Will Graham's Insightful Profile of Hannibal Lecter

Machine Translated by Google
The Sweet World of Will Graham

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40858203.
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: Hannibal (TV)
Relationship: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will
Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal
lecter
character: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, abigail hobbs
Other Tags: Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal
Lecter, Sassy Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, POV Will Graham, Top
Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Hannibal
Lecter, Possessive Will Graham, will graham has TEA, Autism
Spectrum, Dark Will Graham, Will Graham father of Abigail, Slow Burn,
Slow Build, Funny, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Will Graham
Loves Dogs, Hannibal Lecter is Patient, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal,
Abigail Hobbs Lives, Lesbian Abigail Hobbs, Possessive Matthew
Brown (Hannibal), Jack Crawford Being Jack Crawford, Jack Crawford
Being an Asshole, Alana Bloom Bashing, Mentioned Bedelia Du
Maurier, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Jealous Will Graham, Jealous
Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Frottage,
Murder Family
Language: Spanish
Stats: Published: 2022-08-07 Chapters: 25/30 Words: 112216
The Sweet World of Will Graham

by Yales_Reed
Summary
"Hannibal Lecter does all kinds of therapy, although his favorites are always the depressive
and anxiety sessions.
He does not expect to receive an intelligent and withdrawn girl soon accompanied by a
peculiar father, who he cannot forget. Father and daughter now live in Doctor Lecter's mind,
like aged wine, waiting to be consumed."
A story where Hannibal is still a psychiatrist and the ripper, while Will is still an FBI profiler
and single father, only Will is diagnosed with High-Functioning Asperger's and Abigail is
his teenage daughter.
notes
Warning: Will Graham in this story is a man diagnosed with Asperger's

High Functioning plus, he's a single father to a smart but withdrawn teenager
named Abigail. They are a small family, they do not need anyone else. Until Abigail
turns into a rebellious teenager. There is typical violence of the canon, as eventually
adult content. This fanfic is a long fanfic (over 100K) that I've written on long sleepless
nights, with my mind attached to Hannibal, more than I'd like to admit. I hope you enjoy
the story and join me in your comments.
i know will
The couches in the office were aged leather, squared, nicely padded, black to the naked eye, but jet-
hued to his good eye, though to Hannibal, it was clearly ebony, so far from jet, in all its splendor.
Undoubtedly, of an overwhelming and accurate darkness, an absorber of emotions par excellence.
Ebony was thick but not judicious, dull but deep, textured obsolete to the mean, but pure to the stalker's
appreciation, Hannibal adored the color ebony.
Sad the world in which he had to live, unable to distinguish colors.
The piece of furniture, ebony more than the ebony itself, was a deceitful home for the helpless, lost in the
incessant search for refuge, who found in the color of the piece of furniture a possessive, adherent and
unhealthy path towards him, making the simple contraption, where They were resting, the beginning of an
endless therapy, just the beginning of a story with Hannibal as therapist: — What brought you here today?
— The patient inadvertently caresses the piece of furniture, he does not know that ebony is the beginning of
a perennial darkness.
Hannibal does not care about the good that the patient seeks, but what he thinks is convenient and oh!
Woe to the man who comes to him! Because ebony is the beginning, but also the end.
"Welcome Will.
— Good afternoon Dr. Lecter.
The boy, he can call him a boy, although they are barely twelve years apart, does not stop to look at
the books, which is the first thing new people notice, nor does he sit down, much less look at them. -
I'm not here for me. — It seems that Hannibal cares little or nothing, who is also little or nothing interested
in his last date of the night, he is just tired of wearing the suit of a person, in a hurry to run home, behind
oak doors, much lighter, to be yourself.
But he has to pretend to be someone else during the day, to be who he really was at night, so he accepts
the appointment with the FBI profiler, very famous among the gossip of psychiatric and psychological
circles, Alana Bloom could almost vibrate when he spoke. of him, to continue covering his normality.
Hannibal was sure it would take less than two minutes to spot the charlatan, a minute to disarm him. He
chose to remain silent, as he would when hunting a somewhat complicated game, but not different from the
others.
However, Will doesn't look at him and that's a problem, because his main ability can only shine when reading
eyes and Hannibal is suddenly more than annoyed, because the profiler rather touches his furniture but
doesn't sit there. — I have a daughter, Abigail, fourteen years and four months old, with a complicated
personality, not very predictable, according to the standards of her age, but bordering on the
boundaries.
— You are willing to leave your daughter in my hands, but not yourself.
"You won't like to psychoanalyze me, Doctor." — The boy followed the curve of the chair, very attentive to its
texture, thought the doctor, still reluctant to raise his eyes.
Hannibal had chosen his chairs meticulously three years ago, when he renovated his office, ready to take
root in Baltimore forever, certain that if he had to see a chair in front of him, to the last of his days, it would be
ebony, because he loved it. he remembered Misha and Misha reminded him of the darkness he came out of, to
which he wanted to make everyone go.
Of course, no boring, neurasthenic and depressive patient had taken even five seconds to see, to take the trouble,
never ever to assess the color of the property and only devastatingly crushed its comfort, ignoring the hours and
the investigation in which Hannibal it had had to drown to balance the rest of the place, with the main chairs that
inhabited it.
Did anyone notice what ebony highlighted in the passionate union of Walnut and Palo Santo in his library? Did
they distinguish their vibration? Or, perhaps, did they notice its boisterous silence in the face of such a marriage
of woods that supported it as a base, brought from the end of the world, only to meet ebony and melt forever into
the aesthetics of their paradise?
No, Hannibal growled slightly when he passed his hand over the tie that colored his suit, they just wanted to cry
because mom and dad hadn't loved them as children, they didn't want to lose themselves with him. Well, Hannibal
didn't want them around either.
Hannibal was just curious.
That's when he remembered his sweetest consolation: Hannibal preferred that no one knew about ebony,
Palos Santos and Nogales, much less what it meant for a place to have a personality... Because Hannibal
didn't need anyone, because he didn't want to. .
Because if there were someone who knew ebony, Hannibal would have to open his brain, to learn what other delight
there was in regard to knowledge and consume it later, to absorb the scarce perception in the world, to accumulate
it as a reminder that someone like that existed, besides of the. But with which I could not coexist, because
authenticity was always the best.
— Ebony. the man whispered.
- Excuse me?
— Its armchairs are ebony in color, easy to confuse with jet, but it is undoubtedly ebony.
— I think it's jet, it can shine with the office light, it doesn't go out.
The boy seemed to smile haughtily, although Hannibal, now breathless, couldn't be sure. — Definitely
ebony, it doesn't shine, it swarms as a reflection... if he wanted jet, they tricked him and left him looking like
a fool.
The doctor laughed, without permission, natural, not even Hannibal himself believed it when it felt
genuine, refreshing.
The man stopped his tactile walk across the chair, his shoulders rigid in response to her response,
but without looking towards the voice that called him. Hannibal tried to sniff the air, even though the man
was six feet away, he still made the effort: fear, nervousness, fear. Stuttering.
— Stupidity regarding the perception of colors is not a defect, it falls within the bounds of normality, there is no
reason to be angry if it has. - He almost said raising his voice.
Apologetically.
The smell of pine and oak and cheap shaving lotion dissipated to make way for cracked mint, still under the
lotion, he felt edgy, Will was nervous, like he'd been hit, maybe made a mistake. — Within what area of the TEA
are you?
Will's hand continued on its way, more relaxed, perhaps thankful for the impasse avoided. I don't like diagnoses.
"You still have one."
— Asperger or High-functioning Autism, late.
- Not official yet.
— But already a used term.
- You do not like that.
— No, I prefer the distancing, the isolation of the concepts allows their specialization, only those scholars...
— Will now presses his knuckles against the furniture, making the absence of blood on his fingers also combine
with the ebony. — They are so subjective, studious but without the ability to distinguish the differences.
— I agree, it sounds vulgar, but clinical laziness is always unpleasant to me, I rather believe that if we
analyze as a whole, we will find terrible disparities and—
Will shook his head several times, perhaps already indisposed to continue talking, he left the piece of furniture
alone, sat on it and Hannibal could almost swear that the four thousand dollars and two months of waiting for
the piece of furniture had just received their royalties, being so worth it. "Abigail, can you treat her?"
— Have I passed the test?
Just two seconds, a slight glance, Hannibal wanted to rip out the retinas to tell if they were green or blue, or
maybe a little of both. But beautiful, crystal clear, pure, full of that famous empathy Alana spoke of. — I think
you can be something good.
There you are.
"Not quite good?"
"I can't make a guess based on your forced analysis on me, I'd have to see Abigail's progress, but still, he's less
annoying than the others."
- Thanks Will.
The boy seemed surprised by the thanks, perhaps accustomed to receiving snorts at his coarse words, typical
of psychiatrists and his arrogant way of feeling superior, Hannibal was no different, but he knew how to be a
chameleon, and to the horror of horrors, the he was not offended. Perhaps a little "something good" before him
but not too much, for Will that perhaps only meant excellence, he would still take care of changing it to "excellent."
He liked that adjective better.
— Abigail has Monday, Wednesday and Friday free from five to eight at night, I would prefer if she chose
between Wednesday and Friday for her therapy, I have more slack in my work and I could get to her with
peace of mind, although she insists on having freedom on Fridays, but I don't think the amusement park
milkshakes matter.
— Wednesday is a day that sounds very good, I don't want to approach her knowing that she has her head
in the milkshakes.
Will nodded, more interested in Hannibal's shoes. — He doesn't even know her and starts spoiling her.
— She's a teenager Will, give me a little credit.
The profiler sighed, perhaps a little tired of his troubled relationship with his daughter. I need to know your
fees.
Hannibal hurried when the man jumped up and headed for the door. "How about an acclimation date or two?"
See if Abigail feels comfortable with me perhaps? If you feel like—
Will stopped his exit, to turn on his heels, to look at Hannibal, but to the Doctor's disappointment, the
elusive Will Graham, was not looking at him, but had found a point of focus very close to him, perhaps his hair,
the wrinkles of his forehead, the furrow of his gestures, where he was able to concentrate, to be able to speak.
I need your fees.
"As you like, I'll mail you information..." Jack Craford gave me that information in the past, when he tried to get
me to treat him.
Will hummed positively in response. — I'm waiting for the mail, good night Doctor Lecter.
— Will.
He was already on his back, when his name stopped him for the second time. I haven't told the time yet.
Nerves, twitching, how exhausted it must be to live like Will. - TRUE.
"Six in the evening sounds great, okay?"
Will's back was turned, Hannibal keeping his distance of two meters, although with Will he wanted it to be
three, just to take the terrible tension out of his arms. - Good.
- And Will?
A sigh, tiredness, too much stress. - Yeah?
— If it's ebony.
Again the calming scent of pine filled the room and Will's shoulders relaxed, perhaps gloated, praising his
insight. He liked to know that he was right. — I already knew... You like to lie, you're a liar, yes, I already knew.
The loud knock on the door shook him, leaving Hannibal with the terrible feeling of abandonment too early, as
if talking, or trying to talk, with Will Graham had been air, instead of a nuisance, as if it had been natural and he
wanted to extend the conversation. unorthodox talk. As if it had been more him, as if they had seen him, without
even looking at him.
What the hell happened?

