing! It can say a lot about their relationship’s dynamic in ways they don’t express verbally,” Jimmy defended.
“Ooh, so what does the book say about how Will views his dynamic with Doctor Lecter?” Beverly asked.
Jimmy’s face turned bright red. “Can we maybe not talk about this right now? You know, while we’re literally in front of Doctor Lecter?”
Brian let out a low whistle and looked up from the book. “I just found one of the spicy parts and, Doc, if you two slept together, I think I’m jealous of Will.”
Although Hannibal found the conversation amusing, he felt the need to clarify something, more for appearances than any genuine concern. “For the record, Will and I did not have a physical relationship. Despite him not technically being my patient, the ethics of it would have been questionable at best.”
“You’re not denying an emotional relationship,” Brian mused.
“Or an interest in a physical relationship,” Beverly added, raising an eyebrow.
“So Will was basically writing about what he wanted your relationship to become? That’s kind of sweet,” Jimmy murmured. “Um. If Will was the one writing it.”
“Jimmy-“
“Alright! Fine!” Jimmy threw his hands up in defeat. “I also think it was Will. I just wish I had known before I had read the book so I could’ve not read it. Now I feel like I know too much about my coworkers. Well, coworkers I didn’t already know too much about. We all really need to learn to have more professional boundaries with each other.” He glanced at Hannibal then hurried to add, “Not that any of this was your fault, Doctor Lecter. You’re great at maintaining professional boundaries.”
“Great at a lot of other things too,” Brian muttered, having gone back to reading. “According to Will’s imagination, anyway.”
“Agent Price, would you mind if I borrowed your copy of the book?” Hannibal couldn’t help but ask, curiosity overcoming him. “And, if you haven’t already spoken with him about it, could you keep this from Agent Crawford? Just for now.”
“You can just keep it,” Jimmy said, taking the book from Brian and handing it over, avoiding eye contact. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ll be re-reading it. Now that I know it’s about you two…I was probably going to donate it anyway.” He sighed. “God, I wish Will had stuck to research papers if he really wanted to keep writing.”
“It’s a New York Times bestseller, so even if you didn’t like it, it looks like a lot of people did,” Brian pointed out.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it! Just…you know…it feels like when I found your old standup clips. But more…intimate.”
“You promised not to talk about that,” Brian hissed.
“Whoa. Wait,” Beverly cut in. “Z used to do standup? How did I not know about this?”
“Because I didn’t want you to know! I didn’t want Jimmy to know either!”
“Holy shit.” Beverly looked positively gleeful to have something new to tease Brian about. “I need to see your set ASAP.”
”Absolutely not,” Brian immediately shot the idea down.
“I mean, you don’t have to show it to me yourself. I’m sure I can track it down on my own.” Beverly shrugged, grin not fading.
“God, you two are the worst,” Brian muttered. “I want to transfer departments.”
“Was he any good?” Beverly asked Jimmy, ignoring Brian entirely.
Jimmy shook his hand in a so-so gesture. “He wasn’t bad. There was this one bit he did about how his dad thought he was gay because he did theatre in high school that went on for way too long though—and was a bit ironic in hindsight, actually. And then he tried doing crowd work and it was a little…”
“Oh, fuck you! I’d like to see you try-”
Hannibal slipped away as they continued arguing. It didn’t seem like they were going to be getting to the case he had been called on for anytime soon and Jack knew he had other obligations that took priority over assisting the FBI. He could easily make up an excuse for why he’d left and no one would question it.
His position consulting wasn’t at risk and—even if it was—it wasn’t much of a concern to him. What mattered most right now was reading Will’s book.
——
If he hadn’t known that Will had written it—and that it was about the two of them, at that—Hannibal never would have even considered picking up the book. He rarely read fiction and when he did, it was usually one of the classics, so this was…new to him.
And, quite frankly, fascinating.
It was akin to reading a diary, though much more interesting than, say, Kafka, because he knew that this written by Will, therefore was a reflection of Will’s feelings. Feelings about him. Hannibal had known some of how Will felt, obviously. He had been fostering codependency for long enough to be aware that Will was attached to him, but he hadn’t expected him to also be attracted to him. But it was hard to deny that that was what Will felt towards him now. Because, well, there it was. Written clearly in Garamond 12 point font. Pages and pages of what must have been Will’s thoughts as he and Hannibal grew closer. His struggles with self-acceptance and vulnerability. The comfort he found in feeling seen and understood. The guilt he experienced as he realized his attraction to Hannibal and his desires to act upon them.
