Morgan: 17
Walter: 24
"Smells good," Morgan said as he entered the kitchen of the small flat. He snatched an apple from the basket of fruits that adorned their dark green island counter and he rubbed it on his dress shirt, receiving a disapproving look from Hannibal, though the man didn't say anything. "What are you making?"
"Do you have to ask?" Hannibal questioned, returning to his work.
"You always make turkey for my birthday," Morgan pointed out with a shrug, taking a bite of the apple. It crunched between his teeth and his hand swiftly went to his chin as juice ran down it. "Why?"
"It's your favorite."
Morgan gave a crooked half smile and took another bite of his apple. "Is it just us tonight?"
""Who were you hoping for, kleiner hase?" Hannibal's smile was smug and unbudging causing Morgan to roll his eyes. "Walter couldn't leave school. Finals are coming up. You know how-"
"I know," Morgan grumbled. "It's important that he focuses."
Morgan let out a deep sigh and glanced around the new apartment they had moved into, it still feeling odd and clunky to him. They had been jumping around lately to make sure they weren't being followed again and had finally settled down. Though Morgan didn't care for the apartment much, Edinburgh, Scotland had been a vast improvement and had become one of his favorite places. Though, Germany would always be his favorite.
The apartment sat above a store on the Royal Mile. Down one side of the street was a large castle that loomed in the distance, often overcasted in mist and rain. Up the other side of the street was a massive cathedral that Morgan had forgotten the name of, but he didn't really care what the name of it was. He simply loved to go stand beside it and feel how small he was compared to its spires that clawed through the rain to reach towards a god they were never going to reach.
There were shops, shops, and more shops and bars, bars, and more bars. Mostly touristy places, but there were more odds and ends littered among them. Morgan liked to frequent a creepy witch's store that held onto strange old and new treasures. The one that captivated his attention the most was a book made of human skin.
The pubs were places that he sometimes snuck into with his small group of friends that he had been able to make from the apartment that sat above theirs. He wouldn't ever tell Hannibal or Will, though. Hannibal would have his liver on a platter as a demonstration to show Morgan how badly alcohol affected the organ despite the fact that Hannibal had at least a single glass of wine with dinner.
Every day was busy with tourists and taxis and buses. Sometimes there were bagpipes to wake him from street performers and he enjoyed those days where he could sit in the spare bedroom they had turned into a classroom and look out the window at a mirage of umbrellas outside while his father's soothing voice taught him more about medical procedures or forgeries or sometimes on really rainy days Hannibal would let him read. Sit in the window seat with a book and head against the cool glass of the window.
The kitchen was small. Smaller than any they had owned before hand and it was a spectacle to watch Hannibal try to navigate it, while holding back his complaints. The counters made an L in the corner and beside it was the washer. A single machine that was terribly small and Morgan found himself having to run the dry cycle several times over just to get his sweaters to not be mildewy when they came out.
The living room was also small, though it fit their needs. Two couches and a sitting chair fit comfortably. A coffee table and a nice sized fireplace that was kept going to keep the flat warm. Two large casement windows filled the room with natural light through a diagonal grip that Morgan loved to trace with his fingers.
Three bathrooms and four bedrooms were somehow shoved into a weird and twisting corridor that was thin and dim from only a single light, but Morgan didn't spend much time down there, save for the classroom.
Public schooling had been offered to Morgan, but he had decided against it. He didn't find he needed it. He didn't care about meeting many new people and books were far better company and anyone outside, save for Walter. And Morgan liked being taught by Hannibal, especially since he was about to go into medical school. Hannibal's intellect was invaluable.
"Where is your dad?" Hannibal asked, breaking up the silence and causing Morgan to turn around and lean against the counter with another bite of his apple.
Morgan shrugged. "He went to Loch Ness today," Morgan recalled. "He probably won't be home until after dinner. You know how he gets when he's at the lake. Not to mention it's been raining, so traffic is bound to be a-" Morgan hesitated at Hannibal's warning look and quickly corrected the trajectory of the sentence, "-pain in the neck."