I know Abigail
From: Hanniballecterp@baltimore.com
To: Willgraham1985@baltimore.com
Time: 8:45 PM
Good evening Will,
As we recently agreed, I will begin the evaluation process and subsequent treatment for Abigail Graham
on Wednesday, June 24, at 6:00 p.m. The fees are normally made through the deposit payment, if you
need another payment method, let me know.
Each appointment costs one hundred and fifty dollars, but since he is an FBI worker, I intend to charge
the range that is granted to authorities, charging fifty dollars per session.
Payment can be made before or after. The only thing I strongly ask is that you be strict with the
cancellation policy, in this case at least twenty-four hours.
With nothing more to say, I enclose the bank account and wish you good night. It's a pleasure to have met
you.
From: willgraham1985@baltimore.com
To: Hanniballecterp@baltimore.com
Time: 8:48PM
Deposit made for a hundred and fifty dollars, Abigail doesn't work for the FBI.
How many minutes before should we arrive?
Good night.
Time: 8:55 PM
Verified deposit Will, I know you don't work for the FBI, I was referring to an extension of yours,
for benefits. I am willing to make the return if you allow me.
It is preferred that you arrive ten to five minutes early, consideration is appreciated.
Good night.
Time: 9:56 PM
It is not necessary to make a return, good night, I have to sleep.
We will arrive ten minutes early.
Will Graham had gone to Hannibal's office for the first time on a Monday afternoon, and even though it
was only two days away, the Doctor couldn't wait to see him again. He spent Tuesday like any other day,
although distracted, he thanked his dark furniture for the ability to help him absorb everything he couldn't
digest. Forget Will's rude but funny emails, for example.
On Wednesday morning, a few hours before Abigail's appointment, he looked around his waiting
room with disgust, the pristine petrol-green chairs suddenly looking vague and bland, so vague he
thought it was an unworthy place to wait. for Will. He considered changing everything, as soon as he had
the time, and then removed the gossip magazines, sure Will would appreciate the nullity of the empty
proposal.
When he had his last date, before the Grahams', Hannibal was elated, putting down one magazine
and no longer taking all of them, so as not to be obvious, because Will had probably seen them the first
time he went. Although he deliberately left an issue of Hunting and Fishing, which no one read, tempting
the rustic tastes of someone who seemed quick for manual tasks. Hoping you like it. - You need to calm
down. — He said to himself and although it took five seconds, it was him again cross-legged, looking at
the clock.
The footsteps at the entrance betrayed the visitors, after a wave of whispers and whispers, perhaps
immersed in an argument, Hannibal knew that they had arrived, exactly fifteen minutes before.
But no one knocked, Hannibal licked his lips, somewhat impatient for the unexpected wait for those
who forced him to pass, sure that he could greet both Grahams, even if they had arrived earlier.
Then she realized that she had told Will ten to six and that Will probably wouldn't be knocking on the
door until then. He sighed, impatient again.
At five minutes to six, Hannibal decided that he was a renowned, praised, and excellent psychiatrist,
not just "a good thing," so he opened the door and two gazes, different in color, but equal in purity,
fell on him. Will's eyes were definitely green, clear, almost light blue, and Abigail's were brown,
probably inherited from her mother.
But the same, although the elusive and fleeting greens, were just as lively as the brown ones: Daughter
and father, just the same, with the gift of keeping him expectant.
“Good afternoon, Abigail, Will.
- Buenas tardes!
- Buenas tardes.
Of course, two seconds later Hannibal could feel the overwhelming difference in their personalities, while
Will withheld any sign of emotion, unable to show it or unable to feel it, he would have to find out, Abigail
was such a chaotic and difficult to digest mass of emotions. fast. They were still the same, though,
because even within the emphasis Abigail seemed mysterious and too preoccupied with unwrapping a
role and Will, well, Will was mysterious as hell, in terms that Hannibal couldn't even bring himself to
classify yet.
"Welcome Abigail. — Hannibal's smile was genuine as he found the girl adorable at first sight. "If you
allow us Will...
The father nodded, totally oblivious to any sign of expectation, but probably on edge to entrust his daughter to a
stranger. - I'll wait for you here Abigail.
- Yes Dad. The girl stood up, then turned once more. "Try not to hate all the magazines, I'll find out."
- Alright.
Hannibal then closed the door, choosing not to look one last time at Will, who had already lost himself in
the color of the waiting room furniture. Hannibal felt that he would hate them, probably, and that he would
guess the name of the color easily. He gladly noted that this could be a question that would make him talk
to the man, when they said goodbye, clinging to the only stupid reason to do so.
Was the teenager Abigail or Hannibal?
He decided not to sink so low.
- Wow. - Abigail's vibrant voice brought Hannibal to the present, who watched her take the same steps
as his father the other day, but much more sure, without observing the color of the furniture with temperance,
but appreciating its beauty and then losing himself in the high library, only to be dropped. - Can?
- Please. Hannibal nodded, appreciating the good manners, still under the swirl of adolescent
hormones. "It's nice to meet you Abigail.
The girl smiled, then continued to look around. “Dad must have loved his office.
— He valued much more the piece of furniture in which you find yourself.
She stroked the side where her arm rested, as lightly as Will had. — So it was his favorite detail.
Hannibal let the reassuring silence of his office surround them, a crucial time to let Abigail dissipate from the
emotions she had left behind the door and long enough for him to read the person's mood, oblivious to
another. influence than himself.
The girl was slim, tall, almost as tall as Will, maybe soon she'll surpass him or be the same size. She had
many freckles, slight dimples, brown hair just like her eyes, and a stoic beauty, but still sweet, despite her
notorious growth, she would never be vulgar, which would allow Abigail to develop a beauty that was more
intellectual than physical. - How was your day?
The girl exhaled, although in good manners and willing to collaborate with the therapy, Hannibal knew that she
wasn't there because she wanted to, which was predictable and that although she smiled at him at first, she
didn't trust Hannibal. — As always, normal, I suppose, thinking about my consultation with my psychiatrist in
the afternoon.
— Any expectations?
— For now just try to get dad and I to eat this week, if the money is enough.
Hannibal wanted to make a vague gesture, noting the return of money as not optional, but necessary. —
Do you take care of the nutrition of both at home?
Abigail now looked down at her hands, long-fingered as she smiled and then pinned her hair up, to look back at
Hannibal. "Yeah, dad wouldn't notice if we never eat, so yeah."
"Does that bother you?"
- No! Abigail gave him a disgusted look, pretending not to hide anything at all, Hannibal liked that. — I like to take care
of dad, I like to cook, it's okay.
— What annoys you is having had to pay so much to be here.
Abigail then quickly changed her irritated mood to an even more annoyed one, but still smiling. I told him it was too
much.
I'm sorry I was a reason for discussion.
— Don't worry, it's about him being so... stubborn. Abigail looked back at the floor now. I told him it wasn't necessary.
— Invest in your mental health?
— Invest in a psychiatrist like you. - Abigail blushed, perhaps too much empathy with her father, it was contagious.
— Excuse me, it's not you, that is, there are other psychiatrists, with less beautiful offices, but the same.
Hannibal nodded. — I agree with you, in fact, the payment for my sessions corresponds to a range of studies that I
carried out, but there are colleagues of mine, of equal treatment to whom you could go.
But he chose you.
Hannibal quickly felt good, but then guilty about the expense inflicted on the little family. — I want you to know
that the refund will be made, actually Will paid more than he should.
- He told me. - A sigh. — We have been arguing about that, he believes that there should not be
differences.
— What is it like to deal with someone with ASD?
Abigail seemed to relax, apparently it was a common question in her life. — It's not easy, but I wouldn't change it for
anything in the world. — Pride, loyalty, love. Hannibal was overwhelmed by such a show of affection.
— However, your father thinks that he is not having a good relationship with you.
— He's just scared, he doesn't like changes.
— And you try to make it as easy as possible.
- I try! Abigail straightened up and smiled. - But it is not working.
- What do you think it's due to?
Abigail then shook her head, totally in control of her emotions, Hannibal sensing again that Abigail wanted to
make an impression again, but she didn't know he could see the change. She was a skillful girl, but still imperfect in
the gift of manipulation, however, intelligent. — We are different, he catches murderers and I... I just want a normal
life.
— Normal life can be boring.
Abigail narrowed her eyes. "Okay, I don't want a totally normal life, but I want you to let me out."
- Just take care of yourself.
— Sometimes I think he only takes care of him, everything he can control.
Hannibal noted that as relevant information, knowing that by extension, he was doing therapy for Abigail and therefore
Will, which excited him, finding the perfect girl, to exploit the best of her, but also to reach Will. — Control can be just
another language for love.
— He is a peculiar psychiatrist. — The girl resolved quickly, Hannibal loved that.
— I only say what you think, because you think so, right?
- I know he loves me. — Abigail resolves, arms crossed. — But from time to time I would like you to let me take care
of him and take care of myself.
— He told me about milkshake Fridays.
Abigail rolled her eyes, Hannibal detected rudeness, nothing that couldn't be corrected. — They are not milkshakes,
I just like to go to the park with my friends, we don't drink milkshakes.
— It's good to know that you have friends Abigail, can I ask how many and how do you get along with them?
The tension in the girl's shoulders betrayed the lie, Abigail probably had no friends, maybe two acquaintances or
acquaintances, but no more than that. Hannibal imagined her sitting alone in the park, only fleeing from how
overwhelming it was to have Will as a father, he detected that loneliness was her natural state, perhaps her choice,
knowing that not all company was always good company. Perhaps he also felt a little guilty, probably because he
wanted space for his father. “Several friends, you know, silly teenagers.
Hannibal nodded, he thought about how to gain the girl's trust, but he didn't get an immediate answer, however,
he knew how to start. — Boys your age tend to be banal.
Abigail brightened with the opinion. — Yes, although I am one of them.
— Differentiating ourselves is not bad.
“However, I still want to go out with them.
— Or just go out, right?
She nodded, then blew out a long breath, a sign of confidence, at least in the safe space she was in. "Yeah, I just
want to go out.
The conversation continued, however Hannibal learned that after the intro, Abigail only said things she thought he
wanted to hear, like her studies, her problems with the teachers, and her interest in a guy or two, information she
considered practical, but not. the truth of what I felt. Hannibal listened just as intently, sure he would soon get a taste
of what Abigail really wanted.
The hour ended and with it, Hannibal's nerves increased to see Will again, hoping that he would appreciate that leaving
the office was exactly on time on his watch. - We have
finished for today.
Will murmured something unintelligible, suddenly an "ok" but Hannibal didn't understand it, he only saw
how he took Abigail's arm, who smiled at him a little more readily, while she gladly accepted her father's
arm. "See you next week Doc.
Will frowned so melodramatically as possible that Hannibal wanted to laugh, but instead he just twisted
his mouth into a smile, hoping Will would see his nonexistent annoyance at the nickname. — See you next
week Abigail.
Will grunted a good night, hurrying out of the office.
Hannibal saw the number of Hunting and Fish skewed a little, when he checked it there was a word
marked as misspelled. Hannibal felt a warmth in his chest.
Time: 7:24 PM
Good evening Will,
I am attaching the proof of the return of the money deposited, which is not valid for my consultations with
Abigail, I thank you for accepting the deal and allowing me to continue with my work.
Best regards, Hannibal Lecter.
Time: 7:55 PM
I do not accept the return, but thank you very much.
Time: 7:56 PM
Dear Will, it's not a question, it's a decision.
Sincerely, Hannibal Lecter
Time: 8:26 PM
OKAY.
Hannibal knew he didn't have to push, he knew that late gains were the best harvest, but there he was,
in front of his computer, not in the slightest interest in leaving his office, when
He must have left by now, intent on getting more than a word out of Will, whatever.
Time: 8:31 PM
Today was a good start with Abigail, I think she is an extraordinary girl. She's willing to continue her
therapy, as long as we don't bother Friday shakes. Also, dear Will, I have to advise you to encourage
Friday outings, space is sometimes the best answer for closeness.
Time: 8:45 PM
He doesn't drink milkshakes, he smokes.
He arrives smelling of cigarettes, always.
Hannibal knew that the girl smoked, not because of the start of discoloration of her teeth, of her
slightly dry fingers, but because despite all the cologne in the world, the smell of tobacco was brutal,
but he didn't think it was something. that Will would notice, or take as important.
Time: 8:48 PM
We've all smoked at some point in our lives, have you ever, Will?
I believe that the spaces for inflection, trial and error, are valuable, Abigail will quit tobacco sooner or
later with the necessary incentives. It's just a betrayal of your anxiety.
Hannibal saw the big clock in his office, at this time he should be having dinner, perhaps already
having his classic glass of wine, however he was there, waiting for Will to answer. The annoyance
of the delay made him feel vibrant.
Time: 9:21 PM
I have never smoked, it is bad for the lungs.
Although I understand the tipping point, the ban only makes the picture more attractive I suppose.
I haven't told you that I know you smoke, please don't let me know. I must rest, tomorrow I work from
three in the morning. Good evening, Dr. Lecter.
Time: 9:28 PM
I would be incapable of such infidelity, I can keep the secret Will.
Have a good night and a prodigious day at work tomorrow, as always it's a pleasure talking to
you.
I know the cigarette
Saturday night opera became uncharacteristically tedious for Hannibal, even with a glass of
Baltimore's best champagne, within four walls awash with precious, conceited, but valuable minds,
Lecter found himself bored.
He pretended to smile at the same classy jokes of the guests, he was flirtatious with anyone and
everyone who wanted his attention, but his mind wandered far from the panorama.
She wondered how the Grahams would act in a situation like that, without a doubt Will would be more
than uncomfortable, avoiding a lot of glances, fleeing from empathizing with people like that, and
Abigail, her cheeks would be tired from smiling so much.
They were both loners by nature, they wouldn't fit in a world like theirs, but Hannibal thought that
since they were so kind, Will more for social order and Abigail, for
sentimental nature, they would say yes to an invitation and he could have them in his arms, the only
two authentic beings of the evening, to flaunt their company.
Hannibal was comforted by the idea.
Dramatically, he also felt indignant with himself, because he could not find an explanation in which he
found comforting the company of anyone, he supposes that this was an analysis to do with himself
later.
He hadn't planned on walking home, but the thought of smoking a cigarette had been on his mind,
ever since he found out Abigail did.
She definitely hated smoking, especially because of the permeating smell that could take weeks to
wear off, but she had almost forgotten how good the sting of a hit felt in the throat, so without much
ado, when the play was over, she walked away from the museum, to the nearest gas station.
Before he could think about why he was doing that, he had a pack and a lighter in his hand, he lit
the cigarette with the old skill with which he did it when he was young and exhaled long, enjoying
the cold of the night. The scent was definitely too heavy for him, obstructing the other scents, and he
hated it, but as the hot smoke crept down his throat and finally reached his stomach, he remembered
how powerfully calming the burn of air you had left over could be. filling something that you lack.
What was Abigail Graham trying to fill so urgently? He asked himself.
After two cigarettes, walking north, still not intending to take a taxi, he considered throwing the pack
away, as he would never smoke again, it was not something he needed. But then he kept it fun, before
later creative ideas in his mind.
The cold of the night alerted him to how late it was getting, until the slight moans of a voice
caught his attention, even more so the turquoise color of water, vividly being thrown by someone, on
the side of the opposite track. Abigail looked distraught, a little feverish and quite flushed,
uncomfortable perhaps, but still trying to smile. Next to her, a couple of boys were tugging at her
arms, laughing, caught up in a joke that Abigail didn't find funny. - I do not want to enter!
"Oh come on Graham! Don't be boring!
Hannibal looked at his watch and confirmed that it was after ten at night, an unsuitable hour
for the health of a young woman on a street like this. Immediately the image of worried Will came
to mind, then natural rage, one he hadn't felt in a long time, washed over him.
He crossed the street like a leopard, after two seconds he was next to the teenager. — Abigail.
The girl's eyes flicked to his, half surprised, half relieved. Hannibal didn't know which one prevailed
more. —Hannibal. — She said, perhaps elated by the situation, concerned more with the situation
than with the proper social processes.
— Is something wrong?
The boys stopped pulling the girl, clearly annoyed by her arrival, however a slight and cold look on
them was enough to make them feel intimidated, they were finally teenagers like Abigail. - No nothing
happens.
"I'm afraid I'd like to walk you home."
The boys looked at each other in astonishment, but then gave up on their idea to say goodbye to
Abigail, never once looking at Hannibal. — Bye guys, uhm, sorry.
— Weird like his father.
The last words came like an iceberg, Abigail caught her breath for a moment before she jumped
forward on impulse, Hannibal did nothing to stop her. He didn't want to. He watched rather with
absolute coldness, as Abigail dealt a clumsy blow to the back of the one who muttered the insult.
“Fuck off, Jake.
In the face of the inevitable, natural, response of the boy to answer was inadequate, because before
she could push or do what she wanted to do to answer Abigail, Hannibal was already in front of her,
waiting for the boys, to teach them a little lesson. They both obviously stopped, only to swear and
then get lost in the doorway of a seedy movie theater.
Hannibal was considering his policy of murdering minors, when Abigail's sobs felt like icy rain behind
him. "I'm sorry, I... I just wanted, I wanted them to like me."
Hannibal turned his face to one side, later removing his large coat to let it fall over the thin body of
the teenager, who now looked like a girl. — There is nothing wrong with trying, teenagers are
usually stupid.
- They are stupids. — She replied, receiving the coat with a certain innocence. "Will you tell my
father what happened?"
- Not at all.
She nodded, much calmer, drying her tears quickly. — You don't have to walk me home,
I know you said it because you wanted them to leave.
- I want to do it. Hannibal adjusted the big coat, which looked huge on Abigail, then snorted. What did
they want to force you to do?
She quickly shook her head, with a smile. — Forcing myself to watch a horror movie, I don't like
them, I... I just didn't want to go in, I know it's stupid, but I really hate them.
"Does your father know you're here?" It's too late.
“Dad's working, a murderer in Maryland, something about a doll collector.
— So you took the opportunity to sneak away.
— I wanted time, I wanted to go out.
Hannibal nodded and then slightly, sniffed. — And smoke a cigarette.
The girl opened her mouth, somewhat embarrassed, and finally looked at her shoes. — Just one, maybe two.
His disapproval of smoking became secondary as he felt the urge to reward Abigail for her loyalty and
bravery, appalled by her lack of retribution, he went to all he had to make up for it.
Hannibal had no time to think about how much he wanted to take care of the girl, how much his cold heart had
softened at the loyalty with which Abigail, despite her need to fit in and her obvious physical weakness, had beaten
the boy for defending her. his father. So he didn't do, which more than an irresponsible and unethical parent would
do. He took the pack out of his pocket. "Three won't hurt, right?"
Abigail's eyes lit up. — He really is a different psychiatrist, isn't he?
Hannibal nodded, then set the girl on fire, he thought it would be rude to let her do it alone, and the next cigar,
tomorrow he would run a little more in return, reached his lips.
They walked in silence for about eight minutes until the cigarette butt fell silent on Abigail's lips, finishing long before
the doctor. Hannibal noticed that Abigail's draws were much longer and stronger when hitting, worthy of someone
with experience and clearly, need. — When did you start smoking?
Abigail seemed to wake up from a peaceful sleep when she heard his voice. "A year, I think... I read in a book that
it calmed people down and I liked it, Dad would never approve of it."
Lecter stretched out his hand showing the pack again, making his own side in his mouth. Abigail was already
all sparkles when she saw the proposal, receiving another. Hannibal couldn't begin to enumerate all the bad
things that a tobacco relationship implied, but at the same time, the list of pros was much longer: Friendship,
complicity, dependence. Beautiful values for an establishment. And did it calm you down?
— He does it while he has it on his fingers.
“It's a placebo Abigail, a very unpleasant one.
— You were smoking.
- Medical Investigation.
Abigail smiled. “You don't seem so upset with the investigation.
Hannibal showed a stoic face, until the smile of the same young woman infected him. — I used to do it when I
was young, now... It's just an extemporaneous taste, I rarely decide to try it. - He avoided confessing that it was
a cheap way to get closer.
Abigail raised her shoulders, snuggled closer into the long coat, perhaps stricken with the cold. - No
seems to be someone who has to calm down anything.
- Are you cold.
- It's good to be cold.
— And one more cold, address of your house?
Hannibal knew that as the cab rolled along, his hope of finding Will waiting for them was nil, but he couldn't help but
feel the excitement within himself, a curiosity perhaps to witness what Mr. Graham would think of his daughter being
out when he worked and that Hannibal had been the one who had helped him.
He thought of a debt, a sentimental one, that would begin to root them, making the line between the professional and the
personal confusing. Hannibal's favorite way.
He felt utterly overwhelmed by her foolish vulnerability, as if the lives of two extremely pure, yet utterly simple
people could have slipped into his mind so quickly. — What does he do alone on a Saturday night?
- Opera.
Abigail looked at him better. — Yes, I knew that the clothes were something extravagant, but was it alone?
Hannibal nodded. — Inside there I was with some friends.
"Don't operas usually have a dinner afterward where many uptight gentlemen and ladies drink and flaunt their money?"
Hannibal found her adorable in her honesty. — Am I one of those gentlemen?
— You are exactly the exact stereotype.
- That's rude.
Abigail laughed out loud. - I'm sorry.
Hannibal looked out the window, as the streets grew emptier and closer to Wolf Trap. — There weren't many
interesting people, I must admit, the conversation was starting to get tedious, when they aren't the ideal people to talk
to, the conversation is futile.
— I understand that. Abigail then wandered towards her own window, the path warm, Hannibal appreciating
the silence.
When they arrived, Abigail quickly entered her doorstep, while Hannibal began to wonder why he hadn't taken
the Bentley to the opera to have a way to get home. Then he remembered, because he was planning to drink
too much at the party and he didn't want to have to damage the car, however he got bored and the rest was history.
— Doc, thank you very much for the road and the cigars.
"You're welcome, Abigail.
Well, when the door hit him in the face, he thought he was in front of a whole Graham in all its splendor. Then he
looked around, the house was rustic in its entirety, big enough for only two people, but from the sound of the barking of
the minimum of five or six dogs, plus the passion of its other members for personal space, it was perfect .
Hannibal saw the damp in its foundations, thought the house looked like Will's, off the beaten path,
quite conservative and still wild.
When his app's taxi came for him ten minutes later, Hannibal found his Saturday had been productive.
On Sunday he ran another half hour, he felt his lungs suffer from the effort. When he got home he
wanted to smoke, he quickly threw the pack into the dishwasher and wet, they were thrown into the bin.
Nothing could control him, not a Graham, not a cigarette.
I know Will's wrath
On Monday morning, Will Graham was anything but quiet and like home, totally rustic and wild.
— You crossed the limits.
Will, good morning.
The man's furious entrance plus his blank stares, everywhere but at his face, were familiar but fast and
furious, somewhat haughty. She had thought she would have to see Will Graham until Wednesday and
though it was a painful thought, she was enjoying the anticipation of the wait, but seeing the man totally out of
control, in his living room, looking for a place to be, was so much better. . - Good morning. Will said suddenly,
seeming disgusted by the lack of protocol. "Now, as I was saying, you can't just do something for Abigail.
"What do you mean Will?"
"You... You left her at home, gave her your coat, and didn't tell me anything about it."
— I found her yes, I preferred to leave her at home for the hour and my coat, it was because she was cold.
— She left without my permission, she should have told me and if not her, you.
- Why bother?
Will then burst out laughing, furious. — Because she bothered you, she said that you were leaving a party.
- Opera.
— Opera and she bothered him, she made him spend money on transportation, then he spent more money
on his own transportation and he traveled without a coat, cold, then he spent and was cold, because of me.
“Will, I need you to breathe.
Will denied, kept walking and perhaps Hannibal would have preferred that his voice was enough to
reach him, but totally frustrated he reached Will's elbow in his eagerness to stop him, the desperate
withdrawal of his hand, as if burning, felt more than painful. - Do not touch me.
— No touches, sorry, no touches.
- One meter.
Hannibal stepped back, eyes downcast, wanting to gauge the true damage. — One meter, I'm one meter Will.
Will seemed to confirm it. - Never touch me.
Hannibal nodded. "I'm sorry, I just wanted you to stop.
Will's breathing was ragged, distant but ragged, as he now looked at Hannibal with complete and pure focus,
not lowering his eyes, not running away, not stopping, clearly. Savagery perhaps, a mixture of self-preservation,
but with hints of hunting, in defense and attack at the same time, at
Despite that, Hannibal found Will extremely attractive. "No... you don't have to touch me, ever."
Asperger's was an isolating condition, its consequences merely for show, but even behind the reluctance to
touch, Will nurtured a fear. As if Hannibal's touch could break him or as if Will himself could break Hannibal.
The psychiatrist nodded, in a show of security, held his hands behind him, clearly demonstrating
once again that he was exactly three feet away. "I think if you had found my daughter on the street at
night, you would have done the same."
— I would have called him to inform him, I would have returned from where I was.
- I do not have your number.
— Abigail was able to give it to him
— You were three hours from here.
Will tried to consider the option, it didn't seem coherent even though it was in fact true and instead he
held out a bag where the coat was. “Dry cleaning and enough money for two cabs from Baltimore to Wolf
Trap.
Will...
- Take.
When he accepted the assignment, Will seemed to feel better, though his aggressive gaze had moved away
from Hannibal, to his hands. Hannibal missed the fury. — Although I accept what you give me, I want you
to know that it was not a bother.
- It was.
Will...
— See you Wednesday, Doctor Lecter.
There was no time to stop him, although the thirst to touch him again was frustrating, he didn't. He wouldn't
touch it, Hannibal didn't feel able to meet Will's gaze again, even though his palm burned with the mere
memory of the rough fabric of the minor's old coat.
Time: 5:25 PM
Did you find green the color of the armchairs in my waiting room? When I took over the office they were
here, I didn't order them and I thought they were boring, although perfectly neutral to start pacifying the
patient, I think they could be petrol green and if not, viridian green.
Could you enlighten me? I can't stop thinking about the colors. Perhaps it may be a military court, I find
myself indecisive, almost blind. It has never happened to me, but it is something that annoys me, to such an
unbalanced point that buying other furniture is a temptation, although I do not dare to do it, embarking on a
new purchase would lead me to another infinite judgment of colors in which I always I face myself.
Pdt: I'm sorry I overreached today, I assure you it won't happen again.
Hannibal Lecter.
The fear of a null reply hung in the air, and if it didn't come, Hannibal would certainly accept the punishment,
though he wouldn't wait another day to send another email. Maybe he'd give up on the third unanswered email, only to
show up at Wolf Trap with a knife. Or just showing up at Wolf Trap with no knives, pretending he was out there, shopping
in the middle of nowhere. All right, I'd go to Wolf Trap, no excuse, then get kicked out by two Grahams and ten dogs.
I'd better wait for an answer, not go to Wolf Trap at all.
Time: 6:45 PM
The color is military green, veridian is the color of the tropics, it's easy to confuse because the light in your waiting
room is sepia, they are also discolored for ten years, so yes, they are military green. I could verify it by reviewing them,
the threads will reveal their age and true nature.
I don't like them either, I should change them.
PS: Forgotten issue.
Time: 6:50 PM
I will change them quickly, I would be unable to know that you are uncomfortable with them.
PS: Thank you.
Time: 7:04 PM
Are you seriously going to change your furniture just because I say so?
Time: 7:08 PM
You underestimate my appreciation for you, Will.
Time: 7:15 PM
Good evening Doctor Lecter, don't waste your money on trifles.
Time: 7:20 PM
I don't consider your tastes trifles at all, good night Will.
The following Wednesday, Hannibal had left a fresh copy of Hunting and Fishing inside the waiting room
cabinet compartment, had picked it up earlier, carelessly folding it, pretending it looked used and that he hadn't
bought the latest issue, the penultimate rather. A number that wasn't easy to find, just because of Will.
“Good afternoon, Abigail, Will.
Will coughed, Abigail sighed, and yet the girl's knowing look came through.
When they were alone in the office, the girl just dropped into the ebony cabinet. — It was not a good week, when
he saw the coat, he deduced it easily, I had to tell him half the story, without a fight with my companions, of course.
— On Monday I had my own reprimand.
- I'm sorry.
Hannibal shrugged calmly. — Nothing that bothered me, I can understand your father.
Abigail seemed pleased with the title, but then let her gaze wander around the office. — The boys at
school don't understand what it's like to have a father like mine, although I appreciate my luck, they
couldn't deal with him.
— Hardworking?
- Authentic.
That's what Hannibal thought.
— It is authentic to have a father like yours, certainly one of the characteristics of ASD is that although you
find similarities within their obsessive patterns, there is never a pattern that is the same among all of them,
at least not for the most part. One would say that it is the same in all people, but with them, you can find an
excellence in the difference.
Abigail seemed pleased with the assessment. — For that I am grateful, I do not need anyone else.
— A mother seems obsolete when the father is so extraordinary.
A slight tension came to the young woman's body, before she tried to disguise her insecurity
again. - I agree.
"Should I ask about your mother now or would we need a cigarette in between?"
Abigail eased up a bit at the joke. "Daddy would kill me and then you if he noticed."
— That's what I'm talking about when I refer to authenticity.
The girl laughs and then a long breath fills the room. — She left when I was four, I barely remember her.
A low hum, hoping Hannibal would suffice with the information, but silently encouraged more information.
— Dad never talks about her, he does it medically when we need to bring my medical history, but nothing
else. I've gotten information myself, you know, the internet, Facebook, an aunt who kept in touch.
"Then why did he leave?"
— He didn't think my father was very authentic, or at least he wasn't so authentic enough to stay. He
looks at his hands, the same protective gaze as when he was outside the theater. — Then, as a child I
was very withdrawn, not very sociable, my skills were not developing very well.
— He thought you would be like your father.
“She thought she couldn't deal with two of us.
Hannibal could visualize the setting, a young woman still, dazzled by Will's brilliance but unable to bear the
shadows of her condition. Cowardly perhaps, mediocre, little tenacious...
Blinded to the true worth of a partner who didn't need her. The weight of yet another being in his house that
soon wouldn't need it, Hannibal could almost taste the limitation of an unborn being to accompany two
loners, who didn't need it, but who finally wanted it.
He did not value what he had.
— Some people flee before the unknown, they only reveal how little they know themselves.
Perhaps only knowing that they will never figure out what they are facing.
- We were little for her?
— I would say that they were too much for her, she couldn't deal with the fact that you were unique.
— Unique. — Abigail seemed sarcastic, Hannibal noted that although he loved his father, there was a certain
low self-esteem. "She didn't think so.
— I am sure that now, he does, but he is unable to even recognize it.
- I don't want him to come back. We don't need it.
- Of course not.
When Hannibal opened the door, he did so five minutes before the end of the last date, curious that if he
played with his parameters, he might catch Will off guard and take advantage of a bit of a surprised look.
What he did not expect, gladly, almost ecstatic, was to find Will going through his military green furniture, not
veridian, conscientiously.
— Will.
A beautiful blush, from the beginning of the neck ascending to the cheeks, and then ending in the eyelids
that closed several times trying to hide what she was doing. "I…lost something, I was, um looking for it."
- You found it?
Abigail, who had witnessed the same thing, looked to both sides, wanting to understand that she was
lost. She had also seen the review. — Dad, I found my earring before I went in, you don't have to look for
it.
Will turned his face to one side, unskilled in the art of lying, but pretending to be the best at it. — I had
forgotten that you had found it, your earring, blue, that I bought you a year ago. Yes, your earring.
Hannibal and Abigail glanced at each other. — Well, it's good to know that nothing was lost among my
furniture then.
- Downstairs is dirty. - Will sentenced, without a trace of shame, although still flushed by the lie.
— I'll clean it Will, you're very kind to let me notice.
Hannibal spent the rest of the afternoon serving his last two clients with a smile on his face, the problem was
that one of them was a chronically depressed guy who talked about suicide every five minutes and the other,
a lady in mourning who was trying to ponder the death of her husband. Hannibal's naivety wasn't very good
for his business.
He was about to sleep when his mind brought back the memory of the color of Will's cheeks when he was
caught doing his thing, it was a white skin colored bright red, dimmed with his pallor, the color of the blood
behind. Beautiful.
Then it dawned on her that Will was probably checking the furniture for blemishes, perhaps checking the
age of the artifact. Searching in the roots of the fabric
true color, cheating in case one day Hannibal wanted to prove to him that he was veridian
and beat him, the damn bet. Delighted, yes Hannibal was delighted with the competitiveness.
And when he thought he couldn't be more delighted, he was reading the Tattle Crime like
every night, to find sleep in some Ripper appointment, or simply nourish himself with current
murderers, he found the same peaceful but nerve-wracking face of Will Graham, in a headline:
"The FBI is no longer just looking for psychopaths but hiring them to find others."
A certain irritation filled him, knowing that Will would resent the allusion, but ecstatic at the
still elusive information: Will, well known for his empathy, had a bad name in the FBI perhaps
garnered by his triumphant accolades as killers by looking, over laborious investigations. from
others, who were jealous, envied his triumph.
She knew, however, that Will would be irritated by now, and even though the time seemed
inappropriate, she figured he just wanted to talk to the profiler.
Time: 9:28 PM
A good way to help Abigail quit smoking is to do it yourself. You find a certain rebellion in
doing it, because you hate it. When you start to detect your likes, you will find dislikes.
Time: 9:34 PM
Are you encouraging me to smoke?
It's almost ten at night, an inappropriate time to socialize, don't you rest?
Time: 9:40 PM
At the risk of sounding haughty, are we socializing? I thought you were just sharing
professional advice.
And no, I am not encouraging him to succumb to such an unfortunate vice, only proposing a ruse in which he is openly
inclined to smoke.
I don't sleep until midnight, always before resting I like to do something that allows me
find sleep.
Time: 9:48 PM
I mean, if you encourage me to smoke, I couldn't put on a facade without succumbing to it at least once.
I correct the socializing, we are not socializing.
Do you talk to me to find sleep? They never told me that it caused sleep, anything but that.
Time: 9:50 PM
Since we started talking about each other's dreams, it qualifies as socializing, it's a personal exchange that I
don't have with my patients. So can I call you my friend now?
Pdt: You are invigorating, impossible to make sleepy.
Time: 9:51 PM
We are not friends Doctor Lecter, you have undermined information without me realizing it, it is more manipulation
than an attempt at friendship.
Hannibal smiled. - Smart boy.
Then I'll smoke, if I have cancer later, I'll send you the bill.
Pdt: I do not consider myself invigorating, the meaning of invigorating should be questioned.
Time: 9:53 PM
Will, I'll be happy to spend on your trifles.
Pdt: I've checked my dictionary, it turns out that in "invigorating" your photograph appears.
Time: 10:00 PM
He is arrogant and a liar, great friend that I have gotten.
Will seemed amused in his throwback way of talking, was this Will's way of flirting? An intellectual struggle?
Could Hannibal adore him more? The thought made Hannibal squirm inside his sheets.
PS: Your dictionary is rubbish.
PS2: LOL
Time: 10:03 PM
Will, could I have your number?
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Nothing. Hannibal thought he had been too bold, but he was far from
regretting the attempt.
Time: 10:30 PM
No better not.
You don't want to be my friend.