He did give Hannibal quite a bit more credit than he deserved when it came to how his character struggled with the ethics of them beginning a relationship. Although it wouldn’t have been approved of by everyone, the fact that Will wasn’t technically his client meant that they weren’t actually violating any official APA guidelines, so Hannibal wouldn’t have had to worry had their relationship ended up becoming more than it had been. He also wouldn’t have denied his attraction to Will, had he known it was reciprocated.
Looking back, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t known. Beverly had been right when she’d said that Will hadn’t tried to be subtle. There were scenes in the book that were very clearly based on actual sessions that they had had, though with very…different endings. Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder how close Will had been to acting upon any of the fantasies that he’d apparently had.
He’d written some very intriguing scenes involving his desk—both the one in Will’s classroom and the one in Hannibal’s office. And the ladder in his office. And his kitchen. And both of their cars. Jimmy saying the book had been a third pornography may have been a conservative estimate.
There had been countless times where Hannibal now recognized he should have been able to guess what Will was thinking, but—since he’d never considered that Will’s sexuality would be anything but heterosexual—he had mistaken arousal for anxiety. At times where Hannibal had assumed he had misstepped and gotten too close, it turns out that Will had actually been hoping he would come closer.
Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder how much his plans would have changed if he had known.
He read the book more quickly than he had read anything in a long time. Then he read it again the same evening. That night, he dreamt about one of the first sessions he’d had with Will. Though in his dream, it went much differently. Much more like how he—and, as he now knew, also Will—had wished it would have gone.
The next morning, Hannibal cancelled his sessions for the next week, having decided that it was time to finally see Will again.
Figuring out where to look was surprisingly easy. “Bill” lived in Florida, according to his “About The Author” section, though the town wasn’t specified. Will’s character, Liam, lived in a town called Crescent City. At first, Hannibal assumed he would have to dig to find the town that Will actually lived in, but there was a Crescent City in Florida, nestled between two lakes and close enough to the coast so that Will had multiple options for fishing spots. A coffee shop was also mentioned twice in the book and, once again, Hannibal was prepared for it to be just a hint, but it just…was. The coffee shop existed exactly as named and described in the book in the town that was comically easy to pick out.
The only thing that would have made it more obvious would have been if Will had mailed him an autographed copy of the book with printed directions to his new address.
He was packed and a flight was booked for the next day by lunchtime.
——
Ever since Will’s book had finally been published, he had been waiting. He knew it would make its way to Hannibal eventually. He had actively gone out of his way to make it so obvious it was about the two of them that anyone who read it and had met them would be able to make the connection for a reason.
Sales were going well. Surprisingly well. As niche as he’d thought the book would be, apparently the market for it was much larger than he could have ever expected. If Will decided he never wanted to go back to working with the FBI, he was actually starting to think he could stick with writing and be alright financially. He had even seen reviews from some readers who were hoping for a movie adaptation.
Maybe he should look into it. If Hannibal didn’t end up stumbling upon the book, surely a movie would get on his radar.
It had been a month since the official release and he had been spending every day he was able at the cafe he had written about from open to close, ordering a new drink every hour and tipping well so the staff there would like him. He hoped for the sake of his wallet that Hannibal would hurry the fuck up and track him down. He had spent more money here in the past four weeks than he was paying for his rent.
To keep himself busy, Will had started working on another book. He’d found himself immediately taking inspiration from himself and Hannibal again, though this time it was at least a little more subtle. It was his version of what would have happened if they had met when Will had still been a cop in Louisiana and Hannibal had been the surgeon who stitched him up after he was stabbed. The idea of a universe so dissimilar to theirs and where Hannibal wasn’t a killer—because in this one, he almost definitely had already been killing when he was a doctor—surprisingly took away some of the appeal for him.
He’d had a lot of time to think about it and had come to realize that, as crazy as it sounded, the dealbreaker for him hadn’t been that Hannibal was a serial killer. Sure, it wasn’t an ideal trait for a partner and he definitely would have freaked out for a bit had Hannibal just outright confessed it, but it wasn’t like Will hadn’t killed someone—and then admitted he liked doing it—so he would’ve preferred if Hannibal had just been honest and not, you know, let his brain melt and then frame him for murder.
That was a bit harder to get over.
But somehow he had gotten over it. And after that, getting over the murder and cannibalism hadn’t ended up being that difficult.
He was looking up what kind of physical therapy was recommended for a shoulder injury—because he hadn’t gone to physical therapy despite being told he should, so he had no idea what they would have had him do—when he finally heard the voice he had been waiting for.
