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The first thing anyone noticed about the new boy was how small he was.
Not just young—small.
His navy-blue sweater hung past his wrists, the sleeves swallowing his hands whenever he pulled them over his fingers. A backpack nearly as wide as his shoulders bounced awkwardly against his back as he walked through the school gates with his head lowered, careful not to bump into anyone.
"Your classroom is down the hall," the secretary said gently.
Will Graham nodded without looking up.
"...Thank you."
His voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear it.
—
By the first recess, Will had already learned two things.
The first was that everyone else seemed to know each other.
The second was that schoolyards were loud enough to make his head hurt.
Instead of joining the other children, he wandered toward the edge of the playground where the grass had been left to grow a little taller beneath an old maple tree.
It was quieter there.
He liked quiet.
Something moved near his shoe.
A tiny snail.
Will crouched immediately, setting his lunchbox beside him.
"Hi," he whispered.
The snail continued its slow journey through the grass as though it had all the time in the world.
Will smiled.
He liked creatures that never hurried.
"They're gross."
The voice came from somewhere behind him.
Will looked up.
Three boys stood nearby, all older than him.
"Ew," one laughed. "He's talking to a snail."
"My little sister does that."
Another nudged Will's lunchbox with his shoe.
"Is this yours?"
Will reached for it instinctively.
"...Please."
The boy picked it up before he could.
"Give it back," Will said, quieter this time.
"What?"
"I can't hear babies."
The others laughed.
Will's ears burned.
He hated when people laughed.
He hated even more that his eyes always stung afterward.
A shadow fell over the grass.
"Give it back."
The voice was calm.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just certain.
The older boys turned.
A taller child stood a few steps away, dressed in the same uniform but with the posture of someone who never doubted where he belonged.
His expression was unreadable.
The laughter stopped almost immediately.
One of the boys scoffed.
"...Whatever."
Will's lunchbox landed back in the grass.
The three of them wandered off without another word.
Silence settled beneath the maple tree once more.
The older boy bent down, brushing a few blades of grass from the lunchbox before holding it out.
"You dropped this."
Will accepted it with both hands.
"...Thank you."
Blue eyes met brown.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The older boy noticed the scraped knees beneath Will's shorts.
The sleeves far too long for his arms.
The cowlick that refused to stay down.
He looked...
...terribly small.
"My name is Hannibal," he said at last.
Will blinked.
"...I'm Will."
For reasons Hannibal couldn't explain, hearing the name felt strangely important.
He sat down beside him without asking.
Neither of them spoke again for several minutes.
They simply watched the snail disappear into the tall grass.
The bell rang somewhere across the schoolyard.
Children sprang to their feet almost instantly, racing toward the building in loud, laughing groups.
Will remained where he was.
"So..." he mumbled, absentmindedly tracing circles in the dirt with a twig. "...do you have lunch?"
Hannibal looked at him.
"No."
Will frowned.
"...No?"
"I didn't bring any."
It wasn't entirely unusual.
Sometimes there simply wasn't anything to bring.
Hannibal had long since stopped expecting otherwise.
Will stared at him for a moment before quietly pulling his little lunchbox into his lap.
The corners were dented, and one of the stickers decorating the lid had begun to peel away.
"My dad made too much," he lied.
It was a poor lie.
He and his father rarely had more than they needed.
Before Hannibal could respond, Will had already opened the lunchbox.
Two slightly squashed cheese sandwiches.
A small apple.
And a handful of crackers tucked carefully into a paper napkin.
"You can have half."
Hannibal blinked.
"...Will."
"It's okay."
Will smiled—a small, hesitant thing, as though he wasn't used to smiling at strangers.
"I don't eat very much anyway."
Another lie.
His stomach had been growling since the second lesson.
Hannibal knew it.
He could hear it.
For reasons he couldn't explain, something inside his chest tightened.
"...Thank you," he said quietly.
Will beamed.
"You're welcome."
They split the sandwiches as evenly as Will could manage.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
The schoolyard buzzed around them with distant laughter and shouting.