Good evening Doctor Lecter.
Time: 10:35 PM
I don't think anything that has to do with you causes me to regret it, good night Will.
i know burgers
Will's rejection didn't discourage him, it only pushed him to try harder.
After three weeks getting to know the Grahams, his outlook was finally much clearer, showing a path to follow
with the desire to discover what he wanted for them.
On the one hand, there was the mere curiosity of seeing them find their way into a confusing labyrinth
freeing themselves from the ties that they had imposed and self-imposed by them, Abigail with a thirst for
violence and extreme individualism that would be released thanks to her beautiful loyalty and in Will... A
violence intelligent and thirsty, who, showing off her skills, would look a lot like him.
On the other hand, there was the fact that he purred at the thought of sitting on a silly park bench holding Will's
hand, listening to Abigail talk about her day, while the dogs surrounded him. A domestic life.
Or that was what he had believed to be domestic, what his mind had recreated as normal for the Grahams,
was it perhaps so? What was domestic for them?
The idea of discovering it was more than interesting to him, even more so the idea of making the two
realities coexist.
So she accepted it, she had a fascination with the Grahams, which led to a fascination with domesticity, which
led to an exchange, a connection, a family. Hannibal wanted one, craved it, like he never ever did.
Hannibal discovered it the night of the rejection in his emails, he wanted love, he wanted their loyalty
and authenticity, he wanted to be one of them. To be seen, to be accepted, only by them, perhaps the only
ones who could.
And for starters, to find out that what she dreamed was really something real, she needed Will's number, not
because of what she would do with it, but because of what it meant. The first step.
Courting Will, with all that that meant, a walk hand in hand, listening to a song, choosing a piece of furniture,
fighting over the colors, bringing him lunch, seeing him just because. And if the courtship didn't lead to a
climax, do it for eternity, with the firm belief that being in Will's life, from afar, would be enough.
So while the idea of rejection was sour, as possible, but he knew, it was difficult, that the Grahams were,
and would be, what he needed. He could see it in their eyes, he could recognize them, though they still not
him.
He felt disturbed, free too, but above all disturbed. If something went wrong, he might as well kill them,
keep them in his memory palace, pretend they were his in his fantasies. But first… first he would try to win
them over.
[...]
In the absence of a hunt for more than three weeks, Hannibal found himself craving meat and soon he did
not have the desire to hunt, not so much desire, he went out that Thursday afternoon in
Look for meat at your usual vendor.
But his thoughts were far away, colliding dangerously with every superficial fact that he could write
down, of great interest to Will, to write it quickly in an email, where Will seemed to feel much more
comfortable to talk.
However, Hannibal planned to talk to Will about colors and general trifles soon in person, convincing
him to have a drink after a date with Abigail, perhaps before. But for that he had to get his phone and
he had to do it directly, being able to get it from Jack, Alana or Abigail, it had to be Will himself who
gave it to him.
Then he noted that Will liked the distinction of colors, fishing, perhaps hunting, his daughter of course,
murders and his furniture in general. What Will didn't like was being touched, lateness, cigarettes and
the lack of social order. She could work from that, get noticed, maybe soon she would know that Will
liked to eat, that he liked to watch, to listen.
The idea of strutting around with Will Graham on a dance floor, searching his eyes, almost carrying him
in weight, at his nervousness, seeing him flush, invaded him. Will suddenly wouldn't even want to dance,
but Hannibal recounted that by that time Will wouldn't be able to say no to anything, that his mind would
be so wrapped up in him, that he would never say no, that he would live each day in ecstasy, testing his
limits, leaving Hannibal to play with them.
Exquisite.
The problem was that Will wasn't fond of touch, which could be a problem, especially if Hannibal planned
not only to dance with him, but also to find out what the inside of his thigh felt like and the way his skin
would match his skin. his his…
— Mr. Lecter! — The man from the butcher shop woke him up.
The cut of an Argentine steak weighed in his hands, before turning around the corner towards the most
prestigious cheese shop in Baltimore: The idea of a spinach, mushroom and Parmesan puree next to a
juicy steak made his mouth water. Not as much as the thought of Will clinging to her shoulder, but for now,
it was enough.
Whenever I went from the butcher shop to the cheese shop, I passed by the terrible and noisy shopping
center, with cheap restaurants and shops. Although he liked to look past, always full of banal people,
spending the little money they had on unhealthy food, pretending to be happy for a few hours, helping
the system to be the system, a horde of tasteless people. "Hannibal!"
— It's not Hannibal, it's Doctor Lecter.
- Dad…
Hannibal had to blink twice at the image of an Abigail gorged on French fries, next to her, handsome
Will Graham wiping his mouth with his lip sleeve.
The scene seemed grotesque and infinitely perverse, because... he liked it.
“Miss Graham, Will. — Courteous greeting, while the noise of the place, encouraged to destroy his
nerves, but then being absorbed by a tenuous bubble, of an endless paradise, in Will's green eyes,
nervous eyes, elusive eyes. — You can call me Hannibal, my friends do.
— Dr. Lecter.
— Are you in a shopping center? — Abigail was going for three fries at the same time, a lot of ketchup
in the process, Hannibal sighed.
— I was on my way to the cheese shop, I come from Hector's butcher shop, the best seller of
Argentine meat in the city. "Too fancy, they're not your fancy friends, Hannibal."
— The guy with the expensive meats. Will whispered. — Once he wanted to sell me lamb at triple its
price.
— Your lamb is worth it, I know firsthand that you only sell the part of the thighs, the best part.
— It was still a scam.
"It was still worth it."
Abigail seemed amused. — We have... five hamburgers, ten pieces of chicken and many
potatoes, don't you want to eat with us? We will never finish, although dad can, I once saw him.
— I was hungry, the human stomach can expand forty centimeters above its normal volume if
anxiety... Doesn't matter. Will looked at the food, then at Hannibal, at his hands. — Doctor Lecter
would never eat this food Abi, it is not his type of food.
— Everyone likes hamburgers.
Hannibal wanted to stay, wanted despite all his stomach and ego telling him to run, he really
wanted to sit down, eat the horrible processed fries, bite into the blatant burger and kill himself with
the tasteless chicken, but what if he messed it up? "To your regret, Will, I'm a guy who can eat a bad
burger once in a while."
Will seemed to want to smile, but he didn't. "You're politely saying our food sucks, but you could eat it."
- Dad.
- That meant, I know how to read sarcasm.
- Profanity.
- TRUE. Will blushed, Hannibal wanted to learn how to cook terrible hamburgers. — I apologize,
you should not say bad words, just think them.
Abigail agreed. - That is. When she looked back at Hannibal, she looked expectant. - Doc?
— I'm afraid I don't want to intrude, you are spending quality time together and my presence
would be forced.
- That's true. Will looked at Abigail before Abigail could correct him. — We insist that he stay, that's
what the rules of social behavior demand.
— I insist that they spend time alone.
— We insist, although we do not want, that he stay.
— I insist...
- You are infuriating. Abigail took her big glass of soda, amused. - I'll go for a
refill, while they decide who insists more.
Hannibal was still standing, Will had stopped eating, the atmosphere suddenly turned noisy. "I should go,
the meat I bought is..."
- Just stay.
- Alright.
— You want to stay, you don't know how to say it without bothering me, but it doesn't bother me, it
just bothers me, from now on I have to deal with a new situation, but Abigail wants you to stay, she
genuinely wants to, you don't bother me, Hannibal.
It was the first time that Will called Hannibal by his name and the Doctor tried to remember how his name
sounded in the past, it seemed to him that he had never heard it, until that moment, out of pure sobriety, as if
he had come out of a mist, and now, it was his turn to see the world clearly, Hannibal was now a new meaning,
one that indicated that Will wanted him to stay, because he wasn't bothering.
While Abigail struggled to bring soda for everyone, Hannibal ate three fries daintily, Will spreading
out the mustard. — Going to a basic statistic, you shouldn't eat traditional sauces, so I'll give you the less
conventional one. It's the only one you might like.
Hannibal searched his eyes, he really wanted to see them. I don't find them. — Statistically you are
correct, I am not conventional Will.
Will nodded, looking at the offered mustard. Hannibal dunked his fourth dad in it. - So I'm right.
- When you don't have it?
— Statistically?
Hannibal smiled more. Why do you insist on not giving me your number? Can we only be email friends?
Will tensed, enough to betray nervousness, but not displeasure, just dealing with a situation he wasn't
used to. — Abigail has my number, the director of the school for any medical emergency, my health
insurance, Jack because I work with him and Alana, because she is my friend... Enough contacts, I know
what to expect from each call I receive, I have it under control.
— Does having me on the list add something so unknown that it cannot be tolerated?
— Because I don't know what you want from me, no... I still don't understand you.
— I want your friendship, just that.
Will bites into the burger, his mouth full. - You want something else.
- Maybe in time.
A second bite came. - Go? I don't know what he wants, he doesn't know my sleep schedule, he doesn't
know.
"I like you Will.

I'm courting you! I understand that you don't see it, it's not direct and you don't seem to perceive yourself as
valuable, I'm patient, you don't know how much I can wait for you.
Abigail arrived with the refreshments, suddenly the three of us sitting around the ridiculously small table
overflowing with food felt like a natural. As if Hannibal fit in very well, trying to, for example, Will was disgusted
with the term hamburger meat. "It doesn't matter, we'll still eat it."
But Hannibal was not willing to let the two introverted Grahams eat burgers that were not to taste, soon two
waiters remembered the existence of the table, which they were previously unaware of, perhaps because
Hannibal was too persuasive with strong looks, clear words and two bills falling from his hand, from time to time.
Suddenly they had burgers in the correct term, hot fries constantly being refilled and crispy chicken, still
terrible food but it was better, Abigail was bright-eyed, more ketchup at the corners, Will was flushed at the
corners, full at the corners of mayonnaise, Hannibal barely ate potatoes, claiming to be allergic to all kinds of
meat that he had not cooked himself, the Grahams laughed at the clarification.
"So, Abigail, what do you want to study when you finish school?"
— She wants philosophy, I told her that it is good to know that she will starve like her father.
Abigail rolled her eyes. — It hasn't been decided yet, but yes, I like philosophy.
Hannibal nodded pleased, feeling how ridiculous he looked with the soda straw between his lips, while Will
watched him out of the corner of his eye, perhaps feeling the same way as Hannibal, how inappropriate and
distant he looked. — There are very good schools in Florence for the art of philosophy, once I thought that I
wanted to study that, so I nourished myself with the best, if you wish I can encourage you to find the ideal
school.
— County State University, sounds like something I could afford, more than Florence.
— There are excellent scholarships and with my support and recommendation she could.
Will then denied. - Not because? Why do that?
“Will, when you find someone who wants to study philosophy, you can't blame me for encouraging them to do it.
— Hannibal drank more soda, played again with the terrible straw, Will seemed again focused on seeing him do
that. — You will see the art of constant questioning requires discipline and enormous mettle, Abigail is capable of
dealing with it. A difficult career deserves tenacious people, whom I find extremely interesting, individuals who
delve into a host of questions that I have not asked myself, with the closest answers that can exist. I always say,
beware of a philosopher, he can question you so much that you end up depending on him, in an endless vicious
circle.
Abigail looked dazzled and her chest puffed out with pride, plus something, too, amused.
— Dad studied philosophy.
Hannibal then looked at Will, touched. - He did not know. — And I didn't even know it, can Will Graham be more
perfect?
- Uhm yes. Will resented the praise. — Before being a police officer I got a scholarship at Yale, only three years,
I couldn't finish and then I went to the police academy, maybe I questioned so much that the vicious circle cost
me.
— You were missing a semester, dad.
— Did you advance courses?
— I did two semesters per cycle, I had time and few friends.
- That is admirable Will.
The liner was made of pure pink. Abigail proposed taking Hannibal to the movies, Will almost went into hysterics
but Hannibal said no, he couldn't bother anymore. They said goodbye paying everything, without letting Hannibal
pay, totally offended by the proposal.
Hannibal knew that for everything he had ordered the bill would be higher and that the economy was still a
problem for them. That's why the gesture was worth more.
So that was a domestic thing, he liked it.
When he got home, he had a mail.
From: WillGraham1985@Baltimore.com
To: Hanniballecterp@Baltimore.com
Time: 6:15 PM
Thanks for eating burgers, I can't imagine how painful that was.
Good night,
Will.
From: Hanniballecterp@Baltimore.com
To: WillGraham1985@Baltimore.com
I would be again, for you and Abigail, don't doubt it.
Good night , Will.
Oh and Hannibal, I would do it again, that and more.

I know the shirts
Hannibal had checked five times in the last two minutes, whether he'd done something wrong when
it struck six o'clock that Wednesday evening and the Grahams weren't at their session, looking
awkward and delicious, introverted to death.
He thought about how suddenly, and only suddenly, he had strayed off the bumpy road too quickly, and
how Will had caught him early and taken him away from Abigail, forever.
Will was anything but an incredulous, he knew that Hannibal was not oblivious to his attention, although
far from why, he knew that he had a fixation on him. Perhaps Hannibal had left the door wide open and
given himself away, attacked by sober empathy and Will, good old Will, already knew who he was.
She could see them, deciding not to go back to the man who had no limits and who was in danger of
destroying the small bubble of solitude that both of them had so delicately built. A bubble that Hannibal
wanted to burst, only to go inside and build a bigger, stronger one.
Finally, when he found no mistake in his careful task of infiltrating, he blamed the indecipherable
green furniture for everything. I hate them. Because they had gotten in his way and had not been changed
in time.
Then he thought about his fee as a possible big culprit and realized he'd do the damn session for
free, if Will would let him.
As she walked down the dark path from her ebony chair to her walnut door, she caressed the
memory of both of them, enough to know that they were solid in her memory and brought them back to
her present. The nervous fervor with which he had been attacked dissipated, he was in control of
himself again, as a Graham would when facing the world. They couldn't have disappeared, he told
himself, for the simple fact that Will would cling to his commitments more than to life itself.
Even if he found out he was being courted by a murderer, Will would go to the trouble of calling a
cancellation. The idea was endearing to him, so Will.
His sanity returned like a cold to the back of his neck, unaccustomed to losing it, until he could breathe
and decide to wait.
Two minutes later, the reward was there, the Grahams made their appearance, just at three minutes past
six.
Abigail arrived with quick steps and two loud knocks on the front door, without a bell in between.
“That's rude, Abigail.
"I don't give a shit daddy!"
"You're grounded for a month, two months... shit, when is your camping trip?" One month, yes, but
the other month is your birthday, you shouldn't be punished on birthdays, I... - Will really clung to what
he knew as normal, but within the rules, the hundreds of books that he surely had read, nobody had
said, NOBODY had warned him, that the girl he took care of since he saw the light, would ever tell him
to go to hell.
Zero knowledge had broken Will, everything he knew seemed in vain. Not even reading about a murder
had upset him like this. He could read a murderer, he could predict one too. But
Abigail went to the sentimental part of him, making him useless, because the emotional part was uncontrollable,
the only one that could not time, measure, or order.
The psychiatrist read into his scared green eyes what Will was feeling and ultimately paying fifty dollars a week
for: He was afraid that having ASD would alienate him from Abigail, as it had from the world.
Hannibal didn't have to read it in his face, he was almost shouting it, while he unraveled the small thread that had
escaped from his shirt, with his thin fingers, until it shredded, in an infinite line that was separating the fabric and the
button. Will...
Hannibal wanted to embrace her despair, wanted to teach her everything she didn't know. And he wanted, above all,
to tell him that no one was really prepared for anything, when it came to feeling love for someone. With ASD or without
ASD, loneliness was not one's own fault, but the other's, who was probably abandoned before, in a trip with no return.
Abigail was not going to abandon Will as her mother, Will was not going to abandon Abigail as his wife: But how
could they believe it when they have only known abandonment and oblivion?
— One month Abigail.
Hannibal's door opened completely, Abigail's eyes were red, Will was red with no white spaces in between.. —
We're sorry we're late, Abigail....
- He was! His fault! He!
Hannibal received the girl in his arms, he didn't expect to, but it felt natural, Will moved closer with the idea of taking
him away from him. Hannibal denied. "We all need to calm down, Abigail?"
Was it wrong to feel a fervent love for both Grahams to see them so enraged in a show just for him? Yes,
it was wrong. But bad was always good for Hannibal.
- I do not want to see it.
"I don't want to see her either. Will quickly realized what he said. — I'm sorry, I'm her father, I must want to see her, I...
— She got lost.
Hannibal reached out a hand, a hand that he caught quickly and held out in a clear signal of calm to Will, while with
the other he held the teenager, still hidden in his chest. "Will, can I have a word with Abigail alone?"
The man nodded, too lost and upset, oblivious to why he had to entrust his daughter to a stranger.
Hannibal did not want to close the door of his office, the mere idea of Will wandering the dark paths where his mind
would take him would be dangerous, but he had to help Abigail first, if he wanted to help Will, who would finally help
the girl, also.
He wanted a look to calm him down, but Will, always elusive, didn't look at him. The psychiatrist had to be content
with patience and with some pain, he closed the door.
Only when they were alone did Abigail let go of him.
— Your father is very sorry, Abigail, and even if he was wrong, you are better than what I saw this afternoon.
The girl didn't sit down like she always did, she just walked silently, back and forth, five times, she
exhaled. "You're not going to feel sorry for him, are you?"
— I have never felt nor will I feel sorry for Will.
— No, don't say something complacent, I need to know that you will support me.
— Abigail, I'm here for you, as for him, what's good for you, will be good for you by extension.
— I need someone sane to support me! - The girl denied. "Not someone sane, I'm not saying he isn't,
just..." The tears came, furious.
— We can say things we don't mean when we're hurt, you don't need to excuse yourself.
"It's just that he..." The girl suddenly stopped looking fourteen and looked like someone who had grown
up too soon. — He hurts me and he doesn't ... even realize it.
— Your honesty is invaluable, painful at times but invaluable in the end.
- I know. — The tears kept slipping, Hannibal reached for cloths, Abigail thanked. — But sometimes I need
a lie or silence, you know, having the father who knows what to shut up from time to time.
— A person with ASD is not characterized by being very skilled at it, but I do know that they understand that
their honesty is the best for you.
Abigail had stopped crying, Hannibal saw how his voice reached her, in a calming way. Then
a long silence, one that the psychiatrist didn't manage to fill, and finally, Abigail's calm eyes returned to her
nature, one that despite everything Will did, she was willing to love. Hannibal loved her so much. "He...he
saw me kissing a girl from school."
- Girlfriend or just friend?
The young woman seemed to appreciate his face of absolute passivity, as if he had said good morning.
Abigail's shoulders lifted. — We are seeing, it is the first... The first person I like, what a kiss.
Hannibal nods. "Something special then."
I wish dad would have taken it that way.
- So he...
Abigail shook her head several times. — He only stood behind me, touched my shoulder and said: Why are you
kissing a girl?
- O Will.
Abigail covered her face. — Jessica was right in front of me, looking as if she didn't believe anything,
while my dad was a little closer, his face totally... intrigued. — The girl denies, she wants to smile but the
memory is fresh. — Of course I didn't answer him, I just took him away from the place, do you know what
he told me?
"I could never guess."

