Written for monochromhell on Tumblr. I own nothing. All my Hannibal stories are also on my AO3 account, ThatGirlTheyKnow, and my writing blog, wordsareagirlsbestfriend on tumblr.
He's the new kid; a small, scruffy guy with glasses and unruly hair who avoids eye contact. Nobody knows him or anything about him and they've all already formed their cliques years ago. He has no place in the school, big and bustling with all types of person, except for the type of person he is.
There is nobody else that is the type of person he is.
He sits in the back of the classrooms and tries on concentrate on the lesson even though he didn't sleep last night, and the night before was restless with nightmares. Out of the corner of the eye he see something watching him and he jumps, but nothing is there and he's earned himself stares of his classmates.
At lunch, sitting by himself under a tree in the courtyard, he thinks he hears voices whispering to him thoughts he knows aren't his, thoughts he knows belong to the man whose victim he found, evil thoughts about people and how wonderful their blood is when it pours out onto your hands, dark and red and warm.
People occasionally try to talk to him in the first lessons, but are put off by something about him- people think he's crazy, despite his best efforts. They must notice how he looks at things nobody else can see and knows too much from a single moment of eye contact; knows who they like, knows their secrets, things they would rather keep hidden.
Apparently the principal must notice he wasn't talking to people, because the next day he's sitting in Jack Crawford's office, ignoring the two other people in the room. There's a senior sitting next to him, dressed in a three piece suit with immaculate hair, looking at him discreetly.
"Will," the Crawford says. "This is Hannibal Lecter. I know this is a day too late, but he's to show you around the school, get you settled in. He's been informed that you had... troubles, in your old town."
"Unfortunately, I know a great deal more. I am sad to say that I recognise you from an article on ." Hannibal's voice is smooth and pleasant and heavily accented. He does not sound judgemental or curious. "Freddie Lounds was very interested in how you helped police at sixteen."
"Tasteless," Will mutters at the mention of his least favourite website.
"Do you have trouble with taste?"
"My thoughts are often not tasty."
"Nor mine."
They walk out of Crawford's office and Hannibal says, "Not fond of eye contact, are you?"
Will does not look him in the eye.
"Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don't see enough. So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible."
Hannibal nods, and in silence shows Will to his first class of the day.
Hannibal brings sits with Will at lunch. Will eyes him suspiciously as he approaches the tree Will has claimed.
"Don't you have friends to hang out with?" Will asks, and the older boy gives him a look with a slight raised eyebrow.
"No," is his simple reply. "Anyway, I wanted to check on you."
"You really don't have to."
"Regardless... Do you have any food?"
Will shrugs, his eyes trained on a spot beside Hannibal's head. "No."
Hannibal sits down next to him, leaving against the tree even in his expensive clothing, and pulls a tupperware container out of his satchel. "Then you can share mine."
Will stares at the senior. "Um... I don't eat that much."
"I made it myself. Please, I insist. Eating is important for the brain to function properly."
Will, seeing no scenario in which declining would not be rude, allows himself to be handed a spare fork and takes only tentative bites of the rice and meat dish until he realises it it delicious.
Hannibal watches him eat, satisfied.
The next day, Hannibal brings two tupperware containers of a pasta dish Will would never be able to name.
"You didn't have to," he tells the senior. "I'm fine with not eating."
"It is very rarely I can cook for another person. It is a delight like no other, I assure you," Hannibal replies smoothly.
"So Will," he says after a minute of silence. "How have you been settling in? The school is not the most bearable, but are you managing?"
Will laughs. "People have been flocking to make the twitchy new boy welcome," he says sarcastically.
"They are, for the most part, a group of foolish idiots, I can assure you. Their minds are closed against anything they do not understand or that is different. You and I, we are not like them. That allows us to see the stupidity in their ways, but it also allows us to be ostracised."
"How do you know I'm different?" Will asks, narrowing his eyes.
Hannibal smiles, but does not answer.
Will has an appointment set up with the school counsellor, Alana Bloom.
"How have you been, Will? Are you settling in, making friends?" He can tell by her voice that she does not expect a good answer.
"I suppose I have one friend."
"That's good! Who?"
"Uh, Hannibal Lecter."