Will sat cross-legged in the grass, happily nibbling at his half of the sandwich.
He swung his feet absentmindedly every now and then, humming a tune Hannibal didn't recognize.
A few crumbs clung to the corner of his mouth.
Without thinking, Hannibal found himself watching him.
Will's cheeks rounded whenever he took another bite.
His oversized sleeves slipped over his hands again, forcing him to wiggle his fingers free before picking up another cracker.
The afternoon breeze tousled his already messy hair until it stuck up in every direction.
He looked...
...ridiculously endearing.
Small enough to disappear inside that oversized sweater.
Gentle enough to apologize to snails if he accidentally stepped too close to them.
Hannibal looked away before Will could notice he had been staring.
Will finished the last bite of his sandwich before carefully brushing the crumbs from his lap.
The little snail hadn't gone very far.
It was still inching its way through the grass, carrying its tiny shell as patiently as ever.
Will watched it with unmistakable fascination.
"...Do you like snails too?"
The question came so suddenly that Hannibal looked at him in surprise.
"What makes you think that?"
Will shrugged.
"You stayed."
"...Stayed?"
"Mhm."
Will nodded matter-of-factly.
"Most people think they're gross."
He picked up a fallen leaf and gently placed it in front of the snail so it wouldn't have to climb over a pebble.
"They usually leave."
Hannibal watched the careful movement of Will's small hands.
"I don't think they're gross," he answered.
Will's face brightened.
"Really?"
"No."
"They're kind of cute."
"They are."
Will smiled so widely that the gap where one of his front teeth had once been became visible.
"I knew it."
"You did?"
"You didn't make a yucky face."
Hannibal couldn't help the faint curve that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"No."
"I think..." Will hesitated, choosing his words with great seriousness. "...people are mean to little things."
Hannibal was quiet.
"Like bugs."
He counted on his fingers.
"Snails..."
Another finger.
"Birds."
Another.
"...And kids."
The last word came out much softer.
Hannibal glanced at him.
"Why do you think that?"
Will kept his eyes on the snail.
"'Cause little things can't really fight back."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The breeze rustled through the leaves above their heads.
Then Hannibal said quietly,
"They shouldn't have to."
Will looked at him.
Something warm spread across his face, the kind of smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
"...I like talking to you."
Hannibal felt his chest tighten in a way he didn't understand.
"...I like talking to you too."
Will giggled, hugging his knees to his chest.
"Good."
He looked back down at the snail.
"Now it has two friends instead of one."
Hannibal followed his gaze to the tiny creature slowly making its way through the grass.
...
The final bell rang.
Children poured out of their classrooms, laughing, shouting, already racing toward the school gates.
Hannibal waited until the hallway had begun to empty before gathering his books.
He preferred leaving after everyone else.
It was quieter.
He had almost reached the front entrance when he felt the gentlest tug on the sleeve of his blazer.
He turned.
Will stood there.
His backpack looked much too large for him, hanging crookedly over one shoulder. One sleeve of his sweater had slipped over his hand again, and he was absentmindedly worrying the fabric between his fingers.
"...Hi."
Hannibal's expression softened before he realized it.
"Hello, Will."
Will lowered his eyes to the floor.
There was a long pause.
Hannibal waited.
"...I wanted to ask you something."
"You may."
Will scuffed the toe of his shoe against the concrete.
"...Do ducks get lonely?"
Hannibal blinked once.
"...Why do you ask?"
"There was only one in the pond today."
Will finally looked up.
"I thought maybe..."
He hesitated.
"...Maybe it was waiting for another duck."
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Simply quiet.
"It could have been," Hannibal answered.
Will considered that very seriously.
"...I hope the other one comes back tomorrow."
"So do I."
A tiny smile appeared on Will's face.
It was small enough that most people would have missed it.
Hannibal did not.
Will seemed satisfied with the answer.
He rocked slightly on his heels before speaking again.
"...I like asking you things."
"Do you?"
"You don't laugh."