— That statistically I should like boys, so I wanted to understand why girls, even more so if we couldn't reproduce,
when that was finally the end of the genre. Finally, he ended by saying that it didn't matter who liked me, but that
kissing was highly unhygienic, proper for someone even sixteen years old, because at that age the immune
system is well established... well established.
Hannibal was now bordering on laughing, flirting with her. — I am extremely sorry that you had to go through it,
alone... Although that advice would not have been bad for me in my adolescence, I was not so hygienic in my
beginnings.
"He never realized what he really did!" Abigail now looked at him quite irritated. "You're just taking his side.
— It is not on purpose and I do not do it, because I believe that there are not two fronts. Hannibal could
wallow in the domestic to his heart's content, it was cloying, a totally fatherly problem that made him feel
invigorating, invigorating as Will. — I assure you that within himself, he reviewed everything he read and learned
for this moment and although he thought he was prepared, he did not solve it and you know Abigail? Your father
is outside believing that everything he did to prevent it was useless and that he will never be able to take care of
you, as you deserve. That he did something wrong, without knowing what it is, have you known that feeling?
Abigail keeps a deathly silence, while the memories are built. — He doesn't know what he did wrong to hurt
you, so that you want to leave him and cause him pain.
"Mom, Mom made me feel like this sometimes, she still can."
— He wants you to be happy, he doesn't know how, but he hasn't left, he doesn't intend to.
"You just don't know how, do you?"
"Help him, Abigail, he raised you alone... He wasn't always going to be able to do it right, was he?"
Hannibal can taste Abigail's brain, plus a strange warmth of first-time therapy for a good, one that probably spills
over into propagating Abigail's dependency on her father, who would spread a positive association for him,
forming a beautiful vicious circle. , where they would only have each other. Slow down, Hannibal.
"He... He must feel absolutely sick."
— It does. Hannibal crossed his legs, trying not to get to his feet to drag Will to the ebony spot, shredding his
thoughts, new and old, as he cooed to his present.
Rearm man again, make him feel what the world cannot. — Let him reflect, after all, he has made a mistake, time
is only an incentive.
He's just postponing his reward, but Abigail doesn't see it that way, she trusts him. — I don't know why you're feeling
worse right now, if because of what happened with me or because you were late for your appointment.
I have ten minutes of tolerance.
“That doesn't exist for the Grahams.
— Is it difficult to deal with punctuality?
Abigail has completely stopped crying, not only has she forgiven her father, but she feels guilty, but also grateful
that her new love interest, who will be touched, will not be discussed in the
Next session, Hannibal actually wants to know if the "girl" in question is worthy of Abi.
Abi, Abi told her, but it's not time for it to be out loud. — No, it's not difficult, in fact I like it.
— To my equal, control can be very encouraging.
— For dad it's something more than life or death.
- Authentic.
"Especially if it's about you." - Abigail murmurs, who now moves her feet, to a single rhythm.
Hannibal is on fragile but fertile ground, he has understood one thing, which could have been the opposite,
which could be a thousand things. - From my?
- You worry him. Abigail crosses her arms. — I know, I know him, he doesn't check the burners as often as
when he's coming here and there's also the matter of the shirts.
Hannibal can taste, the sweet taste of the impact, of the link. - The shirts...
— Pink shirt and beige pants Wednesday, always the same, if the shirt gets dirty, he'll still wear it. He is very
strict with routines, not so much with cleaning.
Hannibal would like to confirm, although he keeps the memory of Will's smell slight, which he resents,
because the distance has been somewhat painful, he does not fully remember the smell so he does not know
that it is a clean Will, a dirty Will. — He wears a green shirt on Wednesdays.
Then Abigail raises her eyebrows. — He changes it when he comes here and poor me if I mention it again, he
checks the burners again and ignores me all the way.
Hannibal then smiles, honestly and pleasantly. — I'm becoming part of his routine, he's looking for a way
to include me... Maybe.
— Or he just wants to combine the eyes with the shirt and you say something elegant to him, one of those things that he
says.
Hannibal crosses his legs again, the words not rushing into his mind, not the ones he wants, so he just
nods. — They go together very well.
"Change his shirt before he comes, a green one that matches his eyes, he breaks out of a routine, not
pink and beige Wednesday shirt, green shirt for Hannibal, because it's Wednesday. Hannibal doesn't
bother, Hannibal is a good thing."
When he opens the door, he can feel Chopin's notes shimmering in the air, with the minor flat of an anguished
and passionate note, sliding across Will's pink chest, his eyes deep in sorrow, searching for Abigail and
Hannibal, it is there, returning it intact, abject, repentant.
Chopin number five combines very well with the scene, with a green shirt and apologetic tears. "I'm so sorry
dad, I'm sorry. — The note Sol rises, accompanied by the Mi and they dance together, linked around the
embrace, of the reunion while Will's pristine eyes search for him desperately, when Abigail is in his arms.
Chopin raises the volume, the music buzzes before the work, like a theater, where he is alone, where he only
listens, where Hannibal enjoys.
Will says nothing, only Chopin fills the air, while the thanks are so sweet, so intoxicating that
Hannibal has to hold on to the door frame tightly to keep from melting. "Thank you," says Will, with
his eyes, without his lips, he only looks at Hannibal, and the doctor may wonder, can he also hear Chopin?
Can you feel the keys accompanying them?
Will keeps looking at him, amazed, grateful, spiraling into endless debt. Hannibal finds out that the green that
his furniture deserves is the green of Will's eyes and he knows well what the color is called: emerald green,
with a hint of lime, like the leaves on their first day of blooming.
— See you next Wednesday, Doctor Lecter. Will's voice is high-pitched, a little lower than normal, perhaps
because of Abigail's tight embrace that still hangs in his arms, which Will tries to hold back, as best he can,
oblivious to touch, to physical love. But thankful, so thankful.
Hannibal's grip on the door is strong, white-knuckled and pure Chopin, on the last note, of his creation.
“Until next Wednesday, Will.
Time: 8:45 PM
Is there an unhealthy burger make-up celebration at the Grahams' house?
The question is for professional purposes, clearly I need to know if you poison my patient.
PS: I have discovered the right color for the next furniture in my waiting room: Emerald green.
Time: 9:00 PM
Yes, there are burgers and there are... pizzas, too. Write that down in your notebook, please.
Pdt: The emerald green color is pleasant, appeasing and calming. I like it.
Time: 9:08 PM
Pizzas, you are horrible.
Pdt: It has been decided, emerald green it will be.
Time: 9:13 PM
Can I ask you not to buy the furniture?
Hannibal is intrigued, there are already two tabs open in the furniture search before the
conversation has even started. Two Italian stores that have always been trusted, one of them the same
one that brought ebony to perfection.
Time: 9:16 PM
I thought my penchant for splurging on trifles was established, why shouldn't I succumb to seeing
you sitting on furniture of your own approval?
Ten, twenty, thirty minutes.
Hannibal had learned that the longer Will took, the more he tried to say something that wasn't easy
for him.
Time: 9:46 PM
I'm making the furniture for you.
I know I should have asked if he wanted them, but the idea of watching him spend money for something I
was involved in irritated me. Do you want them or not? I can not make them, I still had to use the wood, I
can use it in something else. But it's expensive wood, I got it from Abigail at those garage sales, it was up
for auction, not a big deal, I could sell it.
Well, do you love her or not?
He has to control his pulse, the keys seem far and few to express what he wants to say, nothing is enough, nothing
could be to define what he feels for Will Graham at that moment.
He supposes he has to do something physical in return, the idea of kneeling in front of Will is appealing, but
Will isn't ready, may never be ready for any contact.
Suddenly, Hannibal is furious that Will will make furniture for him, while he has barely touched what he can really
give her. Just a breath from her mind, a breeze.
He feels so indebted, so deeply rooted to the man who beats, that now he feels that he will never find how, because
the feeling of having been chosen, cannot be compared to anything, he never ever and almost accepts, to live in
debt, for Will.
Time: 9:50 PM
Will, nothing would make me happier than receiving everything you want to give me.
Nothing.
Time: 10:00 PM
It's just furniture :)
Time: 10:01 PM
Made for you.
Time: 10:10 PM
This stopped being a professional consultation, right?
Your furniture is in progress, you shouldn't rush me, I work better without pressure, I already have the
measurements so you don't need to do anything. We don't even have to talk about it.
Ehhhhh, thanks for today, Abigail has been more clear, she has been quite clear, I think I can be more
careful next time. Thank you, Dr. Lecter.
Time: 10:12PM
In the art of love, any third party can be wrong.
I encourage us to let Abigail figure it out, right or wrong, finally... We don't judge the people we love.
Time: 10:13 PM
Jean-Paul Sartre.
Time: 10:15 PM
May I confess how exciting it is that you have studied philosophy?
Time: 10:18 PM
I may be the only one who thinks so.
Time: 10:20
It might feel good to be the only one who gets to enjoy it.
Time: 10:28 PM
I have to work, there's a killer that... Jack, he's got me under pressure, and I need to go through the files.
There will be no rest for me today. Good evening, Dr. Lecter.
Time: 10:30 PM
Can you tell me about the man in question? I promise to be as professional as I was before this exchange of
furniture and hamburgers, they say that I can be a great psychiatrist of dissociated minds, they say. Some say
that I can even be, "something good".
Also, a bedtime story is always good, are you encouraged?
Will delay.
Time: 10:45 PM
I don't know why you would care, but if you like:

There's an angel maker, a guy who turns human bodies, specifically bad people, into literally angels,
I don't understand if he's trying to save them or save himself... It could be both, it could be neither. He
may be a hero, a religious, a fanatic, although I think he is more of a believer who has fallen at some
critical moment in his life, however, how he chooses them remains a mystery, it may be, perhaps... [. ..]
The mail is long, Hannibal can taste Will's every word, every thought and so it begins, the crystal
clear feeling that yes, Hannibal Lecter has slipped into Will's life, after all. That now you can taste
from your mind, as if fate had always provided you for that moment.
Every word of the fight, every explicit truth, without regard, without protocols, without second
messages, every word is all Will and Hannibal, concludes medically and professionally, that he has fallen
in love.
When they finish their brief exchange of ideas, Hannibal sleeps and the gift, made of Ripper flowers
and hearts, begins to be drawn in an original design, perhaps enough for what his words cannot express.
In love, terribly, with the green shirt, with the green eyes, with the rebellious daughter, with everything
that implies, the hamburgers, the evasive glances, the good and the bad of life, overflowing in two
hermits. In love, until it hurts, until it burns.
Love, welcome and courtship in its splendor, too.
Mi, Sol, Re, Fa, and Chopin has been born and has died for this instant, Sol, Mi, Re, Fa and minor. oh the
love.
Get to know me better

Chapter Notes
Of interest, it is appreciated to read before continuing.
Asperger or High Functioning Autism according to the WHO: Asperger

syndrome has stopped being called as such, to derive it as one of the branches of
Autism. Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASDs) are a group of diverse conditions. They
are characterized by some degree of difficulty in social interaction and communication.
Other characteristics that they present are atypical patterns of activity and behavior; for
example, difficulty moving from one activity to another, great attention to detail, and
unusual reactions to sensations. The intellectual aspect varies from patient to patient,
from the minor development of neural activities to high ability in specific fields.
Mixing, white paint, yellow paint, blue paint, one hour and thirty minutes, since it started.
Mix, smell is bothersome, mix, evenly, mix, pungent odor, not harmful, not for now, within fifteen
minutes upon reaching two hours, may cause dizziness, headache, and later fainting, at worst
cases, but that's in fifteen minutes.
Mix, mix, it's not the color yet, not the right one, it plays with yellow, a bit of light blue, an unpleasant
odor on the rise, but also pleasant, it smells like an industrial product, it can be calming. Mix, mix. -
Dad.
— Mixing.
- I'll leave you lunch in...
Will Hannibal like that color? Is it what you imagined? What did you imagine? Hard to hit, plus
he's a liar, you won't get any information from him, not directly. not trustworthy
No, it's not perfect, mix, mix, smoothing tint, even, always to the right, pattern is lost a bit,
correct, eight minutes left until possible dizziness. Mix, mix, solvent, mix, mix.
Texture of the furniture, silk fabric, but not absorbent, drying time between one week and a half, if
exposed to a dryer, one week. Assembly time, one day, during his day off, mix, mix, it's almost
emerald green, almost.
Solvent, five minutes for possible migraine, mix, mix, right, right, relaxing, inappropriate taste for
smell, discard possible addiction and subsequent damage, mix, mix.
One minute, a little bit of yellow, a little bit of blue, mix, mix, slight pain in the arm, nice
pain, recognition of masochism normal level, possible major addiction, mixture. Ten seconds.
- That's it. Will looks at the color. "Abigail!"
- Yes Dad?
- You like the color?
- It's nice.
Insufficient information, Abigail is not color perceptive, headache started by smell and by Abigail,
Hannibal should be here approving, not at home, from home, shit, he doesn't have her number, no chance
of a photo. "Dad, you'll like it.
- How do you know?
- Intuition.
Insufficient information, your daughter is infuriating. Not invigorating, like him, Hannibal said it was.
That his name was in the dictionary, he said it figuratively, he is a liar and sarcastic. He is good at reading
sarcasm, everything exaggerated is sarcasm, he learned it as a boy, many hits, not remembering, it can
accentuate migraines.
However, he already brought it to his mind and his mind has little control, the memory of children
around him laughing at him, without him, he returns, it is boisterous, not painful, although he receives sad
looks, he wants everyone to shut up, to stop to laugh. Bad memory, accentuated headache.
In those days the only thing that could soothe him was his mother's voice, when she was still calling after
leaving him and his father. He called her and she just listened, he told her about his day, although she didn't
respond very much, that calmed him down, until he fell asleep.
The bad thing was that mom always hung up, until one day she no longer called, nor did she answer.
It's better to go back to the present... he's not happy with the mix, but he never is.
He won't like it, but Abigail says yes, Abigail knows Hannibal as much as he does. He may be right, he has
stored as much knowledge of Hannibal as Will, they even seem to get along, too much.
Possible non-professional approach, sentimental involvement, subsequent separation due to

separation, if it stops being professional, because they can't be friends, something to talk about later.
Don't think now.
- Dad.
"Tell me, Abigail.
— It's eight o'clock and you haven't had lunch.
- I'm not hungry.
"Then I'll eat it.
- You must have dinner.

- You must have lunch.
"Do you think I should give Doctor Lecter my number?"
Smile, Abigail smiles every time he talks about Lecter, why? Positive association with therapy, perhaps. It
makes him smile too, reflex endorphins, empathy, the headache dissipates slightly, a little, not completely. —
Has he asked you?
— Twice, he is insistent.
Why don't you give it to him?
— I have enough contacts, I don't need your number, we have the mail.
— Give it to him.
- So that?
- Because he likes you.
Irrelevant information, subjective information, unclear information. — He likes green, ebony and punctuality, not
me.
- He likes you too.
Denies. — Abigail, punished. — It doesn't make sense, Abigail hasn't done anything, but it helps to shut her up.
— Yes, yes, punished, I'll eat your food, but if you want there's bread and you can make yourself a hamburger
later...
Mail is a distant but accurate means of communication, the mechanism is formal and sufficient to establish a timely
exchange. The telephone number indicates colloquial conversation, personal exchange, unclear emoticons,
closeness, commitment.
Can you give your number and order it through an email? It is not compatible, one is for formality and the other is for
closeness. But Hannibal jokes in the mail and has made himself... say inconsistencies too, they have broken order,
they have broken the system.
Hannibal is infuriating as Abigail, invigorating too. Can a person be two opposite things at the same time?
Hannibal seems to be.
If you're going to give him your number, it can't be by mail.
In conclusion Abigail is unclear, she has no perception, the mail is formal, the mix imprecise, the number is informal
and Will, Will has a headache that borders on the abysmal. - I'm going out.
- Where are you going?
— Where Dr. Lecter.
— It's ten o'clock at night, dad. Abigail is laughing, but he hasn't said any joke, he's suddenly said something
sarcastic, but she doesn't detect exaggeration in his words.
— He said he sleeps at twelve.