How had Walter always gotten away with swearing? He had never been scolded for it all while it was drilled into Morgan's head that swearing was lazy and uncultured. Morgan despised the way he was held at such a different standard than the boy who was away finishing up school to be a university professor.
The profession was tame for what Morgan thought Walter would aim for. Morgan had always seen Walter as the daring one, the one who liked the challenge, who made his life hard on purpose just so he would have something fun to do.
After his broken leg, Morgan had watched Walter dig himself into his soccer. He played so often that Morgan could still hear the ball being kicked against the wall in his room deep into the night while he watched.
Walter had played on multiple teams. Rec and comp until he hit high school and made the team. And Morgan attended every game, sometimes practices if he had nothing else to do. And there were days of the week where Walter was gone as soon as school was out, going from practice to practice. Saturdays had consisted of two or three games until high school. But Walter always asked for Morgan to come and so he did and he made sure to record the games so that they could still watch them, even if they hadn't been able to physically attend.
It was mutually understood that it wasn't the fact that Will and Hannibal didn't want to be there, they just had to limit how often they were in public. But they were always ready to be gathered around Morgan's phone when they got home.
And when he came home, Walter did his homework without fail no matter how tired he was. Then it was chores and hand to hand with Morgan, though Morgan was able to take down Walter far more easily on days where Walter did have practice. Morgan wanted to believe that he was getting better, but he chalked it up to Walter being too burnt out.
Morgan had watched Walter work hard in school as well, creating more unnecessary challenges and somehow having the energy between soccer and fights at school to graduate a year early. Hannibal had helped when asked and Morgan had been on the video calls on long and late nights when Walter did more work than he needed to.
And then as soon as high school was done, Walter had been whisked away with a sports scholarship and stayed in Italy while Morgan continued to move away again and again and again, unable to go to any more of Walter's games. The video calls had become less and less until there weren't any at all, the night apart making it nearly impossible for Morgan to sleep. It got easier the longer they were apart, but Morgan couldn't remember any night being restful in the last seven years.
And now, this was where they were. Walter was nearly done with his doctorates in mathematical statistics and probability and his teaching license. Or at least that was the last thing Walter had told Morgan he was studying. But the last time the boys had spoken was when Walter had a nervous breakdown and called Morgan, wasted at a party, saying he was going to quit school and play sports professionally as he had been offered a position on a team.
But as far as Morgan knew, the older boy had turned down the position. Or at least that's what he had overheard Will say in a conversation that Morgan wasn't meant to be privy to. Walter had a teaching position at his own alma mater if he so wanted it. Top of his class and all that.
"Do you like rosemary, kleiner hase?"
Morgan blinked as he was yanked from his thought and shook his head to clear it. He looked up at Hannibal who had more wrinkles across his face with his age, most of them smile lines and crinkles around his eyes. His hair was nearly all grey now and he wore glasses when he wanted to read, though never in front of Morgan.
Hannibal simply held the texts closer to his face in class. Morgan was more than well aware of how much Hannibal despised having his body deteriorate on him, not that glasses were all that big of a deal. Will had been wearing glasses as long as Morgan had known the man and Will didn't seem too bogged down by them, but Hannibal... Hannibal had been in a rut for months after being forced to get a pair by Will.
"You know I don't like rosemary," Morgan replied with a tip of his head, unsure where Hannibal's question had come from until it finally clicked. He had missed something. "I'm sorry. What did you say before that?"
"Have you thought about which school you would like to go to? You graduate next year."
Morgan chewed on his bottom lip and gave a shrug, before throwing away his apple core that had made his fingers sticky. "I was looking at John Hoppkins," Morgan replied softly, more feeling than seeing Hannibal's eyes jump to his face, obviously disapproving of the idea. "I want to see Baltimore again. And you went there."