The words were spoken so simply that they landed with unexpected weight.
"Other kids laugh."
His voice became quieter.
"They think my questions are weird."
Hannibal frowned almost imperceptibly.
"I don't."
Will looked relieved.
"I know."
Another pause.
"...Can I ask you more tomorrow?"
Hannibal had never been someone's first choice before.
Never had someone sought him out simply because they wanted to hear his answer.
"...Yes," he replied quietly.
"You can ask me tomorrow."
"And the day after?"
"Yes."
Will's smile grew just a little.
"...Okay."
He nodded once, as though something important had been decided.
"My dad's waiting."
Hannibal glanced toward the school gate.
A worn pickup truck had just pulled up outside.
"...I should go."
He took two small steps away before stopping.
Slowly, he turned back around.
"...Bye, Hannibal."
"Goodbye, Will."
Will gave the smallest wave with the sleeve still covering half his hand.
Then he hurried toward the gate, his backpack bouncing awkwardly against his back.
Halfway there, he looked over his shoulder.
Just to make sure Hannibal was still there.
He was.
Only then did Will continue walking.
....
Days become weeks.
Weeks become months.
Without either of them meaning for it to happen, spending time together simply becomes part of the school day.
Every morning, Hannibal finds Will beneath the old maple tree before the first bell.
Sometimes Will is crouched beside a beetle.
Sometimes he is collecting oddly shaped leaves.
Sometimes he simply sits there, knees tucked against his chest, watching birds land on the fence.
When Hannibal appears, Will always looks up.
"...Morning."
"Good morning, Will."
That is enough.
Most days, they sit together without speaking.
Will never seems bothered by silence.
He only breaks it whenever a thought wanders into his mind.
"...Do squirrels remember faces?"
"...Can birds get scared of thunder?"
"...Why do caterpillars trust branches enough to fall asleep on them?"
Hannibal answers every question as thoughtfully as he can.
He notices that Will listens as though every answer matters.
...
The younger boy is small.
Painfully so.
His school uniform never seems to fit.
His sleeves hide his hands.
His shoes are always a little worn.
Whenever they walk together, Will has to take two quick steps for every one of Hannibal's.
Sometimes Hannibal slows down without thinking.
Will never notices.
Other times, Will reaches for Hannibal's sleeve whenever the corridors become too crowded.
Not because he is frightened.
Simply because he doesn't want to lose him in the sea of taller children.
Hannibal pretends not to notice.
He secretly likes that Will always knows where to find him.
...
One rainy afternoon, Will falls asleep in the library.
His cheek rests against an open picture book about woodland animals.
His curls are flattened against the pages.
One tiny hand is still holding a pencil.
Hannibal quietly closes the book so the edge won't leave marks on Will's face.
He drapes his own cardigan over the younger boy's shoulders.
Will doesn't wake.
He only sighs softly and curls a little deeper beneath it.
For several minutes, Hannibal simply watches him breathe.
He thinks—
without quite knowing why—
that someone ought to protect children like Will.
Someone ought to make sure they never have to cry.
...
A week later, Hannibal is late to recess.
Will waits beneath the maple tree with both lunchboxes beside him.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
When Hannibal finally appears, his gaze is lowered.
A faint red mark lingers across one side of his face.
Will stands immediately.
"...Hannibal?"
"I'm alright."
"...Your cheek..."
Hannibal says nothing.
He sits down in the grass as though nothing has happened.
Will kneels in front of him instead.
His small eyebrows knit together.
"...Did someone hit you?"
Silence.
"...Yes."
Will's eyes widen.
"...Who?"
"A teacher."
The words are spoken calmly.
As though they belong to someone else's story.
Will stares at him.
"...Why?"
Hannibal looks toward the maple tree.
Its leaves sway gently in the wind.
"There wasn't much of a reason."
"...But..."
Will's voice trembles.
"...Teachers aren't supposed to hit people."
"No."
"They're supposed to help."
Another silence.
Then Hannibal speaks quietly.
"It happens sometimes."
"...Sometimes?"
