He thought it would feel different.
Hannibal stood before him, beholden to none, ominously alive; still suave, roguishly sophisticated without having to put forth the slightest effort. Looking into the eyes of the Devil himself was no easy feat. It was in his night-dark gaze: the slight hint of regret shuttering the love Will thought would have been long since gone; yet it lingered there, assaulting his hardened mind like a blow to the heart.
Here was the ghost of his past, the specter of his nightmares and day terrors - the reaper of vengeance. Here was the man who haunted his memories and murdered his hopes. Instead of the cool detachment he had recently integrated into his personality, Will felt far more more ambivalent than he had initially conjectured possible. Though he had trained his mind for this moment, it took unwavering mental strength to withstand the natural magnetism that still existed between them. Hannibal was the tide; Will was the water: their dance was inevitable.
Abruptly, the deep scar in his abdomen, courtesy of Hannibal's bloody violation of his body, ached. The once-fisherman - now hunter - quelled the storm of mixed emotions brewing in his blood. Swallowing his distaste took great effort. The monster who had abducted his sanity; the man who had siphoned his love a few drops at a time - until his thirst for vicious acts of deliberate deception was fully sated - stood just out of reach. Cheeks flushed in anticipation, Will licked his lips like a lion licks its chops.
I see you. His smile was one of cold calculation. Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on his prey, and went for the kill.