- You must be at home.
I have your address.
- As? Seriously how?
— I have a database with data on all the inhabitants of Baltimore, it's useful when I need to segment
possible murderers within the radius, Abigail... you're wasting my time.
"So... you're a Hannibal stalker."
“I'm an FBI profiler and it's Doctor Lecter, not Hannibal.
Abigail laughs, Will too, endorphins are contagious, he doesn't even know why he's laughing, he likes
Abigail's laugh, it indicates that she's fine, they're fine, they're better since Hannibal. - And you didn't eat.
Abigail cooks well, not great, always a little more salt, a little less than it should be, but compared to
him, she does great. But eating now seems like something that can be postponed, he is in a greater
hurry to be somewhere else. - Eat for me.
Abigail nods, smiles, all smiles.
- I'll be back.
— You know, what shouldn't you be?
— Neurodivergently annoying.
- Good.
— That term doesn't even exist Abigail, you make a joke out of ASD.
— You love to laugh at the TEA.
— Because I can, because I have, you don't.
Lock the front door of the house, leave a key for Abigail, for emergencies only. — Only for
emergencies, don't go out! — Check the back door, did Abigail turn off the burners? He goes back into
the house, checks the burners, turned off. He closes the door again, definitely checks the back door
again, did he leave Abigail keys in case there's an emergency? Abigail climbs out the window, says she
has the keys. Did you walk the dogs? Shit, he didn't. — I walked them early, dad.
— Abigail is intelligent, she always knows what to say and when to say, but she smokes, smoking is bad, it
surely causes headaches.
Like the one he has.
The road is short, the night dark, Will feels calm when there are few people, nothing to worry about,
no one to run over, he is good at driving. It's good when it comes to making manual things, like
armchairs. Why did you decide to make the armchairs? Right lane for fast, left lane for rushed, middle
lane for mediocre.
Middle lane, definitely.
Armchairs, true, he did it so that Hannibal doesn't do trifles, besides, he likes Hannibal to put on
that weird smile that he does, that one on the side.
Without a doubt, Abigail is stupid because she is not a stalker, she is a profiler and a person who is respecting
the email and the number, two different channels.
Her arm hurts from mixing the paints, her head also hurts, she's hungry too, she should have eaten, but
Abigail ate everything, she shouldn't be there, maybe that's what Abigail meant by now... which is inappropriate,
because Hannibal doesn't expect it, because he didn't warn. But he already rang the bell.
Basic social norms Will! You should go, absolutely, you can run, but your car is parked right there,
you can't leave. Not anymore. If someone went to look for him at that time at his house, he would
throw the dogs away. Happily Hannibal doesn't have dogs.
The door opens, Hannibal is there, in his pajamas, disheveled, smiling, he doesn't show any signs of
bothering, but he's a liar, he doesn't look directly at him, he doesn't quite know if he's welcome, so just three
seconds, three no more ... dark, brown, almost brown eyes, look shiny, dilated pupils, satisfying look, positive
observation.
Hannibal agrees to her presence. Silly Abigail, if intellectually minor. You shouldn't say things like that, she's
your daughter, the book said you have to praise, not criticize. But it's kind of silly. It will add the silly, to make
it sound better. Yes, you have solved it.
Right, Hannibal... smirk, the one he likes. Therefore, Will smiles.
"Will..." The sound of his voice is pleasant, hoarse and somewhat coarse, but with a strange accent, Will
already found out, he's Lithuanian, but he doesn't ask, because it's a personal question and they're not friends.
But you like your tone of voice, it qualifies as nice sound.
— Good evening, give me your number, please.
Hannibal raises his eyebrows, he seems surprised, he shouldn't, it's the natural order, he was asking for it
before, it's normal that Will could ask for it now. Unless now Hannibal doesn't want to give him his number.
Hannibal's hair is in a mess, not like when you see him in his office, but really messy, all a coming and
going of a mess, Will thinks he looks good, despite everything.
"Can I invite you in first?"
Denies. — I need your number, to send you the photo I took of the color of the furniture.
- It's cold outside.
— The temperature is normal, Doctor Lecter.
— So, you came to show me a photo that you could send?
— The email is for professional issues, the cell phone for banal issues. Although I prefer the mail,
it is structure.
— So you came... To ask me for my number, because by mail it would be a personal matter and personal
matters, are a matter of telephone and in person, it is also valid, right?
It felt refreshing. - Yeah.
“Will, come in, please.
- It's late.
Hannibal gets exasperated, he does it because his temple crinkles a little, his eyes narrow, but he's not angry, he
just wants it to happen, he really does, Will can feel it fervently. — Did you know that if you're already here you
could show me the photo? It would have the same consequence.
I hadn't considered that, that's valid.
"I guess if I'm already here..."
Come in, Will.
Hannibal takes off his coat, he doesn't like to be touched, Hannibal is very careful to only touch the cloth, it's okay,
he's not touching it. Hannibal is good at respecting boundaries, except for that day he touched him, which felt like
he was burned.
Hannibal is funny, he does everything with elegance, Will doesn't laugh, Hannibal may think he's making fun of
him, he's not making fun of anyone.
The house is nice, but not his type, a large room, all mahogany, everything smells very good, it smells of
expensive cleaner, also of wood, it's big, too big for a man who lives alone, everything indicates that Hannibal
is a pedant, ostentatious millionaire and if not, someone peculiar. - Okay, the photo.
Hannibal doesn't come over to show her the photo, instead he leaves. Where is he going? “Will, come to the
kitchen.
Well, no one hosts anyone in their kitchen, but Hannibal is flamboyant. He follows it, careful not to touch anything,
afraid of staining it, even though it's not dirty, he took a bath yesterday. — Your house is nice but too big for one
person.
— I like space.
Hannibal moves like in a play, he has soft steps, his legs are long, he must train, he must watch his diet, he is
not flabby, athletic body, he does not eat hamburgers or pizzas. — His body is athletic, strong and well preserved.
Hannibal stops, looks at him with…unidentified, but nice feeling. He shouldn't talk about the physical appearance of
others, it's rude, but he assumes it's okay to say it when it's a positive adjective. Hannibal's smile proves he hasn't
done anything wrong. “Thank you, Will, you have a good body too.
— My body definitely doesn't have well-defined areas, uhm, very skinny maybe, besides my abdomen... — It
doesn't feel good to talk about your body, you don't know why you entered that area.
— Acceptable the same, people in general couldn't boast about it. You can, be okay with your imperfections.
— Let's not talk about the physique, I shouldn't have started that conversation.
"Whatever you want, Will."
— I want to show you the photo and then go, you must sleep in half an hour.
Hannibal now pulls out two mugs, fancy and expensive, white as hell. "Why do I have to sleep in half an
hour?"
“You said you slept at midnight.
- It can always vary.
— That's annoying, the change, because if you sleep late now, tomorrow you'll wake up later and what you
have planned will be postponed, certainly today I shouldn't be here, tomorrow now is an unknown day for
me.
- Coffee?
It smells good, God it smells like the best coffee in the world, it's past, it's coffee from another country, maybe
Colombia, it smells so good that he inhales it. - No, thanks.
“Will, you can have the coffee.
"But you won't sleep at midnight and..."
Hannibal serves the coffee, he doesn't understand the meaning of no. — And I said that I can change it.
Will thinks that Hannibal is a stubborn guy. — All that remains is for you to serve me food now.
Well, now you have broken all limits and sent the book on proper social behavior away. He has ordered food,
from the psychiatrist who treats his daughter, but he is hungry. He's so hungry. But Hannibal provides, it's his
nature. When did it become easy to look him in the eye? He doesn't need more than two seconds to know that
Hannibal is in his natural state, in his kitchen.
"Will, have you had lunch?"
— No, I was doing the painting. — Hannibal nods, seems to have taken a breath, a lot of air, and then the
theatrical dance begins: Peppers, mushrooms, cheese, various types of cheese, ham, bacon, spinach,
cilantro, pepper, oregano, oil, butter, noodles. - I can eat a bread.
- Not in my house.
— You want to feed me, because you like the idea of feeding me? You're smiling, more than ever, I don't think
I've ever seen him smile like that.
- I like to cook.
- You like to provide.
— A few people.
- Alright.
— You can look, wait and after eating, you will show me the photo, meanwhile you drink coffee.
The orders are good, they give him clarity and he feels calm for the first time all day, the headache
disappears. The music of the opera, from some opera, wonders if Hannibal has music somewhere, reaches
his body and for a while, for the time that Hannibal cooks, cuts, chops, boils, seasons, fries, moves... Will
doesn't think, just silence.
Quiet, nice.
Hannibal stings.
Hannibal smiles.
Hannibal provides.
Will doesn't think.
Silence.
Coffee, what a nice coffee. It burns, it doesn't matter, silence is fine.
Half an hour passes, everything is so calm that silence precedes the unknown.
Peace, Hannibal, nothing to think about, nothing to read.
After the river, after Abigail's smile, there is this moment, this moment of clarity, of utter emptiness. "Will,
you don't know how happy it makes me that you're here.
He doesn't have to say anything, Hannibal is not someone who has to predict, to respond, because he feels like
he is alone, but only good, with himself.
He falls asleep.
[...]
He wakes up in the bar, at Hannibal's house. — I'm sorry, I... — He has drooled on the bar, he cleans it,
Hannibal drinks coffee next to him. "It's past midnight, sorry."
Will, it's okay.
Then Will laughs. — I fell asleep in your kitchen and you are drinking coffee, I fell asleep on your schedule,
instead of you, this is bizarre, excuse me.
Hannibal laughs too, then serves the food.
They are noodles with vegetables and ham, something simple, but the presentation is beautiful, too much for
something that you will eat. Hannibal doesn't eat, he just expects him to eat, so he does. - Shit. — Two more
bites, his mouth is full, he shouldn't but it doesn't matter, it's Hannibal, Hannibal wants his number, he wants to
be his friend. - Shit, this is rich.
— Praise is appreciated.
- Fuck.
— Not so much the as, but it is still appreciated.
Will smiles, his face hurts from so much smiling, he's been like that all day. — Does he make an effort to receive the
compliment or is the gesture genuine?
- A little of both. — Hannibal made Parmesan on his plate. "It seems I can't hide any secret from you.
— Maybe, I still don't know what you want to blur the limits of our relationship. — He bites into a bacon,
next to a pepper, he always wants to eat that, he always wants to eat the same thing, for the rest of his life
or for the rest of the time he has to live. — You are trying something, I won't take long to guess, you know,
right?
So you don't know yet. — Hannibal is about to speak, he feels the same tingles as when sending
emails, it's time to stop him.
— No. — He takes out his cell phone and leaves it on the counter. — Is this the green you wanted?
Hannibal looks at the screen, doesn't bother being interrupted, gently picks up the phone and then
looks at her eyes, then looks at the phone, her eyes again. - It is perfect.
— If you had told me that you were looking for the color of my eyes, you would have saved me the effort
of coming.
Hannibal plays dumb, like Abigail, because he denies, because he wants to look innocent. "I just noticed
now.
"Um, liar. — He has finished eating, he must wash. - I'll wash.
Hannibal seems to say no, but then looks at him. - Alright. — He looks more exhausted than pleased,
but it doesn't matter, Will must wash.
When it's over, it's one in the morning. — Thank you for having me... Hannibal. — Name said, professional
respect dissolved, hopefully for the best.
— Will.
- Yeah?
Hannibal reaches out, wants to run but doesn't, the touch feels hot, burning, painful. — You have
paint on your forehead.
It qualifies as a normal touch, but Hannibal's hand remains there, drawing the supposed stain. He
wants to leave, but he doesn't. She still feels like she's in the gutter, like her thoughts are stuck, not much
to process. He doesn't move, he just stands still waiting for Hannibal to finish.
What feeling is that? Warmth, nerves and peace - what is it? Why aren't you thinking? Why not process?
He would have to be thinking about the color, the smell, Hannibal's face, the time, the burners, the door,
Abigail, the dogs, Jack, the murderers, the Ripper, but nothing.
Just silence.
- I have to go.
— It's late, you could stay, tell Abigail...
- No.
When Hannibal puts her coat on, this time he isn't careful, brushing the back of her neck easily, then
zips her coat up, runs a hand over her shoulder, and finally taps lightly on her chest. — Now if I can
have your number?
“Uhm, it's not necessary anymore, really.
"It's okay, Will.
Will now leaves, Hannibal seems to want to extend the moment, Will doesn't want to. He leaves, he doesn't say
goodbye again, he goes to his car.
Hannibal looked pained.
Inside, the silence again, but now, before a storm. - Oh. — He realizes, while holding the steering
wheel and his reflection is seen in the rearview mirror, without any paint stain, because there never
was. Liar.
It dawns on her so quickly that she has to hold on to the wheel, and she has to hold on tight, because what
she feels feels like the sun itself, figuratively, of course.
Hannibal likes it. - Shit. — Hannibal likes him, he is attracted to him, no, no, no, no, no.
And the thoughts return with force, with such force that now he is breathing with difficulty, without air, without
light, he is drowning. - No no no. — A panic attack, it's just an attack, nothing more, just an attack, physically
normal for someone neurodivergent.
Breathe, as you were taught to do as a child, breathe.
No, no, you can't like it. Because if he liked it, he expected something from him, then and only then, would
he meet him and see the stove, see everything and leave him, because they always leave him, unable to
bear it, not even he could. And then there was Abigail, because if they left Will, they left her. NO NO NO.
Hannibal likes me. — Then, Will reacts, only when a breeze of air comes through the car window. — He
liked it but not like that, not like Abigail's mom, not like that, because statistically, Hannibal should be
attracted to a woman, an elegant one, one from his world, punctual that if he gives her number, without ASD,
pretty and above all , normal.
Hannibal likes him, as a friend.
Peace returns to her body, panic attack averted.
When he gets home, he mixes, mixes, looks in the mirror, emerald green, a little yellow, mixes, mixes,
it's three in the morning, mixes some more. He looks in the mirror. - Now it's perfect.
Sleep sounds good, it's been a tiring day. "Will?"
He hates Jack, he's annoying and only brings bad news, he pushes him, he's annoying. - Jack.
It's the Ripper.
Will feels like Hannibal's house, it feels clear. - I 'm coming.
The scene is gloomy but there is something of art in it, it is a forty-year-old man on his knees, in front of an
enormous flower arrangement: Orchids, sunflowers, petunias. He is on his knees, admiring the beauty.
Praising, loving.
It's five in the morning when he comes home.
Time: 5:30 AM
The Ripper returned to the ring, murdered a forty-year-old man, without wife, without children. It
He dropped to his knees, looking at a flower arrangement. I would say that he is an empty man open to
receive but also to adore. I know it's late, I just wanted to tell you.
Hannibal must be asleep, but he's his friend, so he writes to him.
Time: 5:40 AM
Doesn't sound like the Ripper.
Time: 5:41 AM
What are you doing awake? You can not sleep?
Time: 5:43 AM
No I can not. I didn't like you leaving, I would have wanted you to stay.
Will understands, it's that he likes it, that's why he didn't like that he left, when people like you, they miss
you. It was normal.
Time: 5:46 AM
Give me your number.
Will has the number in front of him, he types it on his cell phone and calls, Hannibal answers immediately.
— Is a story always good before going to sleep?
Hannibal's sigh is long. - I hear you Will.
— Well, if it's the Ripper I can feel it and not only in the absence of organs, he's there, in every
trace of man, but the flowers...
Will talks, talks too much but he assumes it doesn't matter, because Hannibal likes him. He talks
until Hannibal falls asleep, a slight breath gives him away, however he doesn't hang up the call, he
puts it aside, until he himself falls asleep.
I know the distance
The Ripper has killed three times in the last two weeks, always Thursday and always at midnight, less
significant hunts than the last, but that's not what keeps Will entertained, not only that at least, but also
the unusual wave of other assassins who seem to have caught the return of the first. Hannibal is a little
upset about that, even more so when it's Wednesday and there's no sign of Will in his waiting room, still
with the wrong green furniture.
Yet the memory of Will's skin under her fingers, the simple touch of his forehead, the line she drew,
sensing Will's held breath, his desire to flee but his obligation to stay, seeing a bit of Hannibal,
discovering him. , still draws a smile on his face.
Hannibal isn't even remotely clear what he'll get, or if he'll get anything, maybe he'll just be happy
with what Will can give him and if that means inconsistent visits at midnight and an hour on
Wednesdays with his daughter, it can work, he can live like that. Because surely it will be the only
thing that Will can give him and it turns out that it is enough, because the past in comparison is now
gloomy, when they did not exist.
Of course they couldn't judge if the furniture he's soon to receive gets an altar and he sleeps on it,
because Will Graham's hands will have made it and it'll be green, the right green, where he won't let
anyone sit but himself and that will be enough. , nothing else. Just Will, just Abigail.
— The redundancy with which youth nowadays points out the people they want to impress is still an
enigma for me, perhaps you can clarify it.
Abigail exudes the smell of tobacco to a level that Hannibal is shocked, although he doesn't show
it, he also looks haggard, somewhat sleepy, perhaps from lack of sleep, perhaps from excessive
sleep, too. — It's not about who, it's just about doing it, feeling that you managed to impress
someone.
— It's still an impression, looking for a reaction, you're an intelligent girl who keeps looking for
feedback that you don't even dignify, why?
- Because I'm broken. Abigail drums her fingers on her leg, Hannibal instantly knowing
she's reaching for an imaginary cigarette. — Dad is too, that's why we look for something we don't
even want.
— Having loved and having lost is not necessarily a defeat. Hannibal smoothes his shirt, a
reassurance he hopes will reach Abigail. — Balzac said that in the great crises of the heart, it breaks
or hardens, you are hardened.
— Ours is broken, you don't know, just... It's hard to love again, when you've only been let go.
"Jessica, right?"
Abigail plays with her hands. - I do not want to talk about that.
— We don't have to talk about her, we can, however, talk about why you tried.
"How do you know he left me?"
Hannibal nods. — Because my sweet girl, you have the face of someone whose heart has just been
broken, even if it isn't. Not at all.
The teenager drops, a little towards the seat, a little towards the floor, totally sprawled in ebony
and feeling like one. — It was only momentary, adolescents do not know "forever".
— They are not lucky enough to define themselves at such a young age, the promise of something
better looms in their minds, until the surprise that they missed the right opportunities hits, too late.
- I hope that's how it is.
— You mean teenagers, as if you were not one of them.
— Sometimes I feel like I never was, I skipped that stage, maybe I never had it. — Sadness, loneliness,
pain.
— Abigail. Hannibal calls, his gaze narrowing. — We cannot expect the world to love us as we want, we
just have to want without expecting anything and that should be enough, the memory that we love, that
we can do it is enough, because happiness is in it, the memory of the sensation is yours and no one can
take that away from you.
— Mine... — The teenager closes her eyes. — Can the memories be mine?
— Moldable, without sinning in fantasy, only in recreation, what memory would you like to be yours
forever and what would you do with it as a result? Maybe people, they may not be here, but they are
yours in your memories.
— I would kill those who hurt dad.
Hannibal can taste the light, but not the white mundane idea that dwells in general knowledge, but the
light that only those who dwell in darkness can perceive, the void and nothingness, something only
darker than black, evil. - Who would they be? — He does not flinch, he does not make any gestural
response.
Abigail shakes her head, her eyes still closed. — Mom, Grandma, the boys who hurt her when she was
young, the guy she dated about three years ago and who suddenly had to travel, who never called again...
Who promised to love Dad.
— Surprisingly, your list does not include people who have directly harmed you.
— If they hurt him, they hurt me.
loyal girl.
"Now you think I'm crazy right?" Abigail opens her eyes too soon. — That is, I would never kill, I
would be incapable, I am not a monster. — Hannibal intends absolute drama denying. — Just the
idea, as it says, my mind would think that it could do it, that I
I would like.
— And you are the owner of your mind, no one can judge us there, yours... totally your property, the feeling
you want, as long as it calms you down, should always be encouraged, even if it is imaginary.
Finally we are made of lights and shadows, ignoring the bad parts does not make us better, just naive.
Abigail smiles, she still looks battered and beaten but she smiles, Hannibal feels like he could right now
capture that smile, Graham inheritance in its splendor, on paper and carbon, to make his own, his own
memory. Thanks Hannibal.
- We are for that.
There are still twenty minutes left before the session ends, but as Hannibal has learned, patients are
only available when they are looking for something in particular, something Abigail has already
discovered, and the rest of the time will be spent in verbiage that will lead nowhere.
So, like a professional, he doesn't want to push more on Abigail's transformation arc, one that will have to
follow its own course and that he will only have to observe extemporaneously. — You have many books here,
have you read them all?
Hannibal takes a look through his library and knows that it is the only thing that would hurt him to lose if he had
to flee, not the only thing anymore, but it is still the third most valuable object after Will and Abigail. — I have
read most of them, others have been gifts that I dare not break down for fear of the unknown and others simply
wait for their right moment to be read.
— Is there a correct book for each moment?
— You would be surprised to know that the right words can come even across hundreds of years of
difference, Balzac loved in the past, as much as you and I do in the present.
— A romantic. — The teenager moves her hands amused, Hannibal can't scold her, not when he feels her
grow by his side, shine. - Can?
— Please, feel at home.
— Isn't there another date after me?
— I'm afraid that Graham's schedule is the last shift of the day, only your father could appear right now and
you would be relegated, my attention to him is something that I do not control.
Abigail paused before beginning to investigate the library. - I've noticed. — She doesn't press, she doesn't say
what she thinks, she's cunning, like her father, more than out of fear, out of caution, as if she didn't want to
destroy something that is slowly being built.
Hannibal adores her.
I'll start upstairs!
— The summit always generates expectation. — Hannibal murmurs that now he goes to his desk, the
amazing peace with which he can file the papers of the day with the presence of another being around him is
new, but welcome. Abigail's giggle at his words is not annoying, soon she can drop her guard and just hum in
each other's company, Abigail's footsteps, books being removed, touched. You don't have to see her to know
that she's engrossed, that she's also comfortable in her presence.
He discovers that there is a lot of useless paperwork to be done, but he insists on not having a secretary, not
after the last one had a trade of being late and had to eventually fire her in memorable fashion. But the paperwork
is not something that bothers him, more than wasted time, he enjoys filing, remembering what he thought,
collecting data and moments of destroyed beings, at his
post.
Abigail's silence is precious, even her footsteps feel careful as she dwells around him, perhaps intent on not
interrupting their own time together. However, now that she has descended with three books in her hands, which
she accommodates in her slender arms and intends to head downstairs, of the other books, she still looks small,
but pleasantly different from the world that lives inside her. archived patients. — You can leave the selected
books on the table, for your comfort.
— I really just wanted to ask, write down their names, my birthday is in two weeks and dad will have to buy them
for me.
- I see. Hannibal ponders. — Then leave them here, it will be more comfortable for you to continue your
search, choose as many as you can, let's bother Will.
- Could...
— Final pavilion, there are more books of this type.
Hannibal caresses the selected books: Schopenhauer, Saint Augustine, Stendhal... Great choices for
someone who flirts with intrinsic reflection, although he would leave Saint Augustine for another time, without a
doubt, he was too peaceful a guy, elemental rather than intriguing .
But it's still a good choice.
Half an hour later, Hannibal has finished filing and is now sharpening the scalpel on his desk, comfortable in the
memory of Will Graham sleeping in his kitchen, breathing hard as his hands wrung to gather up the wavy hair that
fell from his forehead and fingers. fervent desire to carry him by weight towards a proper bed, where they could
observe him calmly, fills his chest as a reward for his absence. - They are all.
Abigail almost trips over the number of books that cover her face: Balzac, Vallejo (terrible Latin American
treasure), Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, Dante, Gunter Grass and finally, Bukowski. — Ah, flirting with pain?
— I always wanted to read Bukowski.
— I always regretted doing it, although I would make that mistake again.
"He doesn't seem like someone who runs away from pain."
— I have made the feeling my own, yes. Hannibal strokes the hard cover of the collector's book as he
arranges the rest in order. "But I'm afraid I had to warn you.
Abigail is calm now, while the smell of tobacco impregnated with her is slightly dissipated by the smell of the old
leaves that she has been feeling. Hannibal hands her pen and paper, she calmly writes down each name, finally,
she is done. — That's it, dad will lose his mind.
- I would like nothing more. — Hannibal looks at the books, there are a total of eleven of them. "So which intrigues
you the most?"
— The tin drum.