"There isn't anyone who would complain."
Will doesn't understand.
"What do you mean?"
Hannibal folds his hands in his lap.
"My parents are dead."
Will blinks.
"I live in an orphanage."
The words are simple.
Matter-of-fact.
"I don't have anyone waiting outside the school gates."
Will's lips part slightly.
"...No one?"
Hannibal shakes his head once.
"I had a little sister."
His voice grows even softer.
"Her name was Mischa."
Will waits.
After a long pause, Hannibal finishes.
"She died."
The breeze moves through the branches above them.
Will doesn't know what to say.
He only looks at Hannibal for a very long time.
Then, without asking permission, he shuffles a little closer until their shoulders touch.
It's awkward.
Careful.
The kind of comfort only a child can offer.
"...I'm sorry," Will whispers.
Hannibal closes his eyes for just a moment.
No one at school has ever said those words to him before.
When he opens them again, Will is still sitting beside him.
Will doesn't speak for a while.
He sits quietly beside Hannibal, his knees pulled against his chest.
The schoolyard continues around them.
Children laugh.
A whistle blows somewhere in the distance.
It all feels impossibly far away.
Will keeps stealing little glances at Hannibal.
"...Do you miss her?"
Hannibal doesn't answer immediately.
"...Every day."
His voice is so quiet that Will almost doesn't hear it.
"I don't remember what she sounded like anymore."
The confession hangs between them.
"I keep trying to."
"...But I can't."
A tear slips down Hannibal's cheek before he notices it.
He turns his head away instinctively.
He doesn't want anyone to see.
Especially not Will.
A tiny hand gently catches his sleeve.
"Hannibal..."
He looks back.
Will is already leaning closer, his expression full of the kind of concern only a child can wear so openly.
Without saying anything else, Will reaches up with both hands.
His fingers are clumsy and warm.
Using the cuff of his oversized sweater, he carefully dabs at the tear on Hannibal's cheek.
"There..."
He checks Hannibal's face with great concentration, as though making sure he hadn't missed one.
"...There's another one."
Will wipes that one too.
His sleeve becomes damp.
He doesn't seem to mind.
"My dad says..." he begins quietly, "...tears come out because your heart hurts too much."
Hannibal lets out a shaky breath.
"...Does he?"
Will nods.
"I think..."
He frowns, trying very hard to find the right words.
"...I think your heart must've been hurting for a really, really long time."
Hannibal feels something tighten painfully in his chest.
Will looks down at his own lap.
"I don't know how to fix hearts."
Another pause.
"...I wish I did."
He hesitates for a moment before slowly opening his arms.
"...Can I...?"
Hannibal doesn't understand at first.
Then he realizes.
Will is asking if he may hug him.
A smile—small, tired, but genuine—appears on Hannibal's face.
"...Yes."
Will carefully scoots closer.
His little arms barely reach around Hannibal's middle, but he hugs him anyway, squeezing with all the strength an eight-year-old can manage.
He pats Hannibal's back twice, awkwardly, exactly the way adults do when comforting children.
"...It's okay."
Will whispers the words with complete sincerity.
"I'm here."
Hannibal closes his eyes.
The hug is clumsy.
Too small.
Far too brief to carry the weight of all his grief.
And yet...
For the first time since Mischa died, someone holds him simply because they don't want him to be sad.
He wraps one arm gently around Will, careful not to squeeze too tightly.
"...Thank you, little one," he murmurs.
Will pulls back just enough to look at him.
His nose wrinkles with determination.
"I'll make you smile one day."
Hannibal's eyes glisten again.
This time, though, the corners of his mouth lift.
"I think," he says softly, "you already have."
It becomes a habit before either of them notices.
Will always finds Hannibal.
And Hannibal always takes care of Will.
...
The mornings are the easiest.
Will appears beneath the old maple tree with messy hair that refuses to stay flat no matter how hard he tries.
Sometimes his sweater is inside out.
Sometimes one of his shoelaces trails behind him.
"Hannibal..."
