The days began to blur under the shining sun, each morning floating away on the breeze, the nights glistening among the stars and vanishing when the morning came. Hannibal had let his needs that flashed to the front at breakfast fade to the background again and he now knew what he should do for both his and Will's sake. A routine is established in the days that passed them by. Breakfast at the same nook they visited before. A quick detour to walk along the pier. Hannibal walks Will home, allowing him time to himself. Lunch is spent apart. Several hours later, Hannibal brings home fresh groceries to make dinner and goes right to the kitchen. Will doesn't come down until Hannibal is placing the food on the plates and they eat together. Evenings were spent together as Hannibal would read or draw and Will would tinker or read, sitting in the chair by the window, facing away from the front door. They both go to bed when the stars fill the sky.
Morning, breakfast together. Night, spent together. Hannibal uses this time to slowly get closer. A step closer when passing Will his plate for dinner, eyes wide in response. Hannibal walks past and sits at their modest table. A secret shared. Hannibal had paused his drawing efforts to look up at Will reading in his usual spot. Wanting to bridge the divide between them, he whispered.
"I miss the killing." Will's hand froze in the middle of turning a page, fluttering back to its original place as he looked up to catch Hannibal's gaze. A quiet exhale, almost missed. "I miss what we were."
Will felt as if the air had left his lungs, the room. The weight of this truth, this secret hitting him before he could think to take his next breath, before his lungs screamed with fire for air. He felt it in Hannibal's eyes, his gaze. He wanted it back. No words passed his lips. He kept everything he thought, everything he felt buried underneath the mask of innocence, of harmlessness.
Hannibal knew too much of Will to believe the front he showed. Leaving the chair he occupied, Hannibal paced the length of the room ending behind Will's chair. Placing his hand on the back of the chair, fingertips brushing the back of Will's neck, sending shivers down his spine, settling in his stomach. Hannibal's breath caressed his ear.
"I know you feel it too. I can wait until you tell me." The words climbed their way up Will's throat but couldn't fight their way past his closed mouth. He jerked his head infinitesimally toward Hannibal. Breath whispered against his face. "Goodnight, Will."
Hannibal left Will sitting in that chair, chest heaving once he was alone. Book abandoned, Will dropped his head to his hands, fingers weaving into his hair. He felt the danger rumbling underneath his skin, the mongoose as Hannibal called him, the predator just behind the steel veil that he holds in place as an armor, a protection, a shield. Hannibal and his words pierced into it tonight. If he wasn't careful, would it come tumbling down?
Hannibal sat on the edge of his bed, playing the events of the night over in his head. He played his part perfectly. Now, Will needs to play his part. How long until he breaks?