— I read it when I was your age, overflowing company for loneliness. — Hannibal saw him and said goodbye
to him. "You can take it, it's yours.
Abigail's eyes widened, as when Will let himself be touched on her forehead, just as incredulous at the closeness of
someone who wasn't running away from him. — No, he really doesn't have to, they look expensive and his library,
he loves it... No, I don't... it's collectible.
Hannibal handed him the book. — Please, I've already read it and I think I feel totally indebted, for your sincerity
and company, take it, I'm sure that keeping Grass alive will be worth it if he continues in your legacy.
Abigail nods then, then looks back at him, the same look of someone who has established an unprofessional
bond, a look of fondness, albeit budding fondness. - Is the best.
The next few minutes are about Hannibal packing his bag and Abigail, waiting for the door.
"Will someone come for you or will we venture to Wolf Trap?"
The office door rings, but she doesn't wait for an answer, when the door is open, Alana Bloom pokes her face inside.
— Oh, sorry, I know I was supposed to arrive an hour ago Abi, but really the traffic... — Something disheveled,
smelling of cherries with a cloying perfume, the memory of the old friend she once was floods her memory, no it's
an annoying memory, only unexpectedly and even more so when the closeness betrays his obvious proximity to the
Grahams.
— No problem, in fact I was walking through Hannibal's library.
Alana is completely calm when she meets the man's eyes, the familiarity between them is instant. — And I was
going to die waiting for an invitation to dinner Hannibal.
— My fault, I thought you were busy, flying like the hummingbird you usually are.
— Oh, bullshit, too busy with your patients and your opera nights, which I also told you I could go to.
Hannibal places Abigail's coat. — Not busy, enthralled with my new company I have to admit.
— Dad and Hannibal, they are friends. Abigail shares a look with Alana, a look only they understand.
Why didn't you know about this? Wait, Will giving out his phone number? By the way?
— It took me a month and a half, but yes, Will has done me the honor of delivering it to me.
- It took me a year. — Alana now stomps restlessly. — I've been so busy with the master's degree that I've hardly
been able to visit Abi and Will, by the way, I'm sorry my girl.
Abigail shrugs. — We have been good, although you missed the Winston and Lucky competition.
- Good heavens.
— Are you a guest of hamburgers? Do you know the dogs?
— Oh, I'm the one who wears them, when they invite me and the dogs, I'm their favorite.
He doesn't know why but Hannibal feels like he's in a competition for who can jump the highest at this point,
though something tells her that their advances have been much faster than Alana's process in connecting with
them, without a doubt, Dr. Bloom had the advantage of time. Proof of this is that he is picking up Abigail and Hannibal
is not returning her. She wonders why Will wouldn't have asked, they're supposed to be friends, call friends without
hanging up.
— I feel calmer knowing that Abigail has someone to return to.
— First we will go for a hamburger, I owe it to you.
Alana and Abigail are dating, when Alana turns. "A drink later?" Maybe if you sleep in a little late today, you
could update me on your friendship with Will, I can't even imagine how you did it.
Hannibal considers it, the last two weeks with Will have slowed down their connection, being able to count on one
hand the short, clumsy calls Will makes, plus the ten sad emails Hannibal sent, getting no response. He supposes
that the company of a being that reminds him of Will, who is not Abigail, would do him good. Also, no information
should be underestimated.
— I'll be delighted, you have my address.
"Bye Hannibal!"
"See you soon Abbi.
[...]
Two rings later, always only two, Will answers.
Hi Hannibal.
His voice sounds so far away, even further than the distance between them, even further than Minnesota.
— A courteous call, just checking that you haven't missed too much, am I being intrusive?
- I was thinking of you.
Hannibal has to hold onto his kitchen counter for a bit, strokes the words, then answers, as if there's nothing
important about Will actually thinking about him. - What brought me to your mind?
— I was eating and the food is terrible, it's really terrible, I imagined you eating it and you'd frown angrily, you'd sue
the place, I think you'd kill the waitress.
It is not entirely a lie.
"...Then I thought about your food, the one you made that day and I really wanted to eat it hahaha."
— Let me share your pain Will, nothing hurts me more than imagining whatever you're gulping down, of
course when you come back, I'll cook again for you.
— I would like those noodles again, with the bacon and the pepper, again, please.
— I can do something else, I know you like lamb, maybe?
— I do not have previous information to know if I will like another dish.
“But if you have information that I have cooked well once, statistically, I could succeed again.
— Always saying the right thing, Hannibal I think already...
Hannibal thinks that now he will be quickly abandoned, so were his calls with Will, somewhat short and accurate,
but vibrant. He can almost taste the goodbye and then the ringtone that announces the end, but he tries to hold
on a little longer. — Alana Bloom will be coming tonight, I know the
you know.
A space of silence, one that encourages to continue the connected call. — Oh, Alana has been picking up Abi
these days, she picked her up in therapy right?
— Yes, she was there, it's good to see an old friend again, I knew she was close to you but I didn't know how close she
was, she asked to come see me, I think I'll cook lamb to put into practice the dish I'm going to make for you and it will
turn out better when you return .
— Alana eats hamburgers, you don't have to work so hard for her, she also drinks beer.
Hannibal wants to acknowledge why Will's voice is suddenly thicker, a little cold. — Practice never hurts, even more
considering that we are all friends, I did not know by the way, that I took care of Abigail.
“She does, from time to time.
— He is a good, intelligent person.
“He tried to psychoanalyze me once.
— A curious person, he has always spoken well of you.
Will taps the phone a little, he is heard a little further away. — So, I'll leave it for your appointment.
It's not really a date.
- Good evening Hannibal.
Will...
There it was, the sound of hanging up that Hannibal was starting to hate, he almost missed the emails, Will could be
more chatty because of them, but then he would reconsider, when the sound of his voice came through and he could
taste his emotions, more closely.
The bittersweet taste of the strange call disturbed him, just long enough to remind himself that Will was like that,
unpredictable and that surely he would soon know what his mind meant.
The process of getting ready is done mechanically, because with the exception of a thirty-five-year-old man with
ASD, Hannibal has a routine for receiving guests, one that keeps him alert and on paper, in the ability to show what
he wants and how much he wants. teach. She dresses according to what a formal dinner calls for, she takes out the
ingredients and just as she imagines, at nine o'clock at night Alana Bloom is standing on her doorstep.
The kitchen is something that always helps him to listen to his guests without having to look them in the eye, although
he keeps an eye on any words and feelings they have to say, for example, Alana certainly appreciates his company,
he was an avid mind in the kitchen. school for his attention, but ten years later she can't imagine the reason that leads
her to see him, not so quickly, at least it hadn't sounded that way the times they talked about Will on the phone, many
months ago. When she was telling him about that slick FBI profiler everyone was talking about.
“Sometimes I think I worry too much about Will. — As the introductory talk about their current lives ends, Alana
begins to talk about the commonality they now share.
— We care about who we love, although we also do it if we believe them to be at a disadvantage, is Will?
Skipping and not looking, enough, while Alana drinks from her beer. "He just... It's not that I think he's at a disadvantage,
don't get me wrong, but it's not easy to see him hit reality when he doesn't even try, that is, he wanders around, only
working for Jack, who always demands it." too much.
— He is not happy profiling, I have noticed.
— He is happy being useful, but they have made him believe that reading assassins is the only thing he knows how to do.
— Will can certainly decide to just talk and it would be more than useful, in fact I imagine him without any work, he
is a pleasant company.
"You sound in love..." Alana now moved a meter closer, Hannibal stopped his cooking and looked at her with a
smile. — I had never heard you like that, you seem optimistic, even young.
— Just infected by joy Graham, don't get me wrong.
— They are not so happy that we say.
Hannibal detects that bleak feeling of pity that ordinary people like Alana can feel for introverts. — They are more than
that, they are invigorating.
Alana now tugs on her arm a little bit. "Is there something here that I'm missing?"
Hannibal takes advantage of the stir fry steaming in the air to add the end of the vegetables and gracefully releases the
grip, when he peeks his gaze slightly at Alana. — I don't think so, we're friends, any other expectations of mine I think
would be overshadowed by Will's limits.
- Do you like it.
Hannibal hums, doesn't deny it, but is evasive when he delicately serves hot dishes.
“You can't fall in love with Will, Hannibal.
Well, he holds the now empty frying pan with a little more strength, while he leaves it in the sink, to resume his
abandoned glass of wine. — I have never been told what I should and shouldn't do, but for
Your peace of mind is something I have not considered. She doesn't tell Alana that her warning is too late.
- Good. Alana relaxes a bit now, her usual sly smile back to help him with his own plate as they head to the table.
"Will is just someone to be alone with, he feels better that way and so does Abigail, exposing them to something,
someone..." He takes a little of his beer when he sits down. It wouldn't benefit them.
- Someone like me?
- You can be imposing, I'm afraid he would look upset most of the time and Will, past the moment of excitement,
would stop missing you when you find his patterns.
— I think there is no pattern that does not shine in Will.
— Believe me, if it doesn't tire you, he'll throw you out, very protective, with himself, with Abigail.
"You seem to have tried." — Hannibal now smiles, a lot of teeth, little desire to do it.
Alana blushes now, picks up her cutlery and cuts the meat as she thinks of what to say. — At first I was dazzled
by Will, I accept it, but I quickly noticed that he doesn't need anyone.
"He doesn't need it, I rather think that if he decides to establish a relationship, I'm afraid his counterpart would be the
one who needs it, tasting heaven makes us greedy."
"You can't say stuff like that and make me think you don't like it."
Hannibal waits for her to take the first bite, which she does when she catches his gaze, then finally starts her plate.
— I didn't say that I didn't like it, I let it be known that I'm not going to try to bother him.
— It's strange to see you like this, you were always unreachable at school.
- Yeah?
"You don't have to pretend. Alana sighs, she's enraptured by the food, but her compliment doesn't feel as good as
Will's profanity a few days ago. — Everyone was dying for you and you just ignored us.
— I was more concerned with teaching.
"You just weren't interested in any of us." - Alana smiles too much, plays with her hair, which makes her look exquisite,
if he was interested in her, but he is not, however Hannibal never refuses when he is put in the arena. — Has your
opening changed after these years? Or only Will can make you smile lately?
Hannibal denies. — I am more open, I think so, do you know someone for me?
Alana laughs, doesn't answer because the answer is obvious.
They continue eating, Alana's advances getting a little heavier for her liking, but enough to find out that she's not
romantically interested in Will, but tipped off by some information from Abigail, she's rushed to revive the old interest in
him. Hannibal.
And of course, slightly impede any personal approach to the Grahams, because he saw himself
herself, as her caretaker.
Unfortunately for Alana, Hannibal is utterly lost to Will's antics to savor whatever she's willing to give, which seems to
be much more than a pat on the forehead. And besides, he's not the least bit threatened by her attempts at closeness.
However, the flirtation with Will has left more than a void in the air, causing Alana to mistake every gesture of him,
who is being terribly lively with her, as if he wanted to prove to himself that he can still get whoever he wants,
everyone except him. Will. He justifies himself by thinking that it's just exercise, although the guilt is something that
seeps through. He discards it. He's not with Will, Will doesn't even see him like that.
He fires her three hours later, somewhat annoyed by the extension of a meeting that he did not prevent and that
began to hover between the exasperating and the banal. When she picks up her bedroom phone, she discovers
three missed calls from Will Graham and a message glowing in her absence: "Why did you ask for my phone if you
weren't going to answer it?"
Beaten and somewhat guilty, now if at all, he calls the number without thinking.
— Will.
— Telephones are for answering Doctor Lecter.
— I'm afraid it's my fault, during dinner I usually get lost in my enthusiasm...
"Did Alana leave?"
— Yes, she just left, it was certainly an interesting evening.
— I'm glad, everything interesting is what matters to you.
- What are you talking about?
— Nothing, it's not saying anything, it's something, I'm not interested in talking about it.
Jealousy? possessiveness? Dependence? Whatever Hannibal absorbs eagerly, content, what to another would be
grotesque, Hannibal finds comforting. — Is there something that bothers you about my friendship with Alana Bloom?
— No, it's really just a bad day, the food and the psychopath on duty don't help, my stay may be extended two more
days, I miss Abigail.
— Your presence here is also felt, by Abigail, by me.
— I don't think so, clearly you have more friends than me.
— Will.
— I have to hang up, I don't want to talk to you right now.
— You called, what did you want to say?
— I wanted to know if Alana was still there after midnight, I don't even know why I called, I... I hate changes, I hate
having her number, I don't like this.
"Why Will?"
"Umm, I don't know.
“Will, don't hang up.
See you soon, Hannibal.
When he draws, Hannibal extinguishes all thoughts that his mind finds obtuse, he exchanges the break of his
ravings for the soft line of charcoal on paper. There are no bumps, just freshness in what it promises. Following
the line is even easier when your mind knows exactly what it wants to capture, resorting to your tangent memory,
one that you cannot get out of your mouth, from your retina, from your palate: Will Graham sleeping at the
counter in your kitchen, docile and accommodating.
It's Will's nature to let himself be cared for, a nature corroded by wrongdoers, as Abigail had said so well,
beings from his past, ignorant and rude. But Will, sound asleep, his locks untidy, with the calm that only trust
brings, was all she wanted, all she could think about.
It's almost four in the morning when he finishes the drawing, he takes a photo and finds it good, not perfect,
because it would be perfect to see Will trusting him again, without knowing that he reciprocated Hannibal, in some
way.
He then thinks that Will shouldn't sleep either, imprisoned by the ignorance that his possessiveness encourages.
Or whatever he was feeling. He thinks that the drawing may be an apology, even though he really
hasn't done anything wrong, but he hopes that if it does, it will bring Will back to his short, cold messages, before
his evasiveness.
Time: 04:08 AM
I couldn't sleep again and I don't have anyone to call for a story, so I drew this.
It's you the day you slept in my care, you looked unattainable despite the short distance in which we gravitated.
I remembered all the time your reluctance to be touched and despite my desire to move you to a more
comfortable place, you made the cold marble bar your cradle, molding its hardness to your shape, just as you do
with the world, just as you did it with me
You looked like an angel, a dark and protective one, so I dared to plamastarte you so you can see what I see,
what I feel.
What's going through your mind Will? What do you want from me that you can't say? What caused the
presence of a third person for you to treat me so meanly?
I would like to get angry with you, but it is impossible for me and instead, instead of punishing you as you do
with me, I just want to continue following your path, as far as you are. And I draw you, to have you somehow
with me.
Your still friend, Hannibal Lecter.
There is no response to the mail, neither that morning, nor the next day. She finds out the day after that
her annoyance is greater when she doesn't get what she wants, that she's expecting more from Will than
she bargained for, and that she's gotten used to his evasive messages, where before she'd barely
reassure herself with a look.
Call Abigail and find out that Will has indeed returned early. — Just checking that she is already
accompanied.
- Do you want to talk to him? He's kind of busy, but I think I could give him a call.
— No. — Hannibal passes the bitter pill. — I look forward to our next session Abigail.
When the four days without an answer are over, Will's drawing laughs in his face at his misfortune.
No call from Alana is answered and her routine, which used to provide order, finds itself useless in the
face of the furious attacks she has on herself, Will, even Abigail. The day before Wednesday, Hannibal
chops carrots so hard, with no appetite, that he begins to settle for the idea that he will indeed have to
be a bystander in the life of the Grahams, a silent one, waiting for the ideal moment to finish them off or
them with him.
Until the doorbell awakens him from his slumber, he hates unexpected visits.
When Will Graham opens the door, gasping for breath, smeared with paint, really smeared from his
ears to his toes, staring into space, looking lost, as if he's run all the way from Wolf Trap just to look at
Hannibal, he's standing in front of him. he.
— I... I saw your drawing, I wanted... ah, shit, I wanted to give you something in return, because obviously
you took time to do it and the furniture, mmmm the furniture wasn't finished when I left, I wanted to finish it,
I wanted it to be good . You gave me something, besides helping Abigail, I was supposed to give you the
furniture for that, but then you gave me the drawing and you said, you said you wanted to touch me, you
said you'd be mad at me, even though you didn't, you wanted to, no do it, just don't do it, I finished the
furniture, it took me a long time to find a truck that could bring it, you mad at me? Hannibal? It's okay, you
can touch, just a little bit, okay? Don't be mad, just that, okay?
Two seconds, Will sweating, Will before pushing him away only to drag him back, she hadn't called
him because she was making the furniture, probably coming back from Minnesota earlier, to finish
them... because she felt indebted, because of the drawing, afraid of that Hannibal will be angry, fear of
abandonment. Where is the fury that he had harvested in the last five days? Where was he? You can
touch it, Will said, you can touch it.
"Will..." So he launches into a hug, one that sounds impertinently dangerous because Will wouldn't
even let it touch his hands, but Hannibal already doesn't give a damn, because Will looks terribly sweet
and touchable, until the pain and fears that if he doesn't touch it, he won't know if it's real, if not another
trick of his mind, playing with him. - I missed you.
Will doesn't hug him back, he's utterly paralyzed, his ragged breathing still in icy silence, but he doesn't
move, doesn't pull away, just stands still, Hannibal can tell by the faint whisper that Will is counting,
struggling to bear the approach.
Definitely any physical approach, of dances, legs in a bed and even a kiss become increasingly
impossible, but... Enough, Will enduring a hug, enough and his chest warms up again with the strange
love he feels for him. .
"I'm sorry, Will. Hannibal lets go of him a little at a time, only to look at him a few inches away,
smelling the paint and the pine on Will, who is looking down. — I think it was more than a touch.
— Hugs are a sign of affection, it's okay, although you squeezed a bit.
— I was afraid that you will stop answering messages.
— I was making the furniture, I didn't eat, Abigail got angry, but I finished it.
- Can I see them?
Will recovers and looks up, a little paint on his nose makes him look even more beautiful, another
memory to draw without a doubt. - Clear.
Will walks towards the truck, the heat in the arms now orphaned in Hannibal's body, it is painful and
tender, also, the doctor observes that a little fresh paint has soaked into his coat, the cherry coat that
he likes so much.
You know it's a stain that won't come off easily if you don't run and clean it right now. But as Will
struggles to open the car door, pacing back and forth untying what he has to untie, Hannibal finds
the spot in his neatness, beautiful, like a mole well done and fit for him.
He doesn't clean it and prefers it to stay there, forever, because even though the now out-of-
match green has given the dark suit what it needed, a reminder that he can't control everything, that
Will Graham has already painted himself forever and not he wants to, he can't, clean it, or take it out,
or forget it. And that's okay, you can live with that.
- Will help you.
Thanks Hannibal.
Also, if no one had told him, he would say that this moment is unreal, that it hasn't happened and he
needs reliable evidence for it, like the stain that even when Will leaves, will remain, like his memory,
like the smell of his hair: Chaos, dogs, paint, pine and disorder.
Everything Hannibal never thought he'd want.

I know an armchair and a palace
— Mahogany wood, semi-soft, low-density... — Will continues to blush and although his breathing rate
has decreased, he continues to be agitated, not because of the disturbance with which he came, but
because of the hug that surely still burns in his subconscious , unaccustomed, probably confused by
the expectation of progress in a relationship that is not entirely clear to him.
Both have the hug present, both of course they pretend to ignore it, one because he really doesn't
want details of something complex and the other because he doesn't know how complex it is. What
Hannibal isn't good at avoiding is looking at both the furniture and Will, who probably looks more
problematically attractive than ever since he's met him.
The bouncy curls are from one side to the other, no longer falling forward but to all sides, some hard
locks on the forehead, sticky, only revealing the arduous performance of work.
Beneath them, a light damp layer of skin, a mixture of paint and sweat.
Will's flushed cheeks and neck look in the same state, sweaty, shiny, with a little resin and of course,
paint a lot of paint. There is no coat on Will, only a thin, leaden polo shirt with a few holes, loose at the
nape of the neck, revealing a bit of his chest, a white, clean, smooth chest. The polo shirt must be old,
the kind used to get dirty, from when Will was younger, because it's small, so small that it clings to the
waist, arms, chest, and it rises a little every time Will lifts it up. the hands, showing the belly, also white
under a thin layer of hair, barely visible and a mischievous, hidden, so small navel. "Are you listening to
me, Hannibal?"
— Yes — That slim body, small waist is the one he just embraced, to hold in his hands, firm chest,
smell of vanilla soap from the basics but faint, enough not to detract from his natural smell that the
curls exuded when the hug brought her chin to her head.
Small, like her waist, like her navel. - I hear you Will.
— It is a mixture of three woods, one from South America, another from Canada and of course,
Baltimore. Will looks around. — I should have taken them to your office, I should have. Will lights
up. — But I have the truck, it doesn't matter, so the wood is reddish because it's a hybrid, but not so
much, because I roasted it a bit, so it doesn't clash with the wood of your door, you see? It's not
reddish, it's brown with reddish tints, I'd say it's brown, but you know it's not, it has enamel, I advise not
to wet it for a month, if you plan to, although you shouldn't, it's wood.
Will barely breathes when he talks, just looks at the furniture, Hannibal looks at the skinny jeans
too, terribly old, faded, full of messy threads, with a huge gap in the thigh, like a abandoned teenager,
yet he wants to reach inside the hole, just a little. They are tight, like the polo shirt and only give away,
that Will Graham is made of thick thighs and behind. “Will, slow down, just slow down.
Will breathes in and out. — Well, then I upholstered it with Jacquard, which is made of the same
material as the ebony furniture. Linen would have been better for painting, but you seem to like
elegance, so that's why I delayed, because it dries slower. But I painted it, I blow-dried it, evenly, you
see?
Hannibal nods, passes a hand. — Do not touch, it is not fresh, but it is more sensitive, it can still get
dirty.
- I'm sorry.
— So I dried it, for fifteen hours with my industrial dryer.
— Fifteen hours, you have fifteen hours without changing your clothes.
— Yes, fifteen and well, more clothes, well then I filled it with resilient foam, better than the English, the
English does not last, it is softer, yes, but it softens, tending to deform and I want it to last as long as
possible.
- Because?
- Do not interrupt.
Hannibal is smiling, already like a predator because of how terribly rude and beautiful Will can be, making
him want to hit him against the wall, only to load him by the corners of the old polo shirt and finish breaking
it, to buy him appropriate clothes and bite him. his mouth a little, to see if he would shut up once and for all
and let him look at the furniture, so he wouldn't have to look at his body. "I'm sorry, continue.
— So this foam can be replaceable, even if time passes, the upholstery is with a zipper, I used the plasma
fabric, you can untie it and it doesn't get ruined, the best thing is that it's not noticeable, it's aesthetic,
because you like everything aesthetic, then you replace it and you can even wash the upholstery because I
put solvent, the green, the green from my eyes is not going to go away, at least after twenty-five washes.
— Solid argument?
— I washed it.
— You washed it twenty-five times.
"I did, don't interrupt.
— What a rude carpenter.
- Silence. Hannibal tries to find control in the sarcasm, but his hands have been fidgeting for a long time,
but he can't stop smiling, because Will is a talking machine. He might as well say anything, Will would still
be totally focused on the damn piece of furniture. - As I was saying...
- Can I touch you?
— No, so if you wash it, it has to be with hand soap and fabric softener, so it doesn't lose its texture,
obviously without bleach.
"Will, you're killing me.
Will rolls his eyes. "So, you can wash it up to twenty-five times before it starts to fade, but my calculations
say that you'll only have to wash it twice a year for conditioning, so since you must be between forty-five to
fifty years old... twenty-five Sometimes it's impossible, because you'll either be dead or too old to do it.
— So I'm old... and I'll die in less than twenty-five years, for sure, statistically.
—Hannibal. — Will makes "sh" with his fingers, Hannibal's hand itches, too much. — So, you would
only wash it twenty-five times if you stain it twenty-five times and if you do, I won't speak to you again
because you will have ruined my furniture.
— My furniture. Hannibal growls.
— Yes, well, if your furniture. Will walks around the big chair, which is for two people. — Now it has
supporters and it also has a magazine holder, because you usually put magazines in your office and more
than fifteen magazines fit, you could easily put at least five of my issues of Hunting and fishing, plus the
commercial magazines that you hid from me the first week we met.
"I... I didn't hide anything."
- Liar, silence. Hannibal doesn't touch, but damn he's ten centimeters from Will, fully bent, taking advantage
of the fact that the man began to point to the compartment without noticing anything, smelling the paint as
if it really were a perfume that he will now declare as the best smell in world while it burns between anger,
impatience and need, to silence the man and touch him again.
Will...
— So, I thought to put a cover for the magazines but people are abrupt and careless, it would
end up breaking in five years, even two if you receive a lot of people, so I didn't put it and it was like an open
space, something difficult to clean, but you are thorough , so it won't matter, because you know how to clean.
— I like tapas.
Will turns the back of his head slowly and they are four, maybe three inches away from Hannibal's face.
— Hannibal, without covers and silence.
"I swear, if you come back to..."
- So. Will walks away and easily lifts the side of the cabinet. — Best of all, you will love it, it is movable
because although now you only see wood but if you pull this. — Take a hidden crowbar. — It has two rear
wheels, I know you already saw it because I moved it, but it wasn't something you should have seen, but
that way you'll be able to carry it even twenty years from now without a problem, because it's not metal, it's
steel and it won't it rusts, that's why I chose it, something more expensive, but durable.
— Twenty years, easily, because I'll be old five years from dying.
"Yes." Will now looks at the furniture and then looks at Hannibal, with a smile, totally pleased,
Hannibal can count the times he would prove to Will that he's not old at all, that his age wouldn't stop
him from smiling haughty that puts
"Can I speak or will you shut me up again?"
- You can talk.
It takes a lot of willpower not to kiss Will, who now, as if he's really gotten used to Hannibal, looks
deliberately into his eyes, never lowering his gaze, as if the two months of knowing each other hadn't been
filled with evasiveness. .
The psychiatrist is at this point ecstatic, by the memory of the hug, by the gesture of
Will to kill himself making a piece of furniture to repay him and because, now he is pure looks and
without meters away, tight and sweaty body. The exasperation has touched a membrane that
Hannibal thought tamed. - I like it.
- You look upset.
- No not at all. — He's not angry, he's... Irascible, because he can't touch the furniture, he can't touch
Will and above all, because Will looks so touchable, so kissable and because he's been terribly rude.
He would have killed anyone for less, instead Will is killing him.
Rude, haughty, inappropriate, talkative, annoying, annoying, touchable, kissable boy, but
rude, very rude...
"It's perfect, Will.
— Now I chose two cushions for the rest and a uniform cushion for the horizontal part, although I
also have enough foam and upholstery for—
“Will Graham, stop. — His voice sounds too thick, almost hoarse, it doesn't sound like a warning, it
sounds like a warning, a call for attention, which almost breaks the air.
Will turns, they are four inches apart again, but for the first time this afternoon, Hannibal has
Will's undivided attention, which finally puts his empathy to work. - Yeah?
- It's time to stop talking. — Will remains completely silent, he does not seem sad or offended, but he
stares into the doctor's eyes, which he is sure emit the same look he does when he goes hunting, he
can almost feel his pupils dilate with all the force an animal requires so as not to throw herself at Will
and undress him to drink from his skin, kiss for kiss, bite after bite.
Breathe twice. — You are going to go to my kitchen, you will serve coffee for both of us, you will sit and wait for me there,
do you understand?
"Yes." Will looks at him like a snake, more like a mongoose, attentive and entranced.
It's only when he sees Will walking away from his living room that Hannibal can take the real breath
he needs to calm down and remind himself that he can't, mustn't, ruin everything he's won by trying
to mistreat Will in a way that he can't. boy will not be grateful. He holds on to the wall, oblivious not to
unleash his fury, the idea of plunging his knife into Will's ribs almost as provocative as the idea of
undressing him, the image of Will bleeding superficially as he does so is better.
Breathe, breathe, it's not yours, it doesn't belong to you, it's not yours.
It will go away, if you do it, it will go away.
His eyes closed and a constant breath between his diaphragm and his brain, cool his mind and his
belly, he can almost stop agitating, he checks once and twice that he is calm, when the piece of
furniture, perfect in an unreal expression, sees him and in every detail, from the joining of the wood,
in every molded mark, he sees Will and his effort.
He calms down completely and the warm heart softens.
That's better, that's good.
When he walks into the kitchen, two steaming mugs line up perfectly, Will looks at the sugar before
meeting Hannibal's eyes, says nothing, looks back at the sugar. - I talked
too much, right?
Hannibal takes the seat next to him, any interest in losing control gone, while his patience has been renewed and
even softened, to the point where he may begin to feel guilty. — No Will, it's been me, sometimes...
— People usually get angry when I talk non-stop, that is to say shit, don't I?
Hannibal has a coherent explanation for his reaction, an overly suggestive one that he knows Will won't take well.
— I like it when you talk Will, your passion is good, it's not about
it's.
- So? Will looks at him again. - You were furious.
It's because I wanted to take your clothes off, try to make love to you.
“Will, just…” Hannibal pats his coffee cup. — ...I wanted to thank you for every detail of the furniture and you
wouldn't let me do it.
Will does not fully believe him, he assumes that his reputation as a liar precedes him, but when their eyes
meet again, he exposes himself whitely, without suits and lies, to Will's scrutiny and analysis of empathy: There
is no annoyance, there is no anger. , affection, tenderness. "Okay, then you can, do it, thank me."
Hannibal picks up his cup and sets down the sugar, Will looks expectant, but Hannibal is willing to stretch out
as long as he can, still embracing his newfound calm. When the boy knows he's not going to talk, not anytime
soon, he understands and keeps quiet, putting in his own amount of sugar. The silence is full, comfortable and
somewhat laughable, however Will doesn't move his hands or feet, instead he accepts the pause and reserves,
drinking his own coffee.
Hannibal just looks Will up and down, for one last test of faith, that he won't lose control again. When she
does, she sees only Will, in his most natural, confident, simple, domestic state. Calm is now official, clings
to it.
— It's the best gift I've ever seen, I don't think anyone can have something better, I can become the envy of
all the psychiatrists in the city, they may want to steal it from me, Will.
The man laughs. — Thank you and sarcasm, my favorite from the Lecter menu.
A little coffee, more sugar, another little breath. — Seriously Will, it's perfect.
Will looks at him again, reads again, when he sees that there is no lie, he blushes a little, although he likes the
flattery, knowing that once again, he was right. "You're welcome, Hannibal.
They continue drinking the coffee, until Will asks for some more and Hannibal happily refills his cup.
The silence is still nice, even more so when Will absorbs his personality and finds himself at peace with it. Only
when the second cup of coffee is finished does Will look at the time on his cell phone. "Do you have to go now?"
“Abigail is expecting me for a movie night.
— And pizzas, I'm afraid.
Will nods. — Pepperoni and Hawaiian.