His voice is still sleepy.
Without a word, Hannibal kneels in front of him.
"You'll trip."
Will looks down.
"...Oh."
He stands perfectly still while Hannibal ties the loose lace into a neat bow.
"There."
"...Thank you."
Will smiles—small, soft, meant only for Hannibal.
It makes the entire morning seem warmer.
...
Will is always cold.
Even when everyone else insists the weather is nice.
His fingers are cold.
The tip of his nose turns pink.
One afternoon, Hannibal notices him rubbing his tiny hands together beneath the desk.
The next day, he quietly brings an extra pair of knitted gloves.
"My hands don't get cold very easily."
It isn't true.
Will accepts them without question.
"...They're warm."
"I'm glad."
From then on, Will wears them almost every morning.
The fingertips are much too long for him.
He likes them anyway.
...
The lunch ladies begin smiling whenever they see the two boys together.
"The little one is waiting for you again."
Hannibal turns.
Sure enough, Will is standing near the cafeteria door, hugging his lunchbox against his chest.
The moment he notices Hannibal, his shoulders relax.
He had been waiting.
"I saved your seat."
"I can see that."
Will grins to himself.
...
Crowded hallways overwhelm him.
Whenever older students rush past, Will quietly reaches for the cuff of Hannibal's blazer.
He never says why.
He simply holds on.
Hannibal slows his pace without thinking.
He walks a little closer to the wall, making sure no one bumps into Will.
Only when the hallway grows quiet again does Will let go.
He never realizes Hannibal notices every single time.
...
Sometimes Will falls asleep in the library.
Or during free reading.
Or beneath the maple tree after lunch, curled up with a book resting on his chest.
His eyelashes flutter whenever the wind brushes across his face.
He looks impossibly young.
Hannibal carefully removes the book before it slips onto the ground.
Then he sits beside him.
No one wakes Will while Hannibal is there.
...
One rainy afternoon, Will arrives soaked from the knees down.
"I wanted to watch the worms."
Hannibal looks at the muddy hems of his trousers.
"...Of course you did."
Will lowers his head.
"...Are you mad?"
"No."
"You sound mad."
"I sound disappointed."
"...Oh."
There is a long silence.
"I'm sorry."
Hannibal sighs.
He removes his own cardigan and drapes it over Will's narrow shoulders.
"You'll catch a cold."
Will disappears inside the sleeves immediately.
"They're too big."
"I know."
"They smell like you."
Hannibal stills.
Will doesn't seem to realize what he has said.
He only buries his hands inside the oversized sleeves with a content little hum.
"...They're nice."
Something warm settles quietly inside Hannibal's chest.
...
By the time winter arrives, people stop asking where Hannibal is.
They simply look for Will.
If the little boy is sitting beneath the maple tree, then Hannibal cannot be far away.
And if Hannibal is there
Will is safe.
Hannibal makes sure of it every single day.
Spring comes quietly.
The snow melts.
The maple tree grows green again.
Will still waits beneath it every morning.
Until one Monday, he doesn't.
...
Hannibal finds him behind the school building after the last lesson.
Will is sitting on the curb with his knees pulled to his chest.
His eyes are fixed on the ground.
"Hannibal."
His voice is unusually small.
Hannibal sits beside him.
"You've been quiet all day."
Will nods.
For a long time, he says nothing.
He keeps picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his oversized sweater until it nearly comes undone.
"...Dad got another job."
Hannibal waits.
"...We're moving."
The words barely leave Will's mouth before his eyes fill with tears.
"We leave on Friday."
Everything around Hannibal suddenly feels very far away.
"When did you find out?"
"Last night."
"...I didn't wanna tell you."
"Why?"
"'Cause..." Will's voice breaks. "If I said it out loud... then it'd be real."
Hannibal looks down at his own hands.
He has lost people before.
He knows what goodbye sounds like.
He simply never imagined it would sound like Will.
"I don't want to go," Will whispers.
"I know."
"I like it here."
"I know."
"I like..."
Will swallows hard.
