[ week six ➝ hannibal ]

[sweats]

[ Will dies by Percy's sword and there is nothing more fitting when it comes to his entire experience here. There is nothing else Will could have wanted more than that.

But then he wakes in a room on a train, jerking upwards and scrambling back to grab the sheets on top of him. He is -- he is clean. He is blood free and his hair is shorter and his beard is lighter. He is in a white shirt and black slacks and his heart is pounding because he smells the ocean again.

Then, the memories come flooding back and he feels himself choke, a hand moving up to cover his mouth as his eyes dart around wildly and his knees slowly pull to his chest. Hannibal, he thinks, must be out there but all he can do is listen to the screaming static in his brain as his eyes cloud over and overflow with heavy tears. He moves his arms to curl around his legs and his fingers dig into his own knees through the fabric and oh -- oh, he begins to sob.

It's been so long since he cried, he nearly forgot what a relief it was to do so. ]

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[sweats]

[ The cycle will continue is the terrible reality of it. Right now, Will shatters from the inside and feels pain at the atrocities he's committed, at the betrayal he has wrought, and yet there is no real blame for Hannibal and his influence in it. There is only relief in having him here again, with him. The pain is so damaging to Will in a sense, because Hannibal was not there to guide him through it.

Will has loved killing in the past, has reveled in the destruction, has felt a great mighty feeling at letting blood spill. It's a dangerous thing, feeling your fingers slick with it. The real problem with it here, the reason Will feels as he does -- is that Hannibal was not there with him. There was always a way back to him after it all, either with Randall Tier's body on Hannibal's dining room table or in a loving embrace after the Dragon was slain.

There was no embrace here, no one to wrap his knuckles and pull him back from where he went. There was also no certainty he'd find his way back to Hannibal. If they'd vote for him even if he asked. So, there was only Natalie. It was a cold, terrifying thing, being alone with his actions again. He couldn't bear it.

And now, he is so, so very tired. He ends up sinking downwards, pulling Hannibal along with him onto the bed. Still wrapped with him, taking comfort from Hannibal as he can get it, and with the kiss, it finally has Will closing his eyes as the last bit of tension eases out of him.

Hannibal's question has him wondering. Would he forget? Would he forget what he's learned of Hannibal and himself here? Would he forget Chane, so loyal and so interesting in her silence? Would he forget Percy, the hero who slayed him, the monster? He's not sure he wants to but oh, it hurts. The experience hurts. ]

I don't know. I feel too tired to think, slow like molasses and numb from existing. I don't know if I can safely make that decision right now, even with the want for it.

[ And then he pauses before giving a huff of laughter, wry. ]

And I'm not sure I trust you to either.

[sating]

[ Will's weight guides them both back, and Hannibal barely shifts in his embrace. He only moves so that it's more comfortable for them both, as he doesn't want to be apart from Will anymore than Will himself does. He may have waited here patiently, certainly not tortured by what he had (or hadn't) down in the town, but he's still happy to be here. It might be a contrast to Will's misery, but he doesn't worry about it. He knows Will would understand, and that understanding is an almost physical thing as he relaxes. ]

Then do not. Let your mind wade into the waters of your conciousness and drift away with the current. I will watch and wait on the shore, as I always do. As I always have.

[ Hannibal sighs, and it's a soft sound as he relaxes too. It's perhaps the first time he's relaxed fully in a few weeks, he thinks, because there is something quite freeing about death. There is no more need to be anything but who—what—he is, because even in their moments of privacy, there was always that idea in the back of his head about what he might do next. It didn't matter at all now. All that was left was Percy. Like Dante, he had been lead to see the Devil, so all that remained was to cross the final river and emerge to finally see the stars again, enlightened and triumphant.

...Though he can't let that wry comment go without one of his own. He smiles, and close as they are, Will would probably even feel it. It says a lot about the two of them and how far they've come that this event was a joke now, as if it were a normal part of courtship. It was certainly "normal" for theirs. ]

It is not unfair. So I will not make the decision for you this time. I promise.

[sweats]

[ Just like that, Will feels a peace stir within him again. He's finding his balance again, here with Hannibal. It's almost sickening, how terrible the last few days made him feel and then how easy they melt away again when reunited. It isn't as if he's oblivious to the fact that the blame for all of this can solely be placed on Hannibal's shoulders -- it's just that, it doesn't really matter to him anymore that it can. All of Hannibal's deeds are his own, and the same in reverse.

Hannibal's words soothe him in a way no one else can and he lifts his head then from where he was resting to look at Hannibal again, properly now that they're reunited. The last time he saw him, there was blood and he was unnaturally still, cold to touch. Now, he's warm and soft under Will and his eyes shine with amusement, with love. Will smiles back, the smile stretching at Hannibal's promise, and this is what he ached for -- this reunion.