"I would advise against it."
Morgan gave a small nod, fingers tapping on the counter. "I could always go to Harvard, or Stanford, I guess. We could afford it."
"You could get a scholarship like your brother. Personal success is a far better accomplishment than your dad and I handing you things."
"He's not my brother," Morgan grumbled, pushing away from the counter and heading to the pantry, pulling it open boredly and looking through it. "And I'm not exceptionally good at anything. Not anything to get me a full ride like Wally."
"You do not have to play a sport to get a scholarship," Hannibal pointed out as he washed some cranberries off in the sink before adding them to a pot on the stove. "And do not touch that Cognac. I've seen you eyeing it."
Morgan groaned, head falling back. "Why can't I drink yet?"
"You're not old enough."
"I'm seventeen," Morgan shot back.
"Barely," Hannibal answered with a small laugh. "Next year, kleiner hase. We will have whatever you would like to try." Clamouring footsteps outside of the door on the staircase pulled Morgan from the pantry curiously. "That might be your dad."
Morgan frowned at the implication that multiple sets of feet brought. "Did he bring home Oliver again?"
"It would be rude if he brought that man by again. His company is disagreeable at best."
The door was struggling to be unlocked and Morgan decided to help it along. He unlocked the door and opened it up. There was a rush of a person and Morgan was snatched from his feet and thrown over someone's shoulder with surprising ease.
"Happy birthday!" a voice said as Morgan was spun around, the floor dizzying.
Morgan's hands clutched at the fabric of a dark shirt for balance and he laughed, chest warm as realization set in. "Put me down, Wally." Morgan was lowered to his feet, but pulled into a headlock, knuckles being rubbed into his hair and messing it up. "Wally!" Morgan gave another laugh, lightly pushing at Walter's grip, but not doing much more to get out of it. "What are you doing here?"
"It's your birthday, Einstein. Why would I miss that?" Walter's grip loosened on a hard pull from Morgan, the momentum sending Morgan tumbling to the floor. Walter chuckled and held out a hand that Morgan took with a bright smile. He was pulled to his feet, finally face to face with Walter.
Morgan's eyes roamed the stranger who brought a warmth into the house, blocking out the rain that was outside. Walter had a lean shape and well-defined muscles under the t-shirt he wore. Long legs, powerful thighs under his shorts. Athletic and strong. And hands that were gentle in everything they did despite the disastrous things Morgan had seen them do in the past; the white scar in his palm was one such indicator. But what struck Morgan the most were the black gauges in Walter's ears and how much of Walter was decorated with ink that hadn't been there the last time Morgan had seen him.
"When did you get all this done?" Morgan asked, tipping his head to the side as he tried to pick apart the details on a sleeve and then some random patchwork art on his legs. From what was visible from under the shirt sleeve that obviously carried higher, Morgan's eyes wandered a cuff of intricate geometric patterns that were sharp and forcefully angled.
Below it looked like the striped roof of a circus tent whose stripes turned into fingers that gripped the top of a cracking skull with hollowed eyes, giving it a menacing appearance. Abstract shapes and lines weaved down Walter's arm, creating a sense of movement and energy until it reached the top of his hand that had a delicate pattern of violently edged flower petals that Morgan realized were made of knives.
The opposite wrist held a series of intricate symbols and runes etched into the skin, each one carefully crafted with precise lines. The symbols seemed ancient and mysterious, hinting at hidden meanings that Morgan wished to know the meaning behind.
His legs were painted similar designs that continued the theme. Smaller, bold tattoos, each one a standalone piece but still part of the overall aesthetic. Geometric shapes and abstract patterns blending with more traditional imagery.
"Here and there. I can show you later," Walter answered, a strong hand ruffling Morgan's hair and Morgan laughed again, pushing Walter's hand away. "Tonight is about you."
"I thought you had finals to study for." Morgan's smile didn't dim as he blindly tried to fix his hair that had grown out a little from the last time that Walter had seen him.