"I like being with you."
The first tear slips down his cheek.
He wipes it away quickly with the sleeve of his sweater, only for another to take its place.
"I'm gonna miss you."
Hannibal feels his own eyes sting.
He tries to blink the feeling away.
It doesn't work.
"I'll miss you too."
Will looks at him.
"You'll... remember me?"
Hannibal's heart aches.
"I could never forget you."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Will nods, as though promises are unbreakable things.
Very carefully, he reaches into his backpack.
After rummaging around for a moment, he pulls out a tiny, smooth stone.
It is pale gray with the faint outline of a heart running through the middle.
"I found it by the river."
He places it in Hannibal's palm and closes Hannibal's fingers around it with both of his little hands.
"I kept it 'cause I thought it was pretty."
He sniffs.
"...Now you can have it."
Hannibal stares at the stone for a long moment.
Then, from the inside pocket of his blazer, he takes out something Will had long forgotten.
A tiny white feather.
Carefully flattened between the pages of a small notebook.
Will's eyes widen.
"...You still have it?"
"I always will."
Will lets out a shaky laugh through his tears.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then Will suddenly leans forward.
His little arms wrap around Hannibal as tightly as they can.
The hug is desperate.
As though, if he holds on hard enough, Friday might never come.
Hannibal hugs him back.
Gently.
Protectively.
He rests his cheek against Will's messy hair and closes his eyes.
Neither of them notices the final bell ringing.
...
On Friday morning, the space beneath the maple tree is empty.
No oversized sweater.
No quiet questions about birds or snails.
No little hand reaching for Hannibal's sleeve.
Only a single smooth stone rests inside Hannibal's pocket.
He keeps it there.
Every day.
Long after the little boy who gave it to him is gone.
After Will leaves, the school becomes quiet again.
Not because the children stop laughing.
Not because the hallways empty.
But because Will's voice is no longer among them.
...
Hannibal still walks to the maple tree every morning.
For weeks.
He knows Will will not be there.
He looks anyway.
Sometimes he catches himself slowing down as he approaches, expecting to see an oversized blue sweater sitting in the grass.
A little head bent over another snail.
A tiny hand lifting into a shy wave.
There is only empty space.
...
The teachers notice first.
"Hannibal has become awfully quiet again."
As though he had ever truly stopped.
He answers every question correctly.
He finishes every assignment.
He thanks people politely.
He smiles at no one.
The warmth that had slowly found its way back into him leaves just as quietly as it arrived.
...
At recess, he no longer sits beneath the maple tree.
It hurts too much.
Instead, he wanders the edge of the playground alone.
Sometimes he catches sight of a child wearing a sweater that's a size too large.
For one impossible second, hope blooms inside his chest.
Then the child turns around.
It is never Will.
...
The lunch ladies stop setting out two trays.
The librarian no longer asks,
"Is your little friend asleep again?"
Children stop asking if the small boy is Hannibal's brother.
Eventually...
They stop asking about Will altogether.
Hannibal never does.
...
The tiny white feather remains tucked safely inside his notebook.
The smooth stone never leaves his pocket.
When he cannot sleep at night, he takes them both out and places them side by side.
A feather.
A stone.
Two small things.
All that remains of the happiest spring he has ever known.
...
One afternoon, rain begins to fall just as school ends.
The worms crawl onto the pavement.
Without thinking, Hannibal kneels beside one and gently lifts it out of the path before someone can step on it.
He freezes.
That was something Will would have done.
For the first time in months, Hannibal smiles.
It lasts only a heartbeat.
Then it disappears.
"...I hope you're taking care of the little things," he whispers into the rain.
There is no answer.
Only the sound of raindrops against the leaves of the old maple tree.
And somehow...
The silence feels lonely again.
.....
Years pass.
The maple tree grows taller.
The little white feather yellows with age.
The smooth stone never leaves Hannibal's desk drawer.
...
Children become strangers.
Strangers become adults.
The lonely boy from the orphanage becomes Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
People admire him.