“You write quickly.”
Will had to fight to keep his smile small as he watched Hannibal settle in the chair across from him. “Not as quickly as you probably think. I started the book in the BSHCI. Prison is incredibly boring and I didn’t have much to keep myself occupied except for my imagination. Most of my first draft was written in crayon because they wouldn’t let me have an actual pen or pencil.”
It had also helped that most of the plot was based either off of conversations that had actually happened or fantasies that Will had already had by the time he wrote them down.
“I didn’t know your ‘imagination’ extended to anything beyond crime scenes.”
“You’re underestimating me, then. I’m plenty imaginative.”
“Obviously.” Hannibal’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes glinted. “I feel as though you may have been underestimating me as well—at least my ability to find you through your book. Do you really think so little of my intellect?”
Will couldn’t help but laugh. “Hannibal, come on. I couldn’t exactly picture you picking a book like mine up of your own volition. The lack of subtlety wasn’t about you. It was so someone else could tell it was about us and show it to you. And maybe an element of impatience. So, how’d you end up finding it?”
“Apparently Agent Price is in a book club.”
Of all of his ex-coworkers to find it, Jimmy definitely would have been his first choice—both in regard to betting on likeliness and for who he would feel most comfortable reading it. In another world, Jimmy probably would have been someone he would have ended up going to for advice about Hannibal.
“Although, presenting it to me did turn out to be a group effort,” Hannibal continued.
Will, who had been about to take a sip of this hour’s drink—one of the seasonal specials—slowly set his cup down. “Define ‘group effort’.”
“He had consulted with Agent Katz and Agent Zeller first, to see if it was worth bringing to my attention.”
Well, at least it hadn’t been Jack or Alana.
“Did you read the whole book?” Will couldn’t help but ask.
“I did.” Hannibal’s tone was infuriatingly neutral.
“And?” Will prodded, refusing to let himself break eye contact, no matter much he wanted to.
Hannibal looked amused. “As I’m not a writer, I doubt I could offer any feedback that would be helpful.”
Will sighed. “Can you not do this right now? I know giving vague non-answers is kind of your thing, but it would be nice if we could have a real conversation that’s not mostly just alluding to how we actually feel for once.”
Will had written an entire fucking book laying his feelings out, the least Hannibal could do was be direct for a few minutes.
Hannibal held his gaze for another moment, the look in his eyes indecipherable, then gave a small sigh and leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands in front of himself.
“I was surprised. Then disappointed by the fact that I was surprised. Then simply disappointed in myself. I realized that any chances that our relationship could have evolved in the direction of your book before…” He trailed off. Will knew he meant before Hannibal had framed him for murder and only just managed not to roll his eyes at the man’s refusal to fully acknowledge it—though how much of it was for deniability and how much was out of pride was uncertain. He should have expected it regardless, he supposed. Hannibal cleared his throat before continuing, “I realize those chances had been ruined by my reluctance to be as honest with you as I could have and by the way you were…impaired.”
Will just raised an eyebrow. “A hell of a way to say you cockblocked yourself by framing me for murder while you purposely let my brain melt, but alright.”
Hannibal ignored the comment. “Had I been aware of your feelings, I would have made very different decisions.”
Will had a feeling that that was probably the closest Hannibal would ever get to openly expressing regret about any of his actions. “Different in what way?”
“It’s difficult to say and pointless to ruminate on. The teacup that was dropped has already shattered. There’s no use wondering where the pieces would have ended up had it hit the ground at a different angle.”
Will drummed his fingers on the table, thinking Hannibal’s answer over. “Was there ever any chance it wouldn’t have been dropped in the first place?”
“I’m afraid gravity took hold the moment we were both brought on to consult for the Shrike Case. At best, perhaps it could have landed on a more forgiving surface.”
“It still would have broken.” It could have been a question, but it wasn’t.
Hannibal leaned back again, not denying it. There was no point trying to pretend that Will could have met him and come out entirely unscathed.
The distance between them returning felt like the curtain that had briefly opened to expose Hannibal’s vulnerability—what very, very little he seemed capable of expressing right now—coming back down. “As I said, there’s no use wondering what could have been. Just where we go from where we’ve ended up.”
It was more than Will had been expecting—more than he had allowed himself to even hope for, honestly—when he had wondered how this conversation would go. He knew Hannibal well enough to be able to tell that he didn’t regret having hurt Will, as he had deemed it necessary. It was only how much he had hurt Will that he regret.
Any sane person would be running the other way right now. Actually, any sane person would never have done anything to lead Hannibal back to them to have this conversation at all.
