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We didn’t just bump into one another
Or randomly meet -
It was more like
A soul collision
Meant to be.
-Melody Lee
Summer after Muzimono - Italy
Hannibal hadn’t meant to actually write the letter that now sat on his side table, staring back accusingly as he held his head in his hands. He’d had too much to drink - he knew before he’d begun that he was going to suffer consequences he didn’t wish to have if he didn’t slow down, but the wine he’d selected was as smooth and crisp as a spring day. He should have stopped at a single glass; savored it, indulged shamelessly in its taste and corked it for cooking for the rest of the week.
Wine didn’t keep. That was the only excuse that sat well enough with him to make the hangover and the letter acceptable. Hannibal didn’t want to read the secret, desperate things he kept hidden away in his heart. They were too painful to confront in his weakened state. He let them sit there as he made his way through his apartment to the bedroom to shower and change. He thought about them as he cooked himself breakfast; the kept him company through the second cup of strong, black coffee.
Only when he knew he couldn’t put them off any longer did he venture back to his office to retrieve them.
His handwriting remained elegant through his inebriated state - it somehow made him feel better. He took the pages to the massive desk at the back of the room, far from the temptation of the fireplace and settled into his chair to read.
My Dearest Will,
I've often pondered how it would feel to have the courage to sit down and pen a letter to you, but I’ve found myself curiously lacking the necessary gumption to do so until this very evening. Perhaps it’s nostalgia in firelight - more likely it’s the wine I’ve consumed with more enthusiasm than is wise. Either way, putting a pen to paper this evening feels inevitable; a pull of the tides bringing me inexorably closer to you. You are my gravity, Will. I do not believe I ever fully expressed that sentiment.
Though much time has passed since we parted ways, you are never far from my thoughts. I wonder how it would feel to have you at my side, our fond goodbyes given and taken, gone from the lands across the sea without regrets to anchor us. Reflection makes the bitterness rise; I evade my musings whenever possible, but tonight, I am weak.
I have come to terms with the fact that, no matter how inconvenient, I have always been weak for you.
You could have asked me to lay the world at your feet, and I would have done so without hesitation. You could have asked anything of me; requested any show of devotion. I know now that I would have bared my throat to your blade if it meant your confession in my favor. I have to believe you know how I feel, or you wouldn't have understood to what degree you’ve changed me.
And you have changed me, Will.
I sit before a fire tonight and remember another - one where the scent of your aftershave warmed upon your skin as the hour grew late and our conversations deepened to more than clever sidesteps of the things we really wished to say. I wonder now how you would have reacted if I stole the words from your mouth with my own — what you would have done if I chased the taste of the whiskey you enjoyed so much in my presence with my tongue; sipped it from your lips as if sampling all the heavens had to offer me. Would you have reciprocated easily, or would you have forced me to coax your feelings from you as I did so many other revelations?
We spoke of flesh and blood in those darkest hours, but never of the passion that lay so bare between us. Had I confessed the emotions that course through my veins like bright fire, I have no doubt that we would be here together, the way destiny has so obviously deigned we should be. You would share my meals, my bath, my bed, each and every night for all nights yet to come. I would have you in every way I desire; you would give yourself to me freely, Will. I am thoroughly convinced of it.
I have yet to decide if I will send these words to you, darling, but putting them to paper brings to light the harsh, bitter reality of my true feelings for you. I am not certain I should thank you for it. Being laid so bare, even only to myself, is disquieting.
When you come for me, Will, and I know you will come for me, I hope you have resigned yourself to the fact that you will not escape me a second time. You bear my mark on your skin. I wear the scars you have given me upon my heart. Perhaps, in time, we can compare our wounds. While it's almost certain we won’t survive our next encounter unchanged, I have no doubt that we will come through the turbulence set before us all the better for it.
Until then, I will watch the stars and wait for you to stop resisting your baser urges. Many thousands of miles may separate us, but the heavens to which we both turn our gazes in our darkest hours will always align.
You are mine, as much as I am yours. Come to me, or for me if you so prefer.
I will be waiting for you.
Eternally yours,
Hannibal Lecter
I shouldn't send it. If he wants to come to me, he will come - there will be nothing I can do to sway his mind.