The look on her face, previously smiling and gentle, becomes a slight frown for a moment, and a look of worry flashes behind her eyes before it's gone and her face is a professional mask.
"Well, I'm glad you're not lonely."
Hannibal is already by the tree when Will walks up to him after his appointment with Ms Bloom. He looks at the senior who is so elegant and relaxed and comfortable despite how out-of-place he seems.
"I told Alana Bloom that we're friends," Will says as a greeting. "I hope you don't mind. I didn't want her to get all sympathetic and try to give me fake hope."
Hannibal raises an eyebrow. "Are we not friends?"
Will is suddenly very uncomfortable. "I don't know," he admits. "Anything social isn't my forte."
Hannibal stands and places a hand on Will's shoulder. "I would like to be your friend, Will."
The younger boy attempts a smile.
"I have nightmares," Will says one lunch, two weeks after he arrives at the school. He doesn't know where the words come from, but he can't stop them pouring out. "About the murder. But... not about being murdered. Or about it happening, not really. I have nightmares that I'm the murderer, and I'm the person who killed that girl."
"And how do you feel," Hannibal asks, calm and unruffled. "When you have these dreams? How do you feel when you imagine killing that girl?" His hand brushes against Will's where it rests in the short space between them on the ground. Will barely notices their fingers lightly twining together.
"It feels good. It feels good to watch the light leave her eyes. That's why I left. Why I needed to start over. I needed to start over, to try to escape the murderer's psyche. It didn't work. And sometimes, it's just that girl. Sometimes I dream about being murderer's I've read about. Sometimes I feel like I become them."
And then there is heavy silence. Hannibal squeezes Will's hand reassuringly, but Will can't make himself look at the senior's facial expression.
He misses the small, pleased smile on Hannibal's face.
Hannibal invites him to dinner a month after they meet. Will shows up at the large, grandiose house and feels small. He rings the doorbell and Hannibal greets him, showing him into the dining room.
"Do you live here by yourself?" Will asks as the older boy serves dinner, a French dish that Will can't pronounce but looks delicious.
"Yes," Hannibal says, taking his seat across from Will. "My family are, unfortunately, have passed on."
Will's jaw drops. "I'm so sorry..." he begins to say, but realises how meaningless the words are. "Well, you know what I mean."
Hannibal nods once. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I that is my past now. I do not tend to dwell on it."
"Okay." Will pauses. "Have I ever told you that your cooking is amazing? What kind of meat is this?"
"Pork. And thank you. Cooking is a passion of mine."
They spend the meal talking about cooking, school and anything else they thought relevant. Will sips the expensive wine and finds himself unable to concentrate. His mind jumps from one thing to another, and eventually settles on the smooth, pleasing sound of Hannibal's voice.
After dessert Will is treated to a tour of the house. He feels very out of place in his cheap clothes, but Hannibal acts as though the expensive furnishings are completely insignificant, so Will tries to expel that feeling. When they reach Hannibal's bedroom, he almost gapes at the large queen sized bed with covers as red as blood, contrasting against one black wall and three white ones. The bed looks insanely comfortable and Will can't help but imagine lying on it. Unfortunately, that leads to several thoughts about the owner of the bed and Will that he does not want to think about.
"Nice room," he manages to croak. Hannibal, standing behind him, smiles and puts two hands on his shoulders, guiding him away from the room.
"Thank you. Now, come, and we'll settle in the lounge."
When Will is sat down on one of the plush couches, he stares at his hands. Hannibal disappears into the kitchen and returns five minutes later with two cups of coffee. He hands one to Will and sits down next to him so their shoulders are brushing, even though there were several other places he could have chosen and still comfortable held a conversation with the younger boy.
"Tell me, Will, how have you been? Are your nightmares getting better?"
Will turns his head and makes brief eye contact with his friend, one of the few times he allowed himself to. He sees nothing judgemental, only care and maybe curiosity.
"No. In my dreams, I'm a murderer, or a murder victim, or I'm being mocked by a that girl, the one I found, and she's angry at me for not saving her. I dream about other things, too. I dream that I'm drowning, or a tidal wave is rising up to sweep me away. I'm worried that I've let the murderer into my mind too much. I... I haven't been fighting. I try not to sleep, to be honest. I sometimes sleepwalk, too. And..." He snaps him mouth closed, embarrassed at his opening up. Hannibal takes his hand, just like he did last time, and put his other hand on the back of Will's neck. Will leans back into the touch.