But there was a reason Will had failed the FBI’s psych evaluation.
“Alright. So, where do we go from here?”
Hannibal looked pleased, giving a small shrug. “I was going to leave the choice to you, as it could be argued that I’ve already made more decisions for you than I had the right to.”
Will rolled his eyes, smirking. “Yeah, I would definitely agree with that argument. Well…I have a feeling figuring out the ‘long term’ answer for that will involve a conversation that isn’t quite suitable for public spaces, so, my ‘short term’ answer is that my apartment is a few blocks from here.”
Without waiting for response, Will stood, tossed his—now mostly empty—cup out, and called over his shoulder, “Hope you don’t mind a bit of a stroll. The weather was nice, so I walked today.”
——
“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” Will drawled as he and Hannibal entered his apartment. He watched Hannibal’s expression as he took it all in—not that there was much to it. The entire apartment could’ve fit in Hannibal’s office. Will didn’t mind the size, though. Growing up poor made it easy to be comfortable with a small living space. He preferred it, at this point. That was probably why he had had an entire second floor in his house in Wolf Trap that he never used.
“Not much room for a dog,” Hannibal said mildly. “I assume this wasn’t meant to be a long-term residence for you, then.”
That was a kinder reaction than what Will had expected. “Yup. After the book was published, I switched to a month-to-month lease. I was just waiting for you to show up.”
Will sank down into the very ugly, but very comfortable, secondhand couch he had in his “living room” and continued to watch Hannibal as he—to put it bluntly—snooped, curiously taking note of which books and decor had made the cut to take from Virginia. He was obviously trying to avoid looking too judgmental as he poked around the poorly stocked kitchen and he succeeded until he ended the short, self-guided tour by looking in Will’s fridge—which was nearly empty—and his freezer—which contained mostly microwaveable TV dinners.
It should have felt much more violating—how Hannibal was disregarding any sort of boundaries Will could have about maintaining privacy in his home—but he was certain that Hannibal had treated his house in Wolf Trap the same and hadn’t expected any different here. At least Hannibal wasn’t hiding it this time.
“Well,” Hannibal turned back to him, “I’m sorry I took as long as I did if this is how you’ve been sustaining yourself.”
Will shrugged. “I just thought it would be a shame to go through the hassle of tracking down the kind of quality ingredients you’re used to when I don’t have your cooking skills. I figured I’d wait until you could teach me.”
Hannibal stilled for a second, then made his way over to sit next to Will. “I suppose this is a part of the ‘long term’ plan we need to discuss, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Will agreed. “I won‘t lie. It took a while, but I realized that I don’t care about you being the Ripper as much as I thought I would. Or as much as I wanted to. I-“
This was the part where he faltered. The part that he hadn’t gotten the chance to say as explicitly as we wanted to in his book. Obviously, he hadn’t been able to write “Hadrien” as a serial killing cannibal, so he hadn’t been able to make his feelings about that aspect of Hannibal clear. He was intimidated beyond belief at the thought of saying anything he hadn’t written. For some reason, even though when he’d written the book Will had known that Hannibal would read it eventually, it had been much less intimidating baring his soul on paper to him and an unknown number of strangers than saying anything out loud in front of just Hannibal, but in person.
“Every time I’ve described your tableaus as art, as something beautiful, I meant it. And once my brain stopped melting and I could finally see you, I realized that this part of me that I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else seeing…you already saw. And it was because it was a part of you too. And when I realized that I was—am in love with you—and that you accept all of me…I don’t want to keep trying to hide the parts of me that I felt like I should be ashamed of anymore. A least not with you.”
Hannibal’s unease had melted away as Will spoke and he was now looking at him with pure adoration. “To love is to recognize yourself in another,” he murmured fondly, slowly reaching to brush some of Will’s curls behind his ear, carefully gauging his reaction to the touch and seeming satisfied when Will leaned into his hand when he let it rest cupping the side of his face.
“Can you actually say it?” Will asked, trying not to sound pathetic as he reached up to cover Hannibal’s hand with his own to hold it there. A small part of him worried that Hannibal would rather pull back than be honest.
“That I love you? Of course I love you, Will,” Hannibal looked surprised he had to say it, as if it should have been obvious. “The first moment I saw you, I loved you.”
Fucking finally, Will thought, as he grabbed the collar of Hannibal’s shirt and pulled him forward to kiss him, like he’d been dreaming of doing since the day the man had brought him breakfast in that shitty motel room in Minnesota.