Hannibal told himself these things as he sourced an envelope within the drawers of the heavy wooden desk he now called his own. He continued with his convictions as he sealed it closed; silently promised he would burn it as he penned Will’s address to the front from memory. The next time he stepped out for groceries, the letter came with him.
Nothing would come of it, but it didn’t matter how much he railed against it. Will would read the words his heart produced - Hannibal no longer had a choice in the matter.
***
Of all of the things he’d been expecting, written words from Hannibal had not even crossed his mind - didn't even crack the top ten. Will recognized the curving script on the front of the envelope immediately; spider thin ink splashing confessions across parchment that likely cost as much as his entire paycheck. He didn't read it when it arrived. The wounds felt too raw for that to happen. He even managed to ignore its existence most days, even though he felt the weight of it on his chest like a hammer’s blow every time he passed the chest of drawers in which he’d hidden it away.
He wanted to break the seal off the back of the envelope; to lift it to his face and breathe in Hannibal’s words as if they were the oxygen that sustained him. He wanted to absorb them into his very soul as readily as they invaded his mind. Instead, he ignored their existence as best he could. Whatever proclamations Hannibal had spilled across the sheafs of paper would tear him apart piece by bloody piece, and remake him; for light or for darkness, Will wasn’t entirely sure. He wanted to toss the pages and their contents onto the fire, and burn away each letter into a pyre of ashes and regrets - bitter and broken promises that they’d made to one another with gestures as much as words.
Will's only true desire was freedom; liberty from responsibilities he no longer wished to own. Two roads diverged before his every move, yet he still had yet to determine which path he wished to traverse. The FBI, with all of its prestige, felt hollow and pointless without Hannibal at his side. Chasing his partner to Europe was tempting - more so as summer faded into autumn, bringing with it the biting chill that required a fireplace to keep it at bay. Fires and blankets and warm, human heat; Will wanted it more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted his psychiatrist at his side, untangling his thoughts with cleverly disguised platitudes while his eyes spoke volumes of truth he didn’t dare profess. Will wanted to pull each secret from his lips in whispers and moans; pinned to couch cushions and buried beneath piles of snowy white bed things high enough to block out the sunlight.
More than anything else, he wanted someone else to decide how the drama of his life would play out. Without Hannibal, he’d become a shell; insubstantial as a dream with nothing left to guide him.
The letter now hidden in his bedroom called to him, taunting him to action.
A singe night with enough whiskey finally broke their stalemate. Upon summoning the courage to peruse its contents, Will discovered that Hannibal’s confession held no great revelations for him - not really. He’d known the doctor’s affections had turned romantic before the ill-fated evening that ripped them apart. He may have even felt some sort of reciprocity had he been given the opportunity to explore the possibility thoroughly. Since their separation, he’d spent countless nights in a form of stasis, unable to move forward, waiting for something to happen. In the darkest hours of the night, he let his mind wander away from the dull and lifeless days he now lead. He fantasized about what it would feel like to belong to another; wholly belong instead of pressing his face to an emotional glass and hoping for an invitation inside, only to be left in the cold.
He tasted phantom kisses from imaginary lips as his hands drifted beneath his sheets; if he called out Hannibal's name as he stroked himself to a swift completion, he refused to acknowledge it, even to himself.
Love was not so faint a possibility — not in the hours without light.
Hannibal’s words should have felt like poison. Instead, they soothed across the most ragged edges of his nerves, beckoned him with the siren’s song laced in between each line. Will ran his fingers over the ink and paper so often, the edges of each sheet began to fray. The parchment turned soft with the oils from his skin, making it easier and easier to fold into the pockets of his slacks. The letter served as a constant reminder that there was another choice besides the life he was living. He waited, cautious and curious.
Hopeful.
Waited for the right time. Waited to see what would happen.
As autumn faded into winter, Will Graham broke into Hannibal’s old office and lit a fire, making himself comfortable on the floor as room absorbed the heat. Once he was sufficiently comfortable, he opened the pack he brought with him, and penned a letter of his own.
When he’d finished, he took one more look around the room that brought back so many memories and let them fill him to bursting before he extinguished the fire. He closed his eyes, hoping the ghosts that had surely taken up residence would make their presence known. It didn’t take him long to understand that the room in which he stood held nothing for him anymore.
