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His hands trembled as he held the microphone, his eyes squeezed so shut that he saw spots in the darkness, his voice scraping his throat so incisively that he felt a slight metallic taste on his tongue. He poured all his emotions into that performance, and his partner played just as intensely, the thunderous notes exploding in the air like auditory fireworks.
"When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world"
The audience was in an almost religious silence as they listened to the music. They could feel the notes echoing in their bones, the melody invading their stomachs and churning everything inside. The feeling behind every word was so solid it seemed to belong to each and every listener.
"I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special"
Will's voice dropped slightly, trembling a little.
Special.
He allowed himself to open his eyes, his pupils dilating at the sight of the guitarist.
The blonde hair, shaved on the sides, was stuck to his forehead by sweat—sweat which also made the beige shirt almost transparent, doing little to cover the torso and the muscular arms covered in tattoos. The reddish pub light contrasted with his golden skin, and not even the smell of marijuana and alcohol in the place was enough to stop Will from sensing the exciting scent of sweat the other emanated while playing.
He was totally immersed in the melody, his brow furrowed as he looked at the strings, playing the chords with adoration.
"But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here"
In the chorus, the music reached its peak, the sound of the guitar standing out over the other instruments, exploding in emotion along with the dark-haired man's voice. Reaffirming, adding.
Lecter raised his eyes, meeting the blue of Will’s. Will felt a shiver run down his spine.
Hanni continued to play intensely, even without looking at the instrument, flashing a confident smile as he began to sway with the sound, his blonde strands tangling, the gold in his irises shining for Will. Fuck, he was so beautiful, so perfect.
While Will was just... some random weirdo. A lunatic, prone to delusions and crises. A man, antisocial and an ex-addict, who could barely remember to feed himself properly.
He was by far the worst choice of company for anyone, while there were people like Alana Bloom and Bedelia Du Maurier after Hannibal as well. Beautiful, lovely, sympathetic women... and well... mentally stable.
He knew he would never be the guitarist's choice.
He knew that even wanting to stand out above others should be some kind of insult.
He knew. Holy shit, he knew all of that, and how it ached.
He squeezed his eyes shut again. His voice was failing now, raspy, forcing everyone listening to lean slightly toward the singer, immersed in the sound.
"I don't care if it hurts
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I'm not around"
He knew he was being selfish, ambitious for wanting more than the blonde man's friendship. Especially when it was he who had helped him overcome his addiction, who had called him to join the band, and, little by little, taught him to swallow his fears so he could do what he wanted: sing, teach, make friends, and, well, flirt. Which was what he was timidly trying to do, but the desperation of thinking about losing Lecter prevented him from making his interest clearer.
He gripped the microphone tightly to his chest, in an attempt to make the feelings overflowing from his heart drain directly into it, into the song. The fear, the loneliness, the anguish, the desire.
"So fuckin' special
I wish I was special"
The voice, once loud and full of pain and hatred, now gave way to a more affected version. There was so much stuck in his throat that he couldn't vocalize properly anymore, choking on himself.
He wanted to be normal.
He wanted to be worthy.
"But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here"
"Quick, lift the microphone for me." He felt the whisper in his ear, coming from the object of his frustration, who had subtly approached, lightly dragging his lips against the shorter man's ear.
Will, confused, quickly complied with the request, still singing, and was surprised when the other began to accompany him on vocals. Hannibal kept his intense eyes on him, still plucking the strings passionately, while letting his deep voice out with equal passion. In that proximity, with that look, Lecter seemed to be singing especially for Will—seeming to share his feelings, the things he was desperately trying to show through the song.
"She's running out the door (run)
She's running out
She run, run, run, run"
Because, deep down, Hannibal Lecter knew. He knew that in those beautiful blue eyes, there was much more than friendship and admiration—there, hidden under layers of fear, shone the deepest desire, passion. He knew because his own eyes reflected the same thing.
He liked to think he was always in control, that he was unreachable, but fuck, Will had destroyed his convictions. Because since the day he had seen those adorable dark curls, he hadn't been able to spend a single day without thinking about them.
He couldn't stop longing for his presence, imagining what the touch of his lips on his would be like, his naked skin on his. Imagining what it would be like to sink into his core—to access the deepest depths of Will Graham.
And god, seeing him there, singing with all his heart, Will looked like a masterpiece. The kind that didn't belong to the sensory world. No, the dark-haired man was too perfect for that.
Too perfect for him.
Lecter was broken, much more than he let on, and he didn't want to drag Will into all that shit. The younger man was his refuge, the only shred of innocence in his life since the war in his childhood, and he couldn't fuck with that.
"Run"
Run. A single word, but one into which both poured their entire hearts. They pronounced it with all the strength inside them, for they knew it was a confession.
They were affirming to each other that they were two cowards running from themselves, from their feelings.
Will felt his eyes sting, his mouth dry, and he would be lying if he said it was the result of the vocal effort. Hannibal was undressing before him. Will, wrapped up in the other, forgot himself, forgot the song they were performing together, ending up leaving the next part only to Hanni.
"Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special"
The blonde man kept his voice contained, in a tone of confession to Will. In that moment, for both of them, only the two of them existed in the world. The audience, captivated by the interpretation of the song that looked more like a performance, and even the bandmates (with Jack on drums and Alana on bass)—none of it made sense anymore, it didn't seem to matter much, lost in a spiral that involved everything that wasn't the man in front of him for Will.
He knew the other was leaving the decision to him. To risk getting involved, even if they were both fragmented and lost, to give themselves to the broken love they nurtured.
And Will knew exactly that this was what he desired most.
To find his way beside Lecter, and to rebuild himself together with him. With him.
He placed his hand on the older man's cheek, looking deep into his eyes, and went back to singing.
"But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here"
Because both were broken. They were freaks.
Because both didn't belong to that world, to normal people.
But they could make a place for themselves in each other.