As Hannibal’s hand wove into Will’s hair and he deepened the kiss, it felt like the culmination of months of longing.
In that moment, Will felt more complete than he had in his entire life. He had a feeling Hannibal did too. It was as if they had taken the shattered pieces of two broken teacups and finally given up on trying to piece them back together as they once were, separate. Instead, choosing to give them a new life, repurposed, but together in a mosaic.
And that was fitting, wasn’t it? Hannibal did always have a knack for turning what humanity wrote off as irredeemable into art. Why would he do anything different with himself and Will?
When they eventually parted, Will pressed his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder and murmured, “I want to join you, after this. In every way you’ll have me.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Hannibal replied breathlessly. Will could tell he was smiling without even having to look.
“You already have a plan, don’t you?”
Even though Hannibal had said that he would leave the choice to him, there wasn’t a doubt in Will’s mind that Hannibal had thought of several options for how to proceed with whatever that choice had been.
Hannibal’s hand was back in Will’s hair, running it absentmindedly through his curls. “Returning to Quantico to tie up any loose ends with the FBI would be best. After some time, we announce an engagement and a plan to move, then leave the country.”
Will pulled back and just looked at him, bewildered. It made sense, but-
“That is…an incredibly unromantic proposal.”
“That wasn’t a proposal. That was asking if there should be a proposal,” Hannibal corrected. “The real proposal will be much more meaningful.”
“Yeah. I think there should be one. You’ve set a pretty high standard for yourself when it comes to dramatic announcements though.”
Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will’s forehead. He hadn’t stopped touching him since he saw that Will was okay with it. Will hoped he never did stop. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
——
A few months later, Will stood in front of a particularly gruesome tableau.
“It’s a declaration of love,” he told Jack. He hadn’t even needed to step into the Ripper’s mind for this one. It was obvious. “He’s offering up his heart to someone. Another killer, maybe.”
“It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Jack asked, looking at the body twisted into the shape of a heart. “He’s usually a little more…subtle.”
Will just shrugged. “That may be a part of his design as well. A…pride, of sorts. In their relationship. In their love.”
“‘Their love’? You think the killer this is for loves the Ripper back?” Jack looked horrified at the thought.
“There’s someone for everyone, I guess.” Will’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Sorry, Jack. I’ve got to take this.”
Once he was out of earshot, he answered the call.
“Hey darlin’,” he greeted Hannibal, trying not to smile too much. He was at a crime scene, afterall. It wouldn’t look very professional if he looked too happy.
“Hello, Will,” Hannibal’s voice was as calm as ever, but Will knew that he was excited. “I heard the Ripper has struck again.”
“He has. This makes the third of his current sounder. He’s likely to go dormant again. If we don’t find him soon…who knows how long it’ll be until we have another chance to catch him.”
“A shame. Any leads?”
“It’s not looking good. And I can’t imagine he’ll be killing again for a while,” Will glanced around to make sure absolutely nobody could overhear him. “Planning a wedding really keeps you busy.”
“I can only imagine it does,” Hannibal replied, as if he hadn’t already been “secretly” planning their wedding for months.
“Are we still on for dinner tonight? I have some theories I’d like to run by you about where I think they may end up on their honeymoon.”
“Of course. I just picked up the ingredients last night for a new recipe I’ve been wanting to try that I believe you’ll enjoy.”
Will had no idea why Hannibal was talking as if anyone but him could hear his side of the conversation. Most likely for his own entertainment. After attending one of his dinner parties, Will had realized how much Hannibal loved the inside jokes he had with himself—and how often he practically confessed he was a serial killer and cannibal in front of people regularly, just phrased in a way where no one else picked up on it.
Being on this side of the veil, Will found it hilarious. And also concerning. Not for Hannibal—he had been getting away with it for long enough that Will wasn’t worried it would get him caught—but for how oblivious the FBI was. Jack had been at dinner multiple times and Hannibal hadn’t toned down the cannibal puns even a little. He supposed he couldn’t entirely blame Jack though, Will hadn’t noticed before that Hannibal even did it at his own crime scenes when he consulted on them.
God help him, but for some reason, Will found it incredibly endearing. Which had unfortunately led to him picking up the habit as well.
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you in a few hours. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
After hanging up, Will took a moment to himself to wonder how the fuck his life had ended up like this and what kind of fucked up he had to be that he was happy about it. Then, decided it didn’t really matter. He didn’t need to question his happiness, he just needed to protect it.
With that in mind, he headed back to Jack to start pointing him in the wrong direction.
It would kind of ruin his engagement dinner if the FBI arrested his fiancé.