Will collected his suitcase and tucked away his writing implements and made his way slowly from the building, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. Whatever remained in that place, it no longer belonged to him.
He made his way to the airport with ample time to catch his flight. As he strode to the check-in counter, Will dropped his letter into the mailbox at the front of the building, sending a silent prayer that his words would reach Hannibal before he arrived.
Ready or not, he was on his way to whatever destiny awaited him on the other side of the sea.
***
The envelope smelled of Will’s hand soap. Hannibal’s nose traced the paper, his mind flooding with his fondest memories of the man whose words were contained within. When it had shown up amidst the magazines and bills he normally received, his heart had very nearly imploded. His hands shook so much he’d been afraid of tearing the thin paper; cheap, lined pages from one of Will's many notebooks, no doubt. He took care to set it aside as he changed out of his lecturing attire and showered, mind utterly blank, save a single, circular thought.
Will Graham reached for me.
He tucked the letter safely beneath his pillow before returning to the kitchen to find something that would serve as a meal without taking too much of his time. He thought of nothing else as he consumed thin slices of rare beef he’d paired with the simple, homemade pasta he’d learned to make in his youth. The food was exquisite, but he barely tasted a thing. His entire being now lay beyond, in the room that contained the lifeline he so desperately needed.
The letter’s presence broke the chains that bound his emotions to the rational part of his brain. He wanted to shout; he wanted to weep. He wanted to leave the empty life he’d tried to create and board the nearest plane - home, where Will resided.
Instead, Hannibal carefully cleaned his kitchen and turned off the lights before pouring himself a glass of port. Only then did he allow himself to fully feel the giddiness and hope that floated inside his chest like tiny champagne bubbles. He retrieved the letter from its place of honor and studied Will’s untidy scrawl, tracing each press of the pen where the ink bled onto paper with a callused thumb.
Heart in his throat, he sliced the envelope open and retrieved two sheets of lined paper, a grin spreading unconsciously across his lips. His fingers shook, but he managed to unfold the letter without tearing it. Hannibal Lecter took a small sip of his wine and curled up against the foot of his bed, willing his heart to steady as he finally began to read.
Hello Hannibal,
If this was any other moment in our association, words would come easily, but we’ve spent so much time in separation that I’m at a loss. A simple hello might have once sufficed, but after I received what you sent, it feels... shallow to begin in such a manner. The last thing I expected was to find a letter from you in my mailbox, but you’ve once again managed to surprise me. Your empathy is showing, Doctor Lecter.
I've never been a man to pontificate, so I'll be as concise as I can, even here, where I'm not certain my words will reach you. I'll start with what is the most difficult thing to say.
I'm sorry for not understanding, and for being afraid when I finally did.
There were moments when we were together that I wanted you to tear down my emotional walls with your bare fucking hands and reach for what was inside of me - fit the broken pieces back together like one of your metaphorical teacups. I wanted you, Hannibal - needed you to show me who I am and how to embrace the darkness with the light. I didn’t understand that until I saw your face that night in the kitchen... when I saw the mess we’d made of one another by attempting to be clever instead of honest. I should have taken your advice and run away with you when you offered. We would already be together instead of staring at the stars on the nights we can’t sleep, wondering what the hell we’re going to do next.
You claim to love me. I believe you. We always hurt the ones we love the most, because we know they have the capacity for forgiveness. I have to ask. Do you forgive my betrayal, Hannibal? Did you truly take all of your anger out on me when you opened me up and left me bleeding on the floor? Or will I arrive in hopes of a reunion, only to be met with the same devastation that befell both Jack and Abigail? Don’t think it escaped me that you chose to cut my stomach. You wanted me to live. I felt your sorrow in my blood as it stained the tiles. It was a too late to reverse my course of action, but I understood with perfect clarity what I had done to us both.
I am coming to you, Hannibal. Not for, but to - you said there was a difference, so I’m choosing my words carefully. Your ability to decipher emotions between lines has always been far greater than my own. I will have arrived three days from the post mark on this letter, and when we meet, I may fall to my knees, but it won’t be to beg for forgiveness. I want to be beyond that.