"And?" Hannibal prompts.
"And I've been hallucinating. The other day I imagined I was giving a presentation to the class but then Alana Bloom knocked on the door, and I realised the classroom was empty and school had ended. And other things."
"Has anything stuck with you, struck a chord? Anything reoccurring?"
Will is suddenly very tired. He sighs, and abruptly realises he somehow moved positions without noticing. Hannibal's arm is wrapped around his shoulder across the back of the couch and Will is almost sideways, half-lying on the other boy while being half-wrapped in his embrace. He feels warm and safe, and tries to blink away the sleep threatening to overcome him. He closes his eyes for a moment, but can't open them.
"A stag," he tells Hannibal quietly, already half-asleep. "I keep seeing a stag."
And he drifts off with Hannibal's hand running through his hair.
Will wakes up, two hours later, on Hannibal's bed. He doesn't have to opportunity to pay attention to the comfort though, because Hannibal is on top of him, knees on either side of Will's thigh, and the senior's mouth of his Will's neck, pressing feather-light kisses.
Will gasps at the electricity and surprise that shoots through him, and Hannibal leans up, his face hovering over the younger boy's.
"Hello, Will, did I wake you?" Hannibal asks, a wicked smile on his face. He doesn't wait for an answer; instead, he kisses Will lightly, but deepens it when he starts getting a response. Will puts his hands on Hannibal's shoulders and moans at the feeling of their bodies pressed together, of Hannibal's weight on him, smothering him in the most wonderful way.
"Yes," he gasps when he has air. "But feel free to wake me up any time if you're going to do it like this."
"Your mind is beautiful," Hannibal whispers that night when he thinks Will is asleep. Will is curled up against him, naked and warm, and he gives no indication to show that he's awake. Hannibal's thumb gently strokes the back of Will's neck, and the younger boy has to restrain a shiver.
"Your mind is amazing," Hannibal continues. "I love your mind, Will, with its nightmares and hallucinations. The way you can see into anybody's head, the way you can see their thoughts, why they did things. I love that you can empathise with a murderer, that you can appreciate the feeling of your hands around somebody's neck, squeezing the life out of them, and the sensation of blood rushing over you. You have so much potential, Will, and it is a glorious, beautiful thing. I wonder though... I wonder when you will see me."
And Hannibal adjusts Will so he's lying flat on his back, and wraps a hand around his throat, applying no pressure. He gets onto his knees and straddles Will again, and the younger boy can't help it- his eyes fly open and he looks up at Hannibal through heavy lids.
"I know you were awake," Hannibal purrs, rubbing Will's throat. Will's heart is beating loudly in his chest. He's confused, but he also gets the feeling that something is being revealed to him.
Hannibal leans down and puts his lips against Will's ear. "I love you, Will, and I want all of you, I want to consume you. But that cannot happen... and you cannot love me, until you look into my mind, and know me." He squeezes.
Hannibal leans back, still squeezing Will's neck, cutting off his air supply.
Their eyes meet, and Will looks, fighting through the terror.
And what he sees is screamed by his bright blue eyes, but out of shock, not terror, not anymore. He sees Hannibal's design, and understands, and, underneath it all. he wants.
Hannibal smiles.
They sit under the tree at lunch, leaning against each other, eating Hannibal's latest creation.
There is nobody around, but Will whispers his question all the same. "Who am I eating?"
Hannibal kisses his neck once. "A particularly rude social worker."
Will surveys the meal, nods, and takes another bite.
"When are you... getting the next one?"
"Why?"
"Because..." He takes a deep breath. "Because I want to be there."
Hannibal does not answer, not for the rest of lunch, not when the bell rings for Will to go to English and Hannibal to go to History, just like every other sixteen and eighteen year old boy, just like completely normal people.
Hannibal, still silent, kisses Will goodbye. They both ignore the stares they get.
At the end of the day, Will finds a note in his locker and smiles.
I will pick you up tonight, it reads. PS- your math teacher should never have humiliated you in front of the class for not finishing your homework. Very rude.