Morgan was a little less put together than Walter remembered him being, but he supposed that they both changed in the time they were apart. He still wore a dress shirt and pants, but there was no stupid sweater vest or tie and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, top few buttons undone. Something more relaxed and it was nice to see it from the kid.
"Aren't they this week?"
"Next week," Walter corrected with a shrug. "I can afford to let up on studying, I'm going to pass just fine. They're nothing I don't already know. Plus, your birthday is far more important than some stupid tests."
Morgan's heart about broke at the idea of tests that were deciding Walter's future as being considered stupid. "Don't say that."
"You can't put the books away, can you?" Walter scolded with a playful smile. "Always stuck in school mode." Walter's index finger tapped against Morgan's temple. Morgan swatted at the hand. "Oh, Einstein," Walter said in a forgetful way, breaking their gaze to turn around. "You remember Isotta."
Morgan had been so caught up in his reunion that he had failed to recognize anyone else stepping into the apartment. His eyes fell on a woman that Walter took the hand of and pulled closer. She was a plain thing, nothing much to look at, Morgan noted. Something logical for Walter to keep around for appearances. Dark hair that looked like pencil lead and dull blue eyes that held no life in them. A drawn mouth that looked like frowning was its favorite habit.
Normally Morgan forgot the names of the women that Walter brought home, a new person dragged along behind Walter every time he came to visit. Never the same one twice. All women of the same type. Dull, able to blend in, hid him in society the way he needed to be hidden if anyone was looking for him. But this girl was different. Walter had never brought the same person home twice and something heavy dropped in Morgan's chest as the awareness set in.
This meant something. She meant more than the others. Walter was just getting serious with someone. It wasn't that big of a deal. And maybe Walter did care for the girl, though Morgan doubted it. Relationships were not something that either of them dealt in. Or at least, that was how Walter had been before university. Maybe Walter did more than deal with relationships. Morgan silently came to the conclusion that Walter was most likely far more experienced than the poor introvert who had hoped to see only Walter today.
Morgan's insides turned hot and he did his best not to frown. Was he jealous? No. That wasn't it. Maybe he was just getting sick.
"È bello rivederti, Isolde," (It's good to see you again, Isolde,) Morgan greeted, holding out his hand to her. She took his grip with a single flimsy shake and seized her hand back. Morgan's eyes flickered up to Walter's face where a flash of an expression was there and then gone before Morgan could exactly place it.
"Your Italian is very good," the woman said, accent thick and English difficult to understand. Her arm wrapped around Walter's middle, pulling him closer, as if claiming him. Morgan's muscles tensed and he inhaled deeply, plastering a smile on his face. "But it is Isotta, not Isolde."
"Grazie," Morgan muttered dully, not caring about the name correction. He moved past Walter and to the island where his parents were sharing frequent kisses while they worked on dinner together. Will had improved greatly over the years, though he still burned the bacon and left shells in the eggs sometimes. "You both knew, didn't you?" Morgan asked as he leaned up against the island to watch his parents work.
"First birthday present of the night," Will replied with a smug smile.
"You didn't even go out to the lake, did you?" Morgan asked, the feeling of being offended softening quickly when a hand rested on his hip, Walter's thumb infuriatingly gentle as it rubbed into the fabric of his shirt. "You spent the day in Venezia without me. That's not very nice."
"You had studies to attend to," Hannibal reminded, pointing to Morgan with the knife he held. "And we discussed this. No trips until summer break. You have finals to worry about as well."
"Wally didn't-"
"You can visit me when you're done," Walter assured, once more messing with Morgan's hair. Morgan smacked his hand away with a frown and Walter chuckled. "You haven't changed, Einstein."
"One of us had to stay the same," Morgan whispered, swiftly moving on before Walter had a chance to ask what was meant. "I can come see you?" Morgan hated the way the hope of visiting Walter turned to irritation at the girl still curled into Walter's side.