He lifts a hand then to wipe the wetness from his eyes with a sleeve and leans forward a moment later to press his mouth to Hannibal's in a firm kiss. He would prefer to stay like this, he thinks, to stay here in their quiet moment together. The rest of the train has regrets and betrayal seeped into the walls of it and he does not quite want to face them yet. Instead, he savors Hannibal, the reunion of the two of them and the marvel that he could not stand three days after three years.

When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead to Hannibal's and his eyes take in his face, every tiny expression or emotion in his eyes. After a moment, Will gives a small sigh, a tired acceptance. ]

I love you. [ A pause after and he continues, quiet and soft. ] I've said it to others and with company, but I haven't yet said it to you. I guess it was easier to state plainly rather than face the acknowledgement of it between us.

But we've both died now, haven't we? So, there's no benefit in not voicing it and I want you to know. I love you back.

[sating]

[ He would stay here too, he thinks.

The kiss is just as pleasantly unexpected as it has been before, because even after a few weeks of deciding that what they have is something romantic, it feels like it'll be a surprise for a while. Having his love reciprocated is just such a warm, pleasant feeling that he doesn't even mind if it continued to be a surprise. The hesitation is only momentary, a beat more than anything else, but he kisses Will back briefly before he pulls back. Even for that moment, the appreciation and affection he feels is clear in his kiss.

But that's hardly anything compared to that incredibly straightforward declaration. It's not quite a confession, since Will is right. It's already been said, and they've already understood it. It almost hadn't needed to be said, because the love was always clear between the lines of their conversations, of their gestures, of everything they had finally accepted themselves to be. There was never any doubt of this for Hannibal once Will had helped him escape, but still—

His vision blurs, because the swell of emotion that comes with it is immediate. He was admittedly always more emotional when it came to Will, as he was one of the few to be able to pull this kind of reaction from him, and even though his soul is laid bare in all in front of Will, he still finds himself closing his eyes as if to hide it. Bashful isn't exactly a word you could use to describe Hannibal, but he feels the intensity of how Will is looking at him all the same. Even so, he's not bothered. He smiles, and it's easy and happy. ]

Is it too much to say "I know"?

[ Though even that comment is teasing, and Hannibal reaches up to cup Will's face in his hands as he opens his eyes again. Truly, he's here only in this moment, and he would be perfectly happy if this were it. He doesn't kiss Will again, not yet, since he's happy with the two of them like this for now. ]

You've killed for me, and we've died for each other. What more could I want than that?

[ With that said, he kisses Will himself. It's not as firm as Will's kiss had been, but it's deep and romantic. Again, appreciation and fondness rolls off him like something almost physical, but between a breath, he does say one more thing: ]

And I love you— It is why we will always find our way back to each other.

ok calm down gone girl

[sweats]

[ This is a satisfying conclusion as far as Will is concerned. Hannibal's burst of emotion, the smile on his face, the pleasant giddy feeling hanging in the air -- it clears the rest of the shadows hanging out of his mind and in reaction, Will matches his smile. His regret over Natalie, his confusion over Percy the entire experience melts away because this. This, here, with Hannibal, in the swell of his love, this is all Will wants.

Unlike in town, where the ability to feel hung in the air to a point where Will could barely breathe with it -- here it's settled, back to normal. He sees the emotion on Hannibal's face rather than feels it, has to reach out a bit more to feel it himself and the warmth soothes him, makes him feel pleasant all over. As Hannibal cups his face, Will lifts his own hands to curl around his wrists, tilts his face to press a kiss to his palm. It's almost too easy to express the affection he has, almost absurd how he can just relieve it through soft kisses and light touches.

Once again, Chiyoh's voice rings out in his head. There are other means of influence than violence. He feels the urge to thank her for this every day and he is sure that when the return to the land of the living, he will have that choice. She is truly Cerberus in how she waits at the gates for Hannibal to return.

He isn't sure what to say in response, isn't sure what type of response would match Hannibal's declaration as much as he wants to. All he can think is -- of course, of course he would because the need for Hannibal is always going to be lurking in his subconscious. He knew it, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it, when he accepted Jack's offer to chase after the Dragon.

So, he says nothing and instead sinks into Hannibal's kiss. He feels the love down to his marrow and slides his hands away from Hannibal's wrists to clutch at his shoulders as he kisses. And kisses. And kisses. And keeps kissing. Of course, the kisses will grow more amorous as they go and there's no want in Will to stop it -- to put a pause on them -- because well, they're dead, aren't they? There's no pressure to do anything else here than indulge and after all of this, indulging in Hannibal seems like a good enough reward to him. ]