I’d like to meet in Uffizi. You spoke about it with such fondness that I’ve always been curious, and would love the opportunity to see it through your eyes. I have devised a way to help us communicate before we speak - I only hope you’re amenable to it. If you mean me no harm, sit before Primavera. If I find you there, we can greet one another as friends. If you wish things to go any other way, choose Medusa. I know you won’t grow bored if you sit before either painting. It should be easy enough to pass the time. I will not give you the exact date or time I mean to search for you. I don’t want you to be any more prepared than I feel. Call it one last attempt at equal footing.
I hope you meant the sentiments in your letter, Hannibal. We still have much to discuss, but I’ve given up on trying to hide what I am. I have never been more myself than when I’ve had you at my side. I have no other revelations to offer, other than this; we begin or end in Italy. Whatever your decision, we will live or cease to be by it.
Think about what I’ve said, and make up your mind. I will be with you sooner than you think.
Yours,
Will
Hannibal’s eyes focused on the word before Will’s signature, letting it resonate through his entire being. Yours… you wish to be mine. There is a possibility after all.
Hannibal’s heart seized hard in his chest. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his coat and left the comfort of his apartment, heading out into the bright Italian sunlight towards a previously unimaginable destination. And so it is to be, Will Graham. We begin or end here, in the city that made me discover who I am. Perhaps, together, we can become something more than either of us imagined. Hannibal’s smile grew as the shop he’d passed so often before came in sight. He took a deep breath and stepped into the cool hush of the jewelry store, hand extended to the smiling clerk.
“Good afternoon,” he offered in flawless Italian. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with a certain purchase. The sooner I can acquire it, the better.”
***
Two days later
The ring box was making Hannibal’s palm sweat. He was certain the moisture was staining the maroon leather. When given the choice of packaging after selecting the heavy band of platinum hidden within, he’d unconsciously picked a box the same color as his own eyes. Although normally aware of such minute details, all he could think about was this pivotal moment; a fragment of time years in the making, even if he hadn’t realized it during his journey. He wanted this more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he had to do things properly, or all of his careful preparations would be for naught.
Will landed in Italy some time after the letter had arrived on his doorstep, but it gave the doctor ample time to case the airport. His patience had paid off - he caught sight of Will’s figure as he disembarked from his flight, his heart beating so hard, he was certain the crowd around him must be able to hear it. He kept his face hidden, watching the man he foolishly thought he could forget as he gathered his bags, murmuring to an invisible presence at his side. The doctor didn’t have to guess to whom Will was speaking as he moved through the airport in search of a car rental booth. The chasm he created with Abigail’s death would likely color what they would become for a time, but he knew that with Will’s acceptance of her passing, she would fade. Hannibal would remain, as solid and real as the ring in his hands, to help heal the wounds he’d created.
From the car, he gave Will space — time to settle in. The gallery was within walking distance of his home, and Hannibal still enjoyed sketching whenever he had the opportunity. Primavera awaited him; Will would come when he was ready.
On the second day of his study, hesitant footsteps echoing on the floors behind him pulled the doctor from his reverie. The pencil on Hannibal’s sketch steadied. His grip on the box tightened enough to ease some of the frantic beating of his heart, grounding him in dull pain. Will’s scent wafted through his senses like a sensual ghost; crisp, clean, cheap. Too heavy on the citrus, just as his aftershave had always been. Ships on bottles is a favored scent now, he mused. I hope he never changes.
The soap that Will had used to shower that morning was mass produced for hotel rooms and hovels. Hannibal wondered idly if it made Will’s skin ache as it dried. He wanted to touch him - wanted to pull the other man to him and crush their lips together; release the mad rush of emotions that threatened to burst from his very soul. He wanted Will to see him; see past the mask of the man he pretended to be, into the monster that existed just beneath the surface. He wanted to consume and be consumed for the rest of his existence, but as Will made his way slowly forward, he found himself utterly incapable of speech. Say something. Anything. Silence in this moment might very well drive me to madness.
The creak of the bench was enough to cease any attempts to continue the façade of drawing - he hadn’t bothered looking at it since he’d allowed his mind to drift into the details of their past. It was likely as big of a mess as he was inside - a jumbled mass of meaningless lines not meant to connect.
He didn’t care.