"We can take a gondola ride under the Ponte di Rialto and then-"
"Could we see the Ca' Rezzonico?" Morgan interrupted, eyes bright with the idea.
Walter gave a faux frown. "I don't know what you like so much about that stuffy old building."
"It is the perfect representation of Venetian life in the Rococo period," Morgan defended. "Do you have any idea how long ago that building was built? It was made in-"
"-1660 by Baldassare Longhena, the greatest Baroque architect in Venezia," Walter said mockingly over the top of Morgan with a small smile. "You only talk about it every time we mention Italy." Morgan could feel a slight blush come to his cheeks at the realization that Walter actually listened to his rantings about Italian architecture. Cared enough to remember what he liked. "Though, I don't know why that one impresses you when we can see St. Mark's Basilica that was built in-"
"1092," Morgan muttered with a small nod. "You know I am not one for religious relics."
"You'd still come with me to Vatican City if I offered."
"There's more there than religious things to look at there," Morgan clarified. Walter gave a huff of laughter and once more messed with Morgan's hair. "Stop that," Morgan ordered, hitting at Walter's hand again.
Walter stopped and sniffed the air as Hannibal set the food on the island, everything sitting proudly and steaming hot. "That smells so good," Walter complimented. "I've missed your cooking." He leaned over to place a kiss to the neglected girl's cheek. "Non ha un buon odore?" (Doesn't it smell good?) he asked Isotta who gave a small nod but didn't look impressed.
"Speaking of smells," Hannibal said as he began plating the first dish, red eyes flicking up to Walter disapprovingly. "Do we need to discuss your new habit?"
Morgan glanced sideways at Walter and smelt at the air, unable to find anything over the herbs that had been used. But Hannibal had always had an amazing sense of smell. He had been able to tell when Morgan snuck out one time simply because of the smell of his shirt when Hannibal had done laundry. Morgan had been grounded to being outside instead of holed up in his room with his books, being outside far more of a punishment.
"It's nothing," Walter defended with a frown. "I can stop no problem. It's just to help with the stress of finals. I'm quitting as soon as they're over."
"You smoke?" Will asked, voice dark.
"It was like one pack," Walter said with a shrug, brow furrowed with a slight bit of anger.
Morgan could see Isotta shift uncomfortably at the argument that was starting. Hannibal stepped around the island and Morgan pulled out of Walter's grip and out of Hannibal's way. Hannibal wasn't shy as he reached into Walter's pockets and emptied them onto the counter, no protest from Walter, though he made a show of rolling his eyes.
Wallet, keys, headphones, phone, pack of cigarettes littered the counter.
"I'm old enough to smoke if I want to," Walter grumbled, reaching out for his things, but Hannibal snatched up the pack of cigarettes and gave Walter a warning look. "Give them back."
"You can stop no problem?" Will challenged, arms folded over his chest.
Walter sighed and Morgan blinked curiously at how Walter had given up the fight. Morgan wasn't sure he had ever seen Walter not throw a few punches even over the stupidest, smallest things. To see him back down so quickly was strange.
Hannibal took the confiscated pack and pulled a new knife from a knife block, a cleaver with a large blade. He put the pack onto a cutting board and the cleaver came down with a sound so loud that it made everyone in the room but Will jump. The pack was split in half and Morgan thought the act a little dramatic, but everything, the pack, the knife and the cutting board were thrown into the trash with a loud thud, just to make sure the point got across.
"So, Isotta," Will said in an attempt to lighten the mood as Hannibal went back to plating. The room slowly set back into a nicer atmosphere as Walter shoved his things back into his short's pockets "Walter has told us that you are going into teaching as well. What are you wanting to teach?" Isotta smiled, much to Morgan's surprise.
"How do you say, um, letteratura per bambini?" she asked, everyone in the room clearly able to understand what she wanted to say, but Walter gave a smile and whispered the answer in her ear. She gave a small nod. "Children's literature," she repeated.