- Horrible guys.
Will smiles. — A lot, but a lot of pineapple. - He extends his arms, to show how much pineapple is
involved, the pole rises and the navel, again peeks out.
"Don't keep Miss Abigail waiting, come on Will, I've kept you too long." — He gets up, they walk
through the passageway that adjoins the living room, Hannibal feels that he can touch Will if he gets a little
closer, but he doesn't, it's no longer a question of need, if not, of longing.
— After Abigail's appointment, I'll come here to pick up the chair and take it to your office.
— I can fix it, you don't need to bother..
— No, I brought them, I take them.
They continue walking, Will turns and holds out his hand to Hannibal. - Good evening Hannibal. — When
the hands are held, Hannibal feels the slight sweat of a nervous but warm hand, he wants to kiss it but
he limits himself to holding it, while keeping Will's gaze. "Hannibal?"
- Yeah?
— Can I keep the drawing?
Hands still clasped, Will not quite comfortable, sure dealing with the new mechanics of their
friendship. "Of course, wait a minute.
Three minutes pass, when Hannibal returns with a folder and inside the charcoal drawing of Will sleeping,
with the fixed mission of not looking at Will at all, at all. — It is not even remotely close to what you have
given me, but I assure you that it was made with all the love I have for you.
Will pulls out the drawing and looks at it. — It is identical to me, is it really a vivid image of me, taken from
your memories or did you take a photo without me noticing?
- Taken from my memories. — Hannibal contemplates the drawing while Will pretends to draw the lines,
without really touching, thinking about the consequences of the coal.
— You had to look at me for a long time to keep me like that.
- I did it.
- You always do it.
- Yeah...
— Excellent memory. — Will smiles, it seems that he wants to stretch his hand again in a slight tic, but
he doesn't specify it, instead he saves the drawing and opens the door by himself. "See you tomorrow,
Hannibal."
- Goodbye Will. — Hannibal doesn't go in until he sees the truck leave and the certainty that Will
Graham can now read it better every time, it's evident, however he's not afraid. - Bye bye. - Repeat.
That night in particular, he is not happy with his vivid memories and his behavior, because it was
uncomfortable to see himself as a savage who was about to lose control over something as banal as
physical contact, a contact that he has in mind, that he does not is essential in his life and even if it is
unacceptable for Will, for Hannibal it should not be a problem, if not even a
Relief, because he's not like that. It really wasn't.
He scolds himself, to then breathe the same calm that usually inhabits his calculated reality, like two months ago.
And against all of Will's warnings, he sleeps in the green chair.
[...]
In Abigail's next session, she looks less haggard, but still sad. He pretends not to be in an intermediate facade, when he
talks about the university he wants to apply to, the rational fear of choosing a career that is not very encouraging
professionally, avoiding at all times naming love, Jessica and the pain he carries.
— Abigail.
- Yeah?
— With me you don't even have to pretend.
The girl moves her feet, she always does that when she gets nervous, then she pretends to play with the ghost
cigarette. - Alright.
"So what do you really want to tell me today?"
— You talked about memories, that I can live in them, that I can do what I want with them, how?
Hannibal sighs, the last time he did that for someone, it was with Chiyoh, when they were young when her friend couldn't
sleep. He shared her secrets, in exchange for her loyalty. It worked, it made Chiyoh stronger and most of all loyal. — What
would you say if I told you that there is a place where you can control everything you see, what you feel and what you
think? A place where the feeling you demand will be the only one that reigns, designed by you and for you.
I would say it doesn't exist.
— Do you trust me Abigail?
- Yeah.
"Will you do everything I tell you?"
- Yeah.
Yesterday, for Hannibal, the day he felt a deep desire for physical contact and a ruminating hunger for the body of another,
has been relegated to the depths of his memory, so much so that he could swear that moment passed long ago. many
years, that he hardly remembers and that he could even swear, never happened. Which helps to accept from Will what he
has to give and makes his existence easier.
He wants the same thing for Abigail, the same control: From pain, from melancholy, from abandonment.
— Close your eyes and just listen to the sound of my voice.

Abigail dissolves, the confidence they've built up in two months showing up and doing what's asked of her.
— Imagine a place, a quiet one, where you don't have to pretend that you are someone else. You got it? It's a
place where you can be alone, not with dad, not with me, alone. It's not me, I'm a voice that comes from you, it turns out
that I'm your mind. It doesn't have to be a quiet place, it just has to be a place where you can be yourself, okay?
- Yeah.
— What did you imagine?
— The fourth tree around the Wolf Trap house, where the forest begins, is the biggest, I can sit there and no one
sees me.
- Good. Hannibal strokes the words, doesn't say them, whispers and strokes every pliable part of Abigail Graham's
thought. — So, the bark is hard but strong in front of your back, it supports you. Around you you will adopt other trees,
the ones you want, and you will give each one a name. What for some, will be rooms, yours will be the trees and the
trees, your rooms.
- I understand.
— What is the name of the first tree?
- Livingroom.
- Gorgeous. In the living room, the first one you have chosen, you are going to visualize your dad, he is not really there
with you, but you see his face and it turns out that also his voice, his body and his love for you: messy curls, averted
gaze , smell of vanilla.
"You know daddy well.
— Concentrated Abigail.
- Yeah.
— Is your dad in the living room?
- Yeah.
"Well, your forest, Abigail's forest is big and wide, safe and quiet, cold but not that cold and it smells of tobacco, after a
night of smoking, just a little." The next room is called...
- The laundry.
- How is that tree?
— It's almost as big as the one I'm leaning on, but a little less elegant, it's messy, I like it.
— We will give another face to that room, the laundry room, which one would you like?
— Winston, Lucky, Sparkles, Perry, Snow, Coffee and Pesto.
— Seven dogs, right?

- Yeah.
— The small laundry room has seven dogs, all their faces, their hair, their smells, their barks, they are all
there. Close the door, don't go out and let's continue Abigail. - The girl smiles.
- I close the door.
— Look for a tree that you don't like Abigail, there is always one, imperfect, the closest to your area, one that
you can't see easily, for which you have to recline to get into your view.
— Yes, the apple tree, it always has mosquitoes, I don't like it.
— Give it a face and a name.
— It's the laundry room and there's mom.
"Close the door Abigail, you don't have to see mom now.
- Good.
— There is a tree, near the laundry room, one that doesn't bother you, where you can stop thinking, you
don't identify the feeling, but you like it, not as much as the others, but it is comforting.
You go there, when you want a change, maybe a friend from school, a friend from the neighborhood,
someone you call a friend.
- Library.
— Yes, the library, pass by Abigail, be careful you trip, who's there?
A brief silence. —Hannibal.
He is quickly transferred to the forest, he also closes his eyes, he likes forests, they are big, easy to
hide, that's why Abigail chose him. He leans against the tree, looking for his own and it is made of dark wood,
imposing but impassive. It's a good tree, he likes it. - Okay, there it is.
Hannibal, your chair goes in there, your books too. Say goodbye to him, Abigail.
The girl nods, smiles again.
— There's a place you always go with Will, one where Will is easier to get along with, where no one bothers
you and it's just you.
— The pizzeria on the main avenue.
"Come on, take a tree.
— The one behind the apples is pretty.
— It doesn't have a face, it's the smell, the smell of cheese, grease and noise, what does Abigail sound like there?
— Always rock from the eighties.
— Close the door Abigail, the pizza is getting cold.
Abigail's hands move and Hannibal knows, knows that it's there, that it's been accomplished. The hand
turns, Abigail seems to lean. — You can choose one more tree, you can't go further into the forest for now,
maybe another day you can explore.
— The crooked tree, on which I cannot lean.
— A room you won't go to much.
— The bedroom, Jessica.
— Well, there is Jessica, the door closes badly, can you push a little to close it?
Abigail nods, scowling, and tugs with her hands. - That's it.
"Are you going for a walk, Abigail?"
- Yeah.
— You don't have to knock on the door, it's your forest, your house, your palace, open the one you want.
Abigail moves her face, seems to be looking for something, Hannibal looks at her entranced. I want to go
to the laundry.
- Go.
"Come in, come in..." Abigail's eyes narrow, smiling. - Oh, how cute.
— How is Abigail's laundry?
— Oh, it's a mess, but well, all messy full of beds, water dishes and food.
- What does it smell like?
— To dogs, a bit of wood and sweets.
- Oh. Hannibal says quietly. — One of the dogs is... going up, he's slippery, naughty, he gets up a bit,
what's his name?
Abigail is laughing. - It's Lucky. Abigail strokes the void. — He's good, but still training, we took
him out of a house where they didn't take care of him, but he's so happy, he's the happiest.
— It's nice Abigail, it's a good room.
- Can I see dad?
— Abigail. — Hannibal now speaks in a voice almost so low, that he feels that he will only be heard, if
he is really connected. — Now you can go where you want, how you want and do what you want, everyone
has stayed there, they are waiting for you.
Abigail hums, sighs, and the chair sinks a little lower.
Hannibal is patient, five minutes of silence later, hoping that Abigail has enough strength to go back
without his help. As expected, Abigail opens her eyes.
Hi Abigail.
- I had just been with you.
- In the library.
The girl smiles, her eyes shine, her cheeks turn red, and the vivacity of a beginning, is
overwhelming. — We were smoking a cigarette.
Hannibal smiles. Oh, what I missed.
Abigail looks around, perhaps capturing details to modify her library later, according to Hannibal's
office.
- Did you feel good?
Abigail nods. - It was great.
When the session ends, Hannibal takes care of taking his things, knowing that now they would go
for his furniture, before he opens the door, Abigail hugs him, something light, because like a Graham,
she is not good with hugs. It feels like hugging an extension of Will. — Welcome to your
little palace.
Thanks Hannibal.
[...]
When they leave, Will is deep in a read on Fishing and Hunting. - Dad.
- One moment. Will stops his finger on a line and when he finds them, all three are smiling. - Hello.
"We're done for today Will, can we go?"
Will looks at them, back and forth, then smiles accordingly, because empathy infects calm. - Where
have you been?
Hannibal looks at the two Grahams and feels that time stops slightly, he takes permission to save that
moment, his own palace, which is already immense, with hundreds of rooms, tidy and clean, built over
years, is being restored before the arrival of the new Graham wing, filled with more than fifteen rooms,
ten for Will, five for Abigail. Still unfinished.
— In your house, exactly in the fourth tree of Wolf Trap.
Will puts on the biggest questioning face ever, only for Abigail to let out a long laugh and Hannibal tilt his
face to one side in a crooked smile, meant to fake seriousness, then when Will is almost considering his
ignorance of the world when he falls into He realizes that he is in the middle of a private joke. “Uhm, they
are annoying.
They pick up the chair, Abigail is patient and leads it up to the office, when it is placed, Hannibal feels
the deep annoyance that he does not want anyone to touch the chair. If Will wasn't there, reconfirming
that the measurements are correct, forgetting that Abigail is still in the truck, waiting for him to return,
Hannibal would take the furniture home, back for good, so no one can sit, not even him. .
With that twenty-five wash thing, he doesn't want anyone to touch him, he doesn't want anyone to
look at him, they don't deserve Will's chair, nobody does. — Now it's a nice living room.
— I remind you that I bought the last living room.

— If you look up the word "bad taste" in the dictionary, your photograph appears. Will raises his eyebrows.
Hannibal then narrows his eyes, while Will is now a row of white teeth, amused, with crossed
arms and a green, green, so green shirt. - Rude.
"Sorry, good time to go.
Hannibal feels glowing, figures that in less than a year he could be a regular guest at Wolf Trap, in
two years maybe have Will meet the Ripper, shape Abigail's acceptance, have her help her father
accept him. In three years, they could travel to Europe together, in separate rooms, accepting
whatever handshake Will wants to give him, the smiles, the jokes, the endless chatter.
Hannibal is fine.
— A farewell hug, a thank you? You can touch.
No it's not.
- Without pressing, yes? — Will is so innocent that it burns, that it hurts, that it burns. He doesn't want to hug
him fully, he only does it because he knows that Hannibal is loving tactfully and he tries to give in, tries to
reciprocate. Sacrifice something for Hannibal, not knowing that Hannibal was doing the same.
Hannibal doesn't answer but before saying yes, he's not going to squeeze, whatever you want,
Will is clinging to the thin body in a much calmer embrace, which requires all his willpower and
he knows that it's not right and that he will have to resist, maybe live like this, as long as Will wants
it.
Small waist, small belly button, oh the belly button.