Nothing mattered except the man with the bluest eyes Hannibal had ever seen, hands folded in his lap, small smile painted into every inch of his features as he turned that gorgeous gaze to meet Hannibal’s own. They regarded one another from inches apart for the first time in what felt like an entire lifetime ago, and as always, Will managed to surprise him.
Everything Hannibal wanted to say fell away in the wake of the hunger in Will’s so-blue eyes. He looked at Hannibal as if he was starving; ravenous for things only the doctor could provide. He didn’t look angry or confused or resigned; none of the emotions Hannibal expected to see were present. They all gave way to a desire so pure, so perfect that Hannibal wanted to fall to his knees and weep.
He didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he gripped the box in his hands, leather squeaking with the pressure he pressed into it with his fingertips, grounding him in the reality that Will had crossed oceans to be there, in this place, so he could be at Hannibal’s side. The profiler inhaled as if to speak, but Hannibal beat him to it. He turned his entire body towards the pull of his heart and smiled.
The leather in his hands started to feel slippery. Hannibal took a steadying breath and wondered how long he’d be able to wait. He was so close now; surely, a few more minutes would be fine.
Probably.
Marry me, Will Graham. Love me. Let me love you. I love you, Will. I love you. Love you. Love you.
“If I saw you every day forever, Will. I would remember this time.”
***
“I didn’t expect a proposal this soon,” Will confessed from the comfort of Hannibal’s— no, their bed. The ring Hannibal had chosen nestled on the profiler’s left ring finger. Will held it up so that it reflected the moonlight, tiny sparks bouncing off the metal and casting bright stars in his eyes. Hannibal hummed but didn’t reply, observing the bright flares of white in his lover’s eyes as the ring spun round and round and round. Will hadn’t stopped looking at it since it had been placed on his finger. Hannibal hadn’t stopped looking at Will.
They were both still sweaty; chests slick and heaving, connected in the most intimate fashion two people could be connected, but Hannibal was finally beginning to soften enough to slip from Will’s opening. He didn’t force it - the emotional connection accompanying it flayed him open from the inside out. He wasn't ready for it to end until absolutely necessary.
“It was a foregone conclusion, darling,” Hannibal murmured as he bend his head to press his lips to Will’s throat. “It was you that stated we could choose from one of two endings when you came to Uffizi. I simply selected the one I found most satisfactory.”
The profiler’s laugh echoed through the darkness; he turned his head to give Hannibal more room to explore. Hannibal’s teeth pressed to the soft skin, nipping too gently to leave marks.
“So this was just the lesser of two evils?”
“No,” Hannibal admonished. “I have loved you for years and you have provided me with the opportunity, at last, to explore the implications of such emotions.”
“Doesn’t that usually include some period of dating?” Hannibal kissed his way across Will’s chest, lavishing attention on his pebbled nipples, rolling each with his tongue as they peaked in the cool Winter air.
“Perhaps,” he mused, “but our beginnings are nothing if not unconventional. We would have ended up here, Will. We both know that. I simply skipped the prolonged courtship and moved straight to the happy ending.”
“One could argue that we’ve been courting since we met,” Will countered, rolling them onto their sides so he could see Hannibal’s face. A hand unconsciously came up to trace the sharp line of the doctor’s cheek. “What we have now was written in the stars we shared.”
“Careful, darling.” Hannibal pressed a kiss to his palm. “I’ve far from had my fill of you, and the night is young. If you continue speaking such poetry, I’ll be driven to a display carnal passions, and you won’t get any rest.”
Will’s eyes, the most beautiful shade of blue Hannibal had ever seen, shone as much as the ring on his finger. He pulled Hannibal closer, a hand snaking cleverly between them to stroke the doctor’s already hardening cock. Fingertips traced the vein along the bottom, thumb brushing across the tip. Hannibal groaned and buried his face in Will’s throat, his hips unconsciously beginning to rock.
“Who says I want to sleep?” Will asked, pushing Hannibal to the bed so he could climb astride his hips. Hannibal’s hands automatically moved to the profiler’s waist, guiding his movements as Will slicked the doctor’s cock with lube. Blood and gold eyes met unbroken blue; Will gasped as he sank down, taking Hannibal to the hilt.
“Love me now,” he demanded. “Love me always.”
“I promise,” Hannibal whispered, rocking into Will’s tight heat. “I love you, Will. I have always loved you. Now. Forever. Always.”