They compliment his impeccable manners, his intelligence, his beautiful home.
Some even fall in love with him.
He never lets them stay long enough.
There is always something missing.
Someone.
Though he cannot quite explain why.
...
The little boy in the oversized sweater grows into Special Agent Will Graham.
He is still quiet.
Still prefers animals to people.
His sleeves fit now.
His voice is deeper.
But when he thinks too hard, he still rubs the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers without noticing.
He has loved before.
Or tried to.
None of it lasts.
Everyone tells him he keeps too much of himself hidden.
Perhaps they are right.
There is a part of him that has belonged to a memory for so long that he no longer knows how to reclaim it.
...
Neither of them expects the reunion.
It happens on an ordinary afternoon.
Jack Crawford pushes open the office door.
"Hannibal," he says, "I'd like you to meet Special Agent Will Graham."
The name lands first.
Then the face.
Will steps inside.
Older.
Taller.
The soft curls are shorter now.
His shoulders are broader.
But his blue eyes...
Hannibal knows those eyes.
For one impossible moment, he sees an eight-year-old boy sitting beneath a maple tree, whispering to a snail.
"...Will."
Will looks at him politely.
"Dr. Lecter."
His expression changes.
Almost imperceptibly.
His brows knit together.
"...Have we met?"
Hannibal answers before he can stop himself.
"When you were eight years old..."
Silence.
Will blinks.
Then his eyes slowly widen.
No.
It can't be.
His gaze lingers on Hannibal's face.
The years fall away one by one.
The careful posture.
The calm voice.
The eyes that always watched to make sure he was safe.
"...Hannibal?"
It is barely more than a whisper.
For the first time in many years—
Hannibal smiles.
A real smile.
Not the practiced one his patients know.
Not the charming one reserved for polite conversation.
The smile of an eleven-year-old boy who has just heard a small voice ask,
"Do ducks get lonely?"
"I've been wondering," Hannibal says softly, "whether the other duck ever came back."
Will stares.
A laugh escapes him instead.
"...You remembered."
"I remembered everything."
For a long moment, neither of them speaks.
They simply look at one another.
As though neither is quite willing to blink.
Neither of them moves.
The silence stretches between them, heavy with years neither of them can get back.
Jack clears his throat.
"...I, uh... I'll leave you two to talk."
The office door clicks shut.
Only then does Will let out the breath he'd been holding.
"I can't believe it's you."
"Neither can I."
Hannibal studies him carefully, almost reverently.
"You've grown."
Will laughs softly.
"I'd hope so."
A smile flickers across Hannibal's lips.
"So have you."
Another silence.
Not awkward.
Simply full.
Will shakes his head.
"I looked for you once."
"You did?"
"When I was fourteen."
Hannibal's expression falters.
"The orphanage had closed."
"...I know."
"I didn't know where you'd gone."
"I searched for you as well."
Will looks up.
"You did?"
"For years."
Their eyes meet.
Neither looks away.
Hannibal asks the next question so quietly it is almost swallowed by the room.
"...Are you married?"
Will blinks.
"No."
A beat passes.
Hannibal's shoulders relax ever so slightly.
"...Good."
Will raises an eyebrow.
"...Good?"
"I was hoping the answer would be no."
A slow smile spreads across Will's face.
"I should probably ask you the same thing."
"You should."
"...Are you married?"
"No."
Will exhales a quiet laugh.
"...Good."
Hannibal chuckles, the sound warm and unfamiliar even to himself.
"So."
"So."
"We're both terrible at this."
"We always were."
Will takes a hesitant step closer.
"I missed you."
The words come out before he can stop them.
"I know it's been years, but..."
"I missed you too."
More than that.
Every spring.
Every snowfall.
Every quiet morning.
Hannibal reaches up slowly.
Giving Will every opportunity to step away.
Instead, Will closes the remaining distance himself.
Their foreheads meet first.
Neither speaks.
Will's eyes drift shut.
"...Hi," he whispers with a watery laugh.
The greeting is so achingly familiar that Hannibal's own eyes sting.
