[ week one ➝ hannibal ]

[sweats]

[ Tuesday morning finds Will in the kitchen, assuming Hannibal to be somewhere around here. He feels like he should be carrying more concern with him as he goes along but he's not. He feels lighter than he should be, having grown used to the strange people he might bump into at any second, even the woman he seems to be sharing a room yet (though he doesn't quite sleep in their room, taking light naps before sneaking off and loading up on caffeine. This isn't a sustainable option but it's the one he's using right now). He's also not making much of a point to befriend anyone here and he still isn't entirely convinced that this is -- that this is reality. It can't be, can it? If it is, he'll deal with it as he has to but right now, he sticks to his one vaguely anchoring point -- which is Hannibal.

Perhaps he's in a coma, he thinks. That would make quite a lot of sense.

When he spots him, he can't help the involuntary smile he gives before schooling it in something more subdued and he moves forward to pour himself some coffee, coming closer to where Hannibal prepares them breakfast. Them, of course. Since there's been an unspoken agreement to share meals together. He wonders if that's part of the fantasy too -- and what does that say about Will in turn? ]

Hey. You mentioned me to a teenager.

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[sweats]

[ Will wishes for a moment that he had the capacity any longer to mourn the old Will, but he doesn't. He finds himself drawing up empty and feeling nothing but a small bittersweetness at the memory of old. He ends up nodding dimly, lifting his coffee to take a sip as Hannibal plates their food and murmuring quietly -- ]

Will Graham is dead. Long live Will Graham.

[ And there's nothing in him to realize what those words might mean to Hannibal. Instead, it's the end of the topic for now and Will follows Hannibal obediently towards the dining room, feeling his stomach finally feel hunger in the process. He's happy now, to eat with Hannibal and take their meals together in quiet companionship. It feels nice. Deserved, even. ]

-- Ah, mostly keep to myself. I'd rather not look if I can help it, even if it might assist them. It's not... it's not really worth it, is it?

[ That question is even laced with a hinge of insecurity, tone so very close to their old dynamic. Will asking for advice, pleading with Hannibal to provide him some sort of stability while his life crumbled to pieces around him. He doesn't ask things like that anymore -- wouldn't even if he wanted to, but unconsciously he finds himself asking and wondering if neutrality is the right decision. If Hannibal thinks it's the right decision. ]

[sating]

[ Hannibal sets the plate down for each of them, and it's as he takes a seat that he gives his answer casually in how quickly it comes, but his tone is a bit firmer. ]

No. It's not.

[ It's clear that there's more elaboration there, but it has to come after a pause. It's for no reason other than the fact that Hannibal is also hungry, though. After a bite and a rather satisfied sense of soothing his hunger, he looks up to Will. ]

Even if you help, it wouldn't stop this. It would be a wasted effort.