Hello fellow Fannibals! This is the first fanfic I'm writing in english (sorry in advance for any mistake!) and the first about Hannigram so please be gentle! ...nah, be rude all you want, I'm no Hannibal so reviews and critics are well accepted :D
Of course I don't own any of these characters (I wish!), this is pure fictional and blablabla.
Enjoy :D
"I didn't think I would see you again, Will"
Neither did he. But yet, here he was, not really knowing why. Standing there, facing him behind a wall of glass, was Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal. That name was like a curse, following his every step, haunting his every dream. Why did he come to face his own nightmares, he didn't know. Well, he wasn't exactly facing it: in fact, he couldn't lift his eyes, kept them fixed on the ground.
"Dear Will-"
"Don't. Don't call me that way" he interrupted, eyeing him for a second before returning to the ground. The corners of Hannibal's mouth lifted lightly, pleasured to hear his voice once again.
"I've lost the privilege, I guess" Was he mocking him? Will couldn't tell, he couldn't think straight, it was all too absurd for his mind to function properly, to extrapolate even a word from the chaos of his mixed thoughts. His weight kept wobbling from one feet to the other, one pointed towards the glass, the other to the exit. Every cell in his body screamed to run, to get out, to never come back. He could feel it all: a slight tremor coming from the cold he felt inside.
Silence was palpable. The stare coming from behind the thin glass was piercing through him, he felt it past his plain shirt, past his skin and bones, right into his heart. Too cold and too hot, like ice and lava, both burning him from the inside. He didn't know what to say. Mouth dry, a weight in his stomach, every breath more difficult.
"I'm glad to see you, Will" said Hannibal softly, almost like he was telling a secret, a whisper only for him to hear.
"I don't know why I'm here" he said in a rush, his voice shaky, a confession.
"That is quite untrue" he responded calmly. Will eyed him, weary, his words sinking in. He was right.
"…Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"You know exactly what I mean" he said, his tone accusing, his rage mounting in his lungs.
Hannibal stared back, his head tilted lightly to the side.
"Is it the special agent, asking me? Or is it you?" My dear Will. Even if unspoken, he could hear those words.
His eyes started to sting, his lower lip trembled. His vision blurred, he had to look away from that man, the same man who held his hands throughout the nightmares he himself had caused, feeding his fears, leaving bodies for him to find, crushing his sanity.
"Will"
"Don't call my name like that!" he shouted stepping forward, his voice creaky from the ache in his throat.
"Like what, Will?"
"Like you know me"
Hannibal too took a step forward, standing a few inches from the glass, and placed both hands on its surface, almost reaching out.
"I do."
"No you don't!" His lung were on fire.
"Yes, I do. And that's what's hurting you the most"
Will felt stabbed, the words stripped him of his skin, exposing his heart to its executioner. Helpless, he stared at Hannibal, right into his eyes, looking for the reassurance he knew he wouldn't find. One single tear escaped from the corner of his eye.
Hannibal's features softened, his hand moved on the glass, like he wanted to wipe that tear from Will's cheek.
"If it's a reason you want from me, one that could make it all more acceptable, that could make me less of a monster in your eyes, there isn't one. This is what I am"
"Why does it have to be like this?" His voice betrayed him, showed all the pain he felt inside, the cold and the loneliness.
"Because it can't be any other way" he replied softly, retrieving his hands, leaning back from the glass.
Will couldn't stop his hands from reaching for him, touching the surface where Hannibal's palms were a few seconds back.
"Hannibal" he begged, his voice broken.
Hannibal turned his back and moved away from him, deaf to his plea.
Will stood there, staring hard at his back, wanting no glass to separate them, so he could push him, punch him, throw out his rage and fear and pain on his chest, on the three-piece suit he was so used to see him wear, now replaced with a vivid orange uniform.
He stood there, till his breath calmed down, till his lungs cooled off, till he felt dead inside, staring at the unmoving figure standing in the dim light of the cell.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he finally took a step back, his hands leaving blurry prints of sweat and warmth on the glass, that single tear now dry on his skin.
"Goodbye, Doctor Lecter" he said when he recovered his voice. Not waiting for a response, he headed to the exit. His steps echoed, the noise weaker as he went further, followed by the metal clang of the grate, signaling his departure. He couldn't hear him anymore.
"Goodbye, my dear Will" he murmured, one drop shining on his cheek.