Morgan felt the snapped retort on his tongue before he could stop it. "So you read picture books all day?"
Walter's hand quickly went to the back of Morgan's head and his finger's tangled into Morgan's locks warningly before gently caressing the back of his head and teasingly shoved Morgan's head forward. The action was so fluid, Morgan doubted that anyone but him would have noticed the way that Walter's fingers seemed to linger in his locks.
"She wants to teach children to read," Walter clarified, shooting Morgan a toothy smile as Morgan glared.
"You like children?" Will asked, leaning over onto the counter before being gently pushed out of the way by Hannibal.
"Boys, will you please set the table?" Hannibal asked, placing a kiss to Will's temple before letting Will lean back against the counter.
"I adore children," Isotta said, her hands clapping together in a way that made her look like a saint and Morgan just hated her even more. Was hate the right word? He didn't really know her, but he had always thought himself a decent judge of character. Yes. Hate was the right word. "I can't wait to have some of my own. A darling blonde girl and a messy little boy."
Morgan froze, eyes on Isotta. His sleeve was tugged and his eyes snapped back to Walter who nodded at Morgan to help him set the table, not knowing where anything was located in the apartment. Morgan bit his tongue and went to one of the cupboards, opening it and pulling a stack of plates free before shoving them into Walter's waiting hands.
Will gave a chuckle. "It sounds like you have it all figured out."
Morgan fetched several wine glasses and a normal cup, knowing he wasn't going to be allowed near anything that Hannibal paired with the meal. Morgan was reaching for the last wine glass when Isotta's answer reached him.
"Walter and I have been discussing it."
Morgan's hand slipped on the glass and it dropped, shattering on the floor and causing the room to go silent. Morgan could only stare at the backsplash on the wall, waiting for his father's complaints and scolding to come at him for ruining a Waterford crystal glass that would require a trip to Ireland to replace, but no such remark came.
Instead, Morgan's arms were snatched up by Walter's concerned hands and he looked up to those brown eyes that held the golden rays of a setting sun in them. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice dripping with unease. Morgan gave a nod and Walter grinned, though it seemed forced. He rubbed at Morgan's head again and Morgan let him. "Be more careful, Einstein. Those are expensive." Morgan gave another absent nod and stepped over the glass to go get the broom to clean up.
"Things between the two of you are serious then," Will said, pulling Isotta's attention back to him. Morgan did his best to ignore her nod in answer.
"We were discussing..." she trailed off, head tipping side to side as she thought.
"Matrimonio?" Will offered and Morgan's gut clenched painfully.
"Ah, si. Conosci anche l'italiano?" she asked happily.
God, Morgan hated her. Wanted her to stop talking. The glass clinked as he swept it up and he had never wanted to slash someone's throat with broken crystal so badly before in his life than he did right now.
He threw it away over the top of Walter's cigarettes before returning the broom to its home, listening to the easy Italian chatter the Morgan wished he had never been forced to learn and understand.
He didn't want to know about how she wanted her wedding colors to be white and a ridiculous cherry blossom pink because the pink would go with Walter's complexion so beautifully. He didn't want to know that she wanted to name her kids Elio and Marzia. He didn't want to know how Walter had been looking for rings.
Though he was curious if the girl knew about all of Walter's other partners. Every week there was a new girl that Morgan knew about. And Morgan was more than certain that Walter had slept with all of them, some of them in between the last time Morgan had seen Isotta and now. And not even that really bothered Morgan. It was that she was sticking her claws in him, claiming something that wasn't hers.
Not that Walter belonged to Morgan in any sense, but Morgan knew Walter better. They had been together since Morgan could remember. Walter hadn't always liked him, but they had become friends over time. Close friends when they moved to Venezia and Walter went to normal school. And Walter had always been so kind to him. It felt wrong that that kindness was now being passed onto someone else. Someone Morgan didn't want around, but would have to deal with if he wanted to see Walter.