"...Hello, Will."
For a heartbeat, they are children again.
Then Hannibal lifts a hand to Will's cheek.
"You still ask impossible questions?"
Will smiles.
"Only when you're around."
Hannibal laughs softly.
"I suppose I shall have to keep answering them."
Will searches his face for a moment.
"I think..."
He smiles through tears.
"...I've been waiting a long time to do this."
"So have I."
Their kiss is gentle.
Unhurried.
Nothing like the years they lost.
It is soft with recognition rather than surprise, familiar before it is new.
When they finally pull apart, neither of them goes very far.
Will lets out a breathless laugh.
"You still smell the same."
"And you still lean into me when you're tired."
"I didn't know you remembered that."
"I told you."
Hannibal rests his forehead against Will's once more.
"I remembered everything."
This time, when Will wraps his arms around him, Hannibal holds him just as tightly.
No promises.
No goodbyes.
Only the quiet certainty that neither of them intends to let go again.
Thirty years.
Thirty years of separate lives.
Thirty years of believing they had simply been two lonely children who happened to find each other for a little while.
And yet—
Somehow—
They end up here.
...
Will wakes first.
The bedroom is quiet, washed in the pale light of early morning.
Beside him, Hannibal is still asleep.
For a long moment, Will simply stares.
He still isn't used to it.
Not really.
Sometimes he has to remind himself that this is real.
That Hannibal is no longer a memory tucked beneath an old maple tree.
He's here.
Every morning.
Every night.
Will reaches over and gently brushes a stubborn lock of dark hair away from Hannibal's forehead.
"...Morning," he whispers.
Hannibal opens one eye.
"...Good morning."
His voice is rough with sleep.
Will smiles before he can stop himself.
"What?"
"You drool."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Hannibal gives him an unimpressed look.
"You've become remarkably bold."
"You started kissing me."
"I fail to see how those are related."
Will laughs.
The sound fills the room so easily that Hannibal has to pause for a moment just to listen.
He spent decades wondering whether he would ever hear that laugh again.
Now he hears it almost every day.
It still doesn't feel ordinary.
...
Some habits never disappear.
Whenever they walk through crowded places, Will unconsciously drifts closer until their shoulders touch.
Sometimes his hand brushes against Hannibal's sleeve.
Neither of them notices until it's already happened.
Hannibal smiles every single time.
...
"You know..." Will says one evening while they're washing dishes together.
"Hm?"
"I still ask you impossible questions."
"You do."
"And you still answer every single one."
"It would seem so."
Will dries his hands on a towel before looking at him with an expression that is half amusement, half disbelief.
"I can't believe you're my boyfriend."
Hannibal looks up from the plate in his hands.
"...Neither can I."
"You've been in love with me since we were kids."
"I have."
"And somehow it still took us thirty years."
"I was being patient."
Will snorts.
"You were being oblivious."
"I distinctly remember you kissing me first."
"You literally asked if I was married!"
"It was an important question."
"It was flirting."
"It was."
Will laughs so hard he has to lean against the kitchen counter.
Hannibal walks over, unable to stop himself from smiling.
He cups Will's face with both hands.
"You are still very small."
"I am not."
"You'll always be the little boy in the oversized sweater."
Will rolls his eyes.
"I'm thirty-eight."
"You are."
"And yet."
Hannibal presses a soft kiss to his forehead.
Will lets out the most content little sigh.
"...You still treat me like I'm eight."
"You still let me."
"...Yeah."
He does.
Without thinking, Will leans into Hannibal's chest exactly as he had all those years ago beneath the maple tree.
Hannibal wraps his arms around him without hesitation.
The movement is as familiar now as breathing.
Neither of them ever expected this.
Not after thirty years.
Not after all the goodbyes.
But sometimes life is unexpectedly kind.
Sometimes the lonely little boy with the oversized sweater grows up.
Sometimes the grieving orphan learns how to smile again.
And sometimes
Against every imaginable odd
The child you spent your whole life looking for is the one you finally come home to.