I know the weakness
— Good evening Doctor, sorry for the time... I'm sure we can count on you, Hannibal Lecter right?
"Yes." Hannibal stretches out his hand, under his coat, feels the chill of the night hitting his face when
they are in the middle of an old motel, in the hallway of an open-air corridor. "May I ask where Will
Graham is?"
— Infiltrated, we have him following the suspect, in a certain way we will be with him.
Hannibal feels his stomach twist, just a little. It shows nothing in return. "Okay, so what can I
help?"
Jack is a no-nonsense guy, showing what he wants to be seen, communicating only what he wants to
say, not a bit more. Too many years of reading the killers, made for a solid facade that faces the world.
For Hannibal, likewise, there isn't much else to discover. He's a practical guy, made by the rules, a
field soldier with limitations. — I know that I have been referred by Alana Bloom and when the FBI
calls you, you never say no. — A friendly smile that reveals its simplicity, under the psychiatrist suit.
Hannibal has never been excited about being around the FBI, flirting with it, but the idea of
knowing the area where Will lived was irresistible. Even more so when he hadn't heard from him for
two days.
Jack nods, he's easy to please, you just have to say yes. — More than Alana, Will Graham was
decisive, he said it was a good thing and now I need all the help I can get.
Sweet Will, "something good."
- So?
— It is about a murderer who kills young people between twenty and thirty, single, solitary, apart from
that, we have no other boss. — When they enter the small and dirty apartment, the youthful and well-
formed body of a blond boy is hanging on the wall, totally naked with some marks on the skin.
Two or three days after he was dead, if he had had a family, they would have been here sooner.
— He sodomizes them first. — Hannibal observes that this murderer is someone carnal, probably
homosexual, the same age as his victims. A little older perhaps, no more than five years, it takes
strength to carry someone like that, also to attract them.
Although he is an exception, he could effortlessly carry Will, pull him in, it was... another discussion.
— Yes, first he sodomizes, tortures a little and then he lets them bleed to death, we have five bodies
so far, same situation. Some he whips, others he burns.
— Hate crime?
Jack denies. — Will says that it has to be a murderer who identifies, he doesn't hate them, he loves them
consume, their beauty attracts you, perhaps the need to own them and see them in their full splendor. Jack denies. —
Will's words, not mine.
brilliant boy.
— Envy the freedom of his homosexuality, of his openness. Although not all must be homosexual, this
one in the main does not seem so.
“Yeah.” Jack calls him aside. — Will never fails me, almost never really, but it's good to consolidate his opinion.
"You don't trust Will?"
“Will is my best bloodhound, don't get me wrong. Jack opens his arms. — When he doesn't get distracted,
when I don't lose him.
Insolent. “I think your high hit rate can forgive some things, Jack.
Jack smiles. — So I would lose if I try to criticize him with you present, right Doctor?
Hannibal smiles coldly. — Jack, do not confuse me, I am on your side.
"Then let's just try to keep Will in the game."
Hannibal nods, looks at the body, and a shiver of discovery runs through him. "Bars, the darkest in Baltimore... I
guess that's where you started your search."
“Yeah, that's where Will is now.
Hannibal now yes, he is upset.
[...]
When Hannibal is sitting next to Jack, he can smell the clear desperation of someone who is willing to do anything
to achieve his goal. Like exposing an FBI collaborator, not an agent, to infiltrating a high-risk operation, directly with
an assassin. if it is
finds.
The bad thing was that Will always found them,
It's not that he's not curious to see Will in the field of action, it's not that he doesn't trust that his mongoose
won't be skillful when it comes to disarming another, even, brilliant and thirsty, killing. But sadly, he had met Will
before and that annoyed him a little. - Are you listening to us? We're here outside the Exotic bar, I'm standing next
to Doctor Lecter, guys always got out of here before they died, Brian just confirmed so maybe we're in luck.
- Uhm, yes. — Will breathes agitated, it always seems so but the nerves seep through. Jack doesn't notice, maybe
he doesn't notice because he's talking as if Will doesn't have a hearing aid in his ears.
"Maybe you want to talk a little lower." Hannibal encourages, as he puts on his most innocent smile.
Imagine that Will, in the middle of the music, the liquor, the lights, the people and the smell of cigarettes, already
has too many conditioning factors. Jack and his loud, almost screaming voice is the last thing she needs. Jack, on
the other hand, can almost snarl at the remark, but he complies, just a little. — Well Will, we see what you see.
Hannibal notices that Will sits in the first chair he sees, the furthest away from the people, he would like to be
there with him, trying to distract him from what he doesn't want to see. "Jack, just... I'm seeing if, wait." — IF
Lecter were to find Will in a bar like this, probably never because neither of them would really be in a place like this,
he wouldn't come over quickly. Maybe after a while, to verify that the boy was not easy, he would send him a drink, a
look and only after seeing him wonder why he didn't come closer, would he leave.
Will likes intrigue, not stalking. Although of course, it took two months to understand.
In real life, far from his fantasy, only five minutes pass before someone approaches Will, the small camera he
wears on his chest does not focus well because the boy is really sorry, only the voice of another clarifies the
situation. "Hey, can I buy you a drink?"
- No, thanks.
"Oh pretty boy, a drink for your sweet lips."
Hannibal's hand burns on his thighs, he doesn't know if from the obvious discomfort Will is being exposed to or from
the idea that someone is watching Will. I said no, thanks. “Both, definitely both.
The same bleak feeling, of possession, but this time it's not painful but rather, it's bleak, the urge to kill, even
stronger. He could kill Jack, the guy from the bar, a few others, it doesn't matter who.
- Boy...
Will's camera is now focused directly on the guy's face, about thirty-eight or forty years old, Will must have
turned at the physical touch, sharply. Hannibal pushes himself a little, he has the sudden need to go inside the
damn bar. Jack doesn't notice it, Hannibal breathes calmly, with which a storm precedes. - Do not touch me.
"Okay, okay, you fucking freak."
— Will, concentrated, let nothing affect you... Will. — Jack is good at absolutely nothing, but Hannibal already
knew that.
Will's camera jerks, moving away from the room to a dark side, maybe the bathroom.
"Do you want to shut the fuck up Jack?" — The door that opens is abrupt, inside the bathroom there is no one.
Jack closes the microphone and looks at Hannibal. "If he wasn't good at what he does...
Hannibal hates Jack, even molding a saucer in his memory, but Will's image in the dirty bar mirror is projected. “Let's
let Jack focus.
Will is wearing a tight blue plaid shirt, he looks younger and Hannibal notices that he is not
It's his clothes, that someone has dressed him like that. By the way. Wil appears to be twenty-eight now, even
twenty-seven years old.
Combed back, taming her curls. Even though he doesn't look like him, he's still painfully attractive,
Hannibal knows that if he'd been in that bar, he'd be one of the pathetic guys ignored by Will.
- Shit. — He looks flushed, agitated and uncomfortable when he puts water on his face, however, when
he takes three breaths, his eyes meet the same one. Hannibal admires the transformation, which is
imperceptible to everyone, but so obvious to him. Will is preparing himself, Will is trying to transform to go
hunting, searching for duality with his darkness, groping.
Will is Hannibal.
— Dr. Lecter. — Chews the boy slightly lowers his gaze, to his body. — It's midnight, I should be
sleeping.
— I was around here, by chance, you can always find yourself in an FBI van, when you least expect it.
Will smiles, even despite the darkness he's acquired, the fact that he knows Jack is there limits his words, but
there he is, the bond they've forged in the short time they've known each other. — I'm glad you're here, maybe so
Jack will leave me alone.
Jack whitens his eyes, Will instead returns to being agitated, perhaps at the idea that he has to go out again, still not
entirely convinced in his new role. “So Will, breathe. — Hannibal gets so close to the screen that he can touch it.
"You're going to go out and look, just look until you find it." — Will is suddenly focused, he has the same face as
when he hears Hannibal's orders at home. "If someone talks to you, they're just rude, okay?" You'll just go and act
and catch it, got it?
"Yes," Will answers, his gaze finally accurate in the mirror. —Rude.
Hannibal feels that he is looking in a mirror, that he could swear that it is himself, the chill increases. He adores
Will.
— They do not recognize colors, they are not worth it.
Will smiles. — Of those who read trade magazines.
That's my Boy.
As Will walks out, Hannibal tries to ignore Jack's intense gaze on him. Happily Will gets her attention again,
finally.
They stay silent, a couple more guys buy Will drinks, he ignores them again but not so abruptly. Hannibal knows
half the place has their eye on the gorgeous guy at the bar who turns everyone down.
He wants to say it's his, but he knows he can't.
Half an hour later, Will seems to have his eye on someone. "Him," he whispers.
"Okay Will, get his attention. — The guy is a tall man, with a stocky build, hair
black and black jacket. He is also alone, but he is somewhat shy.
Will walks over slowly, sits down two spaces away. —A whiskey, dry, please. - Asks.
The man now watches him, attentively. — Can I buy the whiskey?
- Of course, why not. The change in Will's tone of voice is dramatic. Hannibal nearly chokes watching the ease
with which he does so when exposed to death. She likes him, although she doesn't like to see him with another
person.
The guy gets closer, not very close, he doesn't touch Will, he just drops down next to him. Will is the one who turns,
in an open posture. - Do you smoke?
Hannibal knows that no, he doesn't. — No, but lately I've thought about it, why? do you want to buy me one?
Hannibal squirms a little more, he doesn't like Will exposing himself, he doesn't like that he smokes, he doesn't like
how easy it is for him to connect with another murderer who isn't him. But Will's empathy is working and his mind is
glorious for the sad underdogs, like the killer of beautiful men, like Hannibal, too.
When the guy extends the cigarette to Will, the camera pans to his face, he's serious and thirsty, he likes Will.
Even more so when the boy coughs, unable to hold the smoke, betraying his inexperience. "I've never seen
you around here before.
— I'm traveling, I work. Will inhales again, coughs again. The guy finds him adorable.
“Maybe you want to have a little fun today.
Hannibal then frantically pokes a finger into his leg. — Jack, I think it may be him, lonely, serious, fishing quickly.
Maybe Will can get out and we can follow him.
- And if it is not? Will can't say it's just because he was the only one who was also alone.
Hannibal can almost growl. — Will has a clear ability...
— We'll let him continue, let's see what happens.
They talk some more, Will lies about his job, says he's a fish trader, the guy says he's an insurance salesman. A
sad, unexciting job, that's why she goes out to kill, pretty boys she can't have. Hannibal figures that Will is not a risk
taker, that he knows the right guy, he should get out of there.
The guy now puts a hand on his thigh, on Will's thigh. — I saw you reject the boys there, why not me?
Will doesn't back off abruptly, he lets himself go. Hannibal then wants to enter. "Because you were the only
one that bothered me."
Jack smiles, looks at Hannibal. — Focused, you focus it Doctor.
“It's a pleasure to serve, Jack.
Another twenty minutes go by, the guy doesn't take his hand off of Will's thigh, instead he moves it around a bit,
outlining a short but straight line that doesn't quite come close to Will's crotch.
groping. - How old are you?
- Twenty seven.
The man nods, seems comfortable with the information. — You look younger, you're not lying
to me right?
- You are the one who lies. Will laughs. — I can't look so young, you're a liar.
Is Will annoying him on purpose? If so, it's working great.
The man smiles. — Really, you look good, I would give you twenty-four.
Will laughs. - You know how to conquer.
- Do you want to go to the bathroom?
“Jack, we should intervene.
Jack raises his hand, looks closely at the screen. — He said bathroom, Doctor, I have five men
ready to get into the truck on the side.
He doesn't have to listen to Will's response, because the camera quickly pans, heading to the same
place it was a while ago. Follow the man. — Pay attention. whispers Will, his Will, exposed.
Hannibal doesn't know if he wants him to be the killer for Will, kill him, or a regular guy, who just
wants a quick fuck. Both ways annoy him.
When they are in the bathroom, the policemen accompanying Jack are ready to enter, any incident.
Hannibal even more. The man can hit first, or try to drug him away.
Whatever, he knows Will is ready to fight. What he's not ready for is for the guy to turn around and kiss
him.
- Uhm, hey. Will's claim grates on Hannibal's soul, who is now untying his belt and getting to his
feet, against Jack's voice.
Will doesn't like to be touched.
— We expect an attack, he has not attacked him yet.
— He is not an agent, he is a collaborator. - Hannibal's voice sounds too harsh, he doesn't care.
She's opening the car door, getting out, when the voice of Will, the Will she's known for the last two
months, reappears, shy, desperate, wishing she wasn't there. "No, no, no, please."
Hannibal doesn't give a shit if he's the killer or not, because Jack claims nothing has happened to send
any signal. But Hannibal is still heading for the bar door, full of quick steps, ready for the FBI to get a
front-row view of an annoying man, the killer they've been looking for in action, without their knowing.
In two minutes he's about to bang on the door, he really wouldn't have a reason to kill, hit or threaten
a man who's making out in a gay bar bathroom, but he certainly doesn't care. Until the sound of a
certain blow from a fall precedes his entrance to the bathroom: On the floor, Will is trying to get up,
while being dragged. Probably drugged with heavy eyes... he had been injected with something,
maybe the cigarette.
The guy stops, before leading Will away, to glare at the newcomer, furious, but with the window open to an
exit that the FBI, that Jack, hadn't covered.
He was about to take Will away. “H… nnibal has a gun.
That was the problem with love, it made you dumber, weaker, vulnerable, slower, less cold, incapable, it gave
you a weakness, because it only takes a second when Will squirms for Hannibal to feel the need to look
down. , going to the deep sound of his voice and thus, the sound and hit of a bullet, accurate, reached the
height of his stomach and then another one, in the shoulder.
It's just that love was like that, it was like that, painful and also fast, Hannibal thought that maybe at that
moment, the other Hannibal, Abigail's, should be much better, maybe smoking, maybe having dinner in the fourth
tree, with Will, with Abigail.
The pain returned to him, because even there, falling to his knees, slowly from the dull pain going
through him, he has time to look once more at Will, who can't do anything, with heavy eyes, looking at
Hannibal, too.
The FBI arrives, always late, to gun down the guy.
Will's voice sounds far away, even though they are very close. He's already in the apartment, by the time he
makes sure Will sees that he's trying, that he's doing everything he can to stay there. Who wants to listen to you,
really wants to.
Will stretches out his hand, touches it, rather it barely touches it. —Hannibal. — Will sighs with the last of
coherence that remains after the effect of the drug, which may be the last of conscience that Hannibal has left
before the loss of blood he has left. — You can play, come on, you can...
tap.
But finally she passes out, hoping to see him again.
“He's still breathing, Lecter's still breathing. — Jack is the last thing he can hear.
Not to know me
- What he does here? — Irascible voice, pretty voice, he wants to touch her.
Can not.
— It turns out that I am the head of the FBI, I have every right... — He doesn't like that voice, he doesn't want that
voice there.
— No Jack, go to hell, you know that this is... — Yes, he prefers that voice, that voice is nice, even more so if it's
energetic, even if he's yelling, he can do it.
"Will, you can't blame me for this, I couldn't stop Lecter from..." "He definitely doesn't want that voice, just let it
go, make it go."
— Yes, it's your fault, I told you to see the body, not to bring it to the operation, he doesn't even work for you,
damn it... —He stretches out his hand, but his hand doesn't really move, he can only listen, but he wants to
touch that voice, he wants to feel it closer.
"Do you know what came in because of you?" I never asked him to get in, he had to watch, he got in for you
Will, you can't blame me for this because... — If I had the strength, I'd kill that voice, you shouldn't speak like
that to the other voice.
"Why the hell would he get in if you didn't ask him?" Doctor Lecter is an intelligent man, he would never...
"Will, let me touch you..."
— For you Will, I don't know what the hell happened to Lecter, he just saw that they touched you and he got in, I
couldn't even stop him.
Silence, a resounding silence.
No, he doesn't like silence, he wants the voice that screams, the beautiful voice that defends him, why did he keep quiet?
— Dad, dad... — Uhm yes, he likes that voice too, he can stay, it's fine. — awake, woke up! ... Is
- Go away Jack.
A longer silence, he can't see, even though they say he's awake, he can only see the white wall above
him. He can't move, he hates not being able to move. "Will, I'm fine, could we get out of here?"
The face with emerald green eyes peeks out far enough for Hannibal to see it, eyes almost blue but green, that
is to say, an indefinable color, peeks out better, stares at him, as if looking for his condition among his pupils, a
message, anything .
He looks haggard, heavy dark circles, almost purple and also a little green, has not slept, has not eaten,
pigment discoloration: He has not eaten in more than twenty-four hours. — Will you must
eat.
"Hannibal?" Can you hear me? Will now has his eyes locked. — Abigail, call the doctor, tell him he woke up.
"Can't you hear me Will?" Look at me, I know you can.
“Okay, yeah, I know you hear me, okay? You're just, shit, you're numb, you've got a hundred grams of morphine
every two hours, you're a doctor, okay? You understand, you're just numb, that's why you can't talk, you're fine, I
saw your studies, no affected organs, you'll just have to use a catheter to urinate for two to three days, maximum
recovery five days, absolute rest two weeks, recovery a whole month. — How beautiful is Will's voice, but he must
eat, the drugs they put him must have diminished his defenses... eat Will, sleep.
"I told you you were fine, why do you seem worried?" Hannibal, you are so stubborn.
Will's face is gone, he feels bad immediately, an unknown face appears, puts light in his eyes. Go away, come
back Will, he says I'm fine. — Doctor Lecter, I am Doctor Ford, we
need to verify that your reactions are correct, now you are going to look here...
— It has a reaction of 1.5 seconds to light, 1.3 to sound and 0.5 to touch...
"Mr. Graham, are you related?"
Who has believed? As soon as he can move, he'll kill him, give me his fucking card. "I'm not... I'm not related."
— Please retire, you can visit tomorrow.
- But I want to know...
- You already asked enough questions Mr. Graham, the nurses have reported incidents throughout the day
regarding you, if you are not a relative, you have to leave.
Wait I can move. "Okay Doctor Lecter, can you feel that?"
- I am his friend. — My friend, yes, mine.
Get out or I'll call security.
"Dad, come on, come back tomorrow...
Will's face peeks out, he almost pushes the Doctor, Hannibal wants to scream, touch, he can't move,
stay there Will, don't go. "I'll be back tomorrow, at eight o'clock, Hannibal, don't be mad, okay?"
A finger runs across his forehead, like the time he touched it when he lied about non-existent paint,
Hannibal feels better. - I'll wait for you Will.
"Come out, Mr. Graham."
"You better take care of him."
— Don't worry about me Will, good night Will, I would die for you, Will. I love you Will.
[...]
He has a red jelly, if you can say red to the mound full of coloring in front of him, a thin soup and a tea that
smells like it has been stored, Hannibal looks deeply into his plate, hoping someone will wake him up from the
nightmare. He would have preferred to die before this, he is about to kill himself if he keeps looking at it, no, it's
not red, it could be icing, can a jelly be icing? - I do not think
eat this.
- Mr. Lector. — The nurse is a robust woman, with a cheerful face, impassive before Hannibal's grimace of
hatred. — Although you have an admirable recovery from yesterday to today, since you woke up, you must
eat.
Remarkable recovery? What exactly had he recovered from? From the bullets he received?
He wondered, anyone could have done it, it was just his body reacting to its natural evolution, his
defenses working for what a good diet and an obviously exercised physical condition would do.
Admirable but obvious recovery, in health, on the other hand, the recovery of the absolute awareness
that he almost died because of his feelings, not even reciprocated, is not obvious, it is annoying.
She had almost died for Will Graham, how long had she known him? Two months, two and a half months?
Not even three months.
Nothing, absolutely nothing. Less than nothing, pathetic.
Instead, to build himself, to make himself, to take care of himself, to discover his true value and meaning, it
took him years, millennia in his memory, to understand that he was superior.
To build his palace, about ten years, to get out of misery, two years. Will Graham, two months. If he had
met himself, that version of Hannibal Lecter, he would have killed himself. For pathetic, for belittling his life, for
letting one man change what he was, wasting what he was.
Why had he forgotten that? Because he had allowed himself to be hit by the most banal instinct like
dependence on someone? Why had she let her instinct run to the first stray dog on the road? A little light in
the shade? He didn't need light, he was ebony, that's why he liked it.
How did you forget?
How did he not sniff himself? Sadness and dependency, inconsistency, weakness. By a single man, one who
didn't even reciprocate her.
And that on the verge of death he had recognized love. What is done with the incoherent? With the banal?
With what puts you at risk? What you can't even touch?
It is removed
— Well, remember that if you don't eat, you won't be discharged and we'll have to give you that food,
through the tube and you don't want to use the tube, right?
Smile. - Can you tell me the time?
— Five to eight.
Well Hannibal thanks, looks at his hands, blocks the terrible smell of food from his brain, pretends to be in Florence,
in the chapel of Matthew, listening to the choir of cherubs sing. You can do it, you can feel the smell of melting candles,
the prayer of believers as a collective lament, the heat of enclosed spaces.
- Good morning.
Will's voice destroys Florence, who was believed to destroy Florence? - Good morning Will.
The boy looks better than yesterday, he seems to have eaten some bread, maybe some water, probably
coffee, if his breath gives it away, but nothing else. He also seems to have slept, maybe three hours,
maximum four. "How are the Rangers doing?" Did they go up in the league? Obama won?
Will narrows his eyes as if he doesn't understand, finally falling briefly into a smile. "Sarcasm, right?"
- Yes Will, sarcasm.
“You claim to have been in a coma for years.
- AHA.
— It was only three days Hannibal.
- I heard.
— No health jokes should be made.
- Guilty.
Will denies several times. — It's okay, I guess the patient can do what he wants.
Hannibal laughs, just a small sound, of joy that he's alive and that Will is okay.
Pathetic. What a shame.
The laugh is short, the pain in his abdomen appears suddenly. A grimace, just a grimace is enough and a huge
emptiness makes him moan, to finish and lean on the food table. "Are you... are you... alright?"
"Yes." Hannibal pretends the pain was momentary, but it really hurts, it does. A smile finally intended to deceive. —
Just a slight reminder of my adventure as a useless FBI agent, an adventure in which I have officially failed.
Will puts on the same sad face from the day before without appreciating Hannibal's passive joke to lighten the
atmosphere, he drags with him a large bag of things that he only drops on the ground. "I'm sorry Hannibal, I...
— Will, I went by my own means, you can't take responsibility for my decisions.
Will now looks directly into her eyes, they are red, more than tired, they look guilty. - I
I told him to call you, shit, I told him to, I exposed you, it's not even your world, I brought you to this, I brought
you, I brought you, I asked him, I asked him to call you.
What lives in the head of the helpless? Hannibal wonders, he was certainly alive, however he has already
been through that before: Pain, blood, death. Will doesn't know. But of course, it is not information that I
can provide.
— Will.
— I asked him, I told him, call him, because I wanted you to know my work, so selfish, selfish. — Will slaps
his thigh, only in a gesture, a slight attack of the ASD that slips out of his control, because Will wants to or
because he has simply found a limit. — You... you're stubborn, you're a liar, you're impulsive, you're stupid,
no, you're not stupid, you're stupid, Hannibal, I asked him to call you, I knew that Jack...
Will, please.
Will's eyes, another blow, and another blow to the leg, this time hard, one that sounds painful in the air. —
I asked him, I asked him, I asked him to bring you, my fault, selfish, I'm selfish and you're supposed to be
my friend, you won't be my friend anymore, I wouldn't be, I always do this, I told him, I told him.
Will, now. Hannibal growled.
Will's hand is about to come down again in a swipe, but he stops, looks at Hannibal, fully attentive. -
Yeah?
— Breathe, bring the chair, sit down, hands behind you and breathe again, now, do you understand? If you
hit yourself again, I'll ask you to leave.
Will doesn't want to give in, his hand shaking in a deep tic, wanting to fall in on himself, yearning for
the balance of pain, thirsting to absorb what Hannibal feels. But it doesn't. With much regret, he complies. —
I asked him...
— You asked him, I went, I enjoyed watching you work, I learned, I learned a lot and then I was wrong,
although not entirely, because I came there to make sure you were okay. I did it, I'm alive, you are. My fault,
at most, a bit of fate's fault.
— But I asked him, I put you there.
Hannibal wants to reach out to Will, but touch never seems to be a good solution, not when he wants to stop
feeling that way. — Have you thought that maybe the fault of all this is Jack Crawford's?
Will seems to consider it, certainly his head knows that's reasonable. - For letting you in.
"For putting you there in the first place."
A brief silence, Hannibal takes the opportunity to take a little air to accommodate his abdomen, feeling,
he actually checks, he will be fine in a week. The thought of getting over it fast, just to get Will to let go of
that guilt, is compelling. Pathetic! Where is the man who only thought of himself? — I am an FBI collaborator,
I could be there.
— Field activities are for agents.
— I was an agent, once, I could be there.

I didn't say you couldn't, I said you shouldn't.
Will now clung to the chair. — That is the problem, Doctor Lecter, that's why he ended up coming
in, because he believed that I couldn't be there, that I couldn't succeed.
- Never...
— Having ASD does not make me useless.
Hannibal would rather eat the damn jelly than continue to feel the pain from the hole in his stomach and
Will, upset. — It seems to me that you are again trying to blame someone for that day, does it help you to
vent with me?
Will gets rid of the small food table, only to be completely one step away from Lecter's bed. "It seems to
me that he's dodging the obvious question, of...why the hell did you go in when a special team would go
in?" When Hannibal doesn't answer, Will seems to have his answer. — Because the boy with ASD that
you found interesting to study couldn't be there, right?
"Again, that's not what it's about.
"No." Will moved away now, two meters. — You may not tell me the truth, but don't lie to me, not anymore,
it's no longer fun, Hannibal.
- Good. “Hannibal is sore enough. — I didn't like being touched, I know you don't like being touched and
that's why I came in, we're friends.
"He was undercover, he could have tried to fuck me and it would still be fine, Hannibal."
The pain is already unbearable, the idea of calling the robust nurse to inject him with whatever is
tempting, he could even eat for something like morphine. — No Will, it wasn't right, I don't know what
Jack made you believe, so that you think that's right.
I'm saving lives!
- And your life? Who saves yours?
"Not you, certainly.
"What do you mean Will?" Ask me what you really want to know, save us time.
— Jack said that you entered when they touched me, not when they hit me.
“I just said it myself.
- No... - Will with messy curls, guilty and beautiful. — Hannibal, did you come in for me?
TRUE? You entered because someone other than you touched me.
— No. —Extirpate. "You're right, I'm a liar. — Remove. — I entered because you are the boy who has
ASD, unable to control a situation like this, I was worried, I felt sorry for you.
Recover from what exactly? He was not recovered, rather he felt more dying than ever, seeing himself
losing control, for someone he even knew.
He knew and at the same time he did not know, that he did not understand, what he felt for him.
Hannibal hits the little emergency button, the one that calls the nurse, thirty seconds is all it takes for
her to be there, avoiding Will's eyes. — Doctor Lecter, everything in order?
— I feel a deep discomfort, at the level of the fifth rib, right side, probably an inflammation due to lack of
hydration. — The nurse nods, not even consulting the doctor on duty to approach and start dropping the
little drops of morphine that will inevitably put Hannibal to sleep shortly.
Will stares in bewilderment, Hannibal wondering if the hideous boy is surprised that Hannibal has
admitted pain in front of him or that he's clearly drifting off in his presence. Or maybe, just maybe, realizing
that the two months have been an experiment, that once again someone just found it interesting.
Green furniture, post, drawing, Abigail, extirpate, extirpate.
"Anything else, Doctor Lecter?"
"Yeah," he says before letting his head down on the pillow, pulling his eyes away from Will and closing his
eyes. "Remove Mr. Graham from my room."
- That?
- Thank you.
[...]
— That was amazing, dad said you kicked him out, he was upset.
Abigal, feet up, on the table, eating the jelly she should have eaten. — I don't think anyone had ever done
that to dad, I know I should feel bad, but it was simply incredible.
Hannibal feels his sore muscles, his heavy gaze, and his body sore again, although not so much
anymore. - He's gone?
— He was hanging around here for a while, waiting for you to wake up. I told him to go home, but it's dad,
you never know with him.
Hannibal didn't say anything else, he wasn't really mad at Will, he was mad at himself.
Not only had he been clumsy enough to let himself be hurt, but he couldn't control the situation so that
Will wouldn't blame himself, but he had let the cancer of feeling go too far.
"You'd better go too, Abigail."
The girl stands transfixed, her sweet smile and confidence vanishing. "I...dad said to cover for him, I have
nothing to do, really."
I wish you weren't here. He nods, feeling the pain even stronger, albeit encouraging. The first
step to cure the cancer was the operation, then the rest was easier.
Shallower, less intrusive.
— Did we do something wrong? I know he was hurt, but Dad said that Mr. Crawford...
— It is not about that, the approach is not ethical. You are my patient Abigail, it took me a while to see
him, but he is not well. When you don't stay professional, things like this happen.
- I don't understand.
- What do not you understand?
Annoyed, if annoyed, because he had even almost adopted a daughter that wasn't his, so thirsty, so lonely,
so weak. Dazzled by nothing. — You approached him, you chased him, you bothered him until he gave you
his number, do you know how difficult that is? Do you know how much you care? Do you know that you
have a schedule that hasn't moved for years and that now you have an edge each day to answer your
emails? What got in there? Do you know that your name is engraved there?
— My mistake, it won't happen again, Will is strong enough to...
The girl, loyal girl, gets upset. - Same as all. — Finally, conclude.
— I guess so, you were right Abigail, happily you are skilled at goodbyes.
She walks towards the door, destroyed, Hannibal wants to stop her, but again, disgusted by his need,
pathetic enough. — How do you delete a room in the palace? How do I do it?
Hannibal puts on the most stoic face he can. — You can't, you just remodel it, you stop visiting it, you
hurt it, if you want. But I prefer, stop visiting. I recommend it.
She smiles sadly. — Worst of all, he liked you.
- I...
— And you like him, right?
Hannibal is impassive, also hating himself for being seen. - Yeah.
- So? Just run away, did love toughen him or did it just break his heart? Maybe it was all a lie.
“Abigail, I'm not going to do anything about it.
The girl steps back. — I don't understand, you like him, he likes... just...
Hannibal knows that the pain he feels, when he feels it, is no longer physical.
"Because I don't just like Abigail. — Take a breath, the truth hurts. — I love your father and he does not do it