Over the course of the next month Hannibal fails every administered test with remarkable creativity. On his spelling test he manages to misspell every word including the date and his own name, which he writes in broken Pig Latin. Math, Hannibal answers with a series of drawings mocking everything from Will's messy hair to his permissive teaching style. During physical education he insists he's developed a heart palpitation.
Six unreturned phone calls to Hannibal's homestay and two trips to the counselor's office accomplish no marked improvement.
"Maybe I need a tutor," Hannibal expresses solemnly after school one day. "I've been trying my best to keep up with American school," he says meekly, but Will can hardly believe the change in demeanor.
Principal Crawford all but demands it. Will can tell that Hannibal has the entire faculty wrapped around his manipulative little finger. This time, Will makes certain to ask the right questions, and keeps at least two feet between them at all times. Hannibal never oversteps his bounds, as if he can see the barrier Will's obstructed plain as day.
"Do you get out much, Hannibal?"
"I don't know," Hannibal says idly, like he hasn't even heard the question. He leans back against his chair and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "On the way to school," he says, bored. "And on the way home." Will wants to bring up recess, but he doesn't have to. "And I hate recess," Hannibal says darkly, like Will ever got to ask.
"What about lunch?" Will presses his lips into a thin line when Hannibal doesn't answer. "Do you dislike what your homestay packs for you?"
Hannibal shrugs. "I'm just not hungry," Hannibal repeats like rotary before amending it. "But I do love eating."
Will orders them food immediately, and he lets Hannibal pick anything he likes from the menu. "Don't tell your friends," Will reminds him as he hands over a slice of pizza.
"Oh I won't," Hannibal says, lip curling. "I don't have any."
The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable silence. Despite Will's best efforts, Hannibal only picks at his plate. Will can empathize. For as long as he can remember, mealtimes have always felt like a chore. When they finish, Hannibal helps clean the mess and hide the evidence without complaint.
"You know," Hannibal starts, stepping closer than he's allowed. "People are quick to condemn you for the things you've done." He sucks on a mint and sticks out his tongue. Will wants to feel the inside of his mouth, too. "But they never give you credit for all the times you resist temptation."
It's half past six on a Friday and most of the school has emptied. Will is fraternizing with one of his students in a way he never allowed himself in fantasy-like they're friends. The irony isn't lost on him; the taste of his own resignation ever bitter.
"Is that what I deserve?" Will says hoarsely. "A reward?"
Will is beginning to wonder where Hannibal is pulling these lines. Straight out of the Bible, it sounds like. The worst part is the way they're doing him in. Hannibal's scarlet eyes settle just below Will's belt. He doesn't shrug, but Will can feel the apathy.
"You tell me."
The hour long tutor sessions twice a week have turned into torture. Eventually, Hannibal stops pretending to be sorry, and eventually, Will stops feeling sorry for himself. In many ways, Hannibal becomes Will's equal, unmatched in wisdom but on par with wit. The realest relationship Will has ever wanted to keep is already falling apart.
Today, Hannibal insists they study anatomy so that he might improve his hand at drawing. Will buys the excuse because it's what Hannibal is selling, and self-indulgence is slowly winning out over self-preservation.
"Does yours look like this, Mr. Graham?" Hannibal asks brightly. "Or is it bigger?"
Will tries not to breathe with Hannibal in his lap, the paperback splayed in front of them, a diagram of the penis. He shakes his head, focusing on the globe in the back of the room. A textbook has never felt so incredibly obscene. Will doesn't know what to say.
"You're such a good teacher, Mr. Graham." The warmth of Hannibal's thighs conduct like lava through their pants. When he squirms in his lap Will can feel himself being dragged into Hell by his balls. "But you're such a bad person."
The words sting more than they should. "I haven't done anything," Will chokes. "This is educational."
Hannibal squeezes his thighs together and Will feels his cock come to life in his pants for the first time since post-puberty. Will shoves Hannibal from his lap so quickly his knees knock the corner of the desk. Hannibal winces, but Will doesn't apologize.
"You would make a great Father," Hannibal whispers from where he's landed on the tile, dusting his scuffed knees.
Will chokes, trembling from where he's frozen in place. "No." A good father teaches a child right from wrong, not a how-to on succumbing to temptation.
Hannibal appears unphased, bracing his hands on the desk in front of him until he finds his footing. Will realizes this likely isn't the first time an adult has hurt him.
"There are so many bad people out there," Hannibal tells him. "Do you really think you're the worst of them?"
Will does.
The days begin to blur like a panoramic photograph. Weekends are even fuzzier. His life falls in one of two lanes: the time he spends with Hannibal, and the time he spends waiting to be with Hannibal. The former is slowly consuming the latter; hours with the two of them toiling away in a hollow classroom couldn't be better spent.
"Let me come to your place Mr. Graham," Hannibal says conversationally one evening. "I'll be good," he adds. "I promise," he pledges with his right hand raised to God.
Will chuckles, but his shoulders never move. "I'm sure your parents wouldn't like that."
Hannibal looks truly forlorn. "I haven't any parents."
Will's heart is stricken, and he apologizes on autopilot. "I'm so sorry-"
"Just kidding," Hannibal says with a snicker.
Will laughs. Lately he finds himself smiling more often than not. The sun sets in the window while Hannibal tries to court him. It almost feels like a very perfect date.
The guise of tutoring is lost betwixt their natural charisma. Days could pass by like this without Will ever noticing. Maybe they already have. Loathe as he is to admit it, Will plays favorites. Some students are more special to him than others, and then, there is Hannibal.
"Are you scared of monsters, Mr. Graham?" Hannibal asks.
"Are you?" Will raises a brow at Hannibal from across the desk.
Hannibal frowns. "I asked you first," he complains.
"Fair enough," Will relents. "Only my own."
The honesty surprises them both. Hannibal smiles. "I could come over and check under your bed," he offers diplomatically.
Will tries to remember his place in the conversation. "For monsters?"
"Yes." Hannibal kicks his heel softly. "Or are you afraid I'll find you under there?"
The back of Will's chair touches the wall. "Are you implying that I'm the monster?"
Hannibal's grin could crack glass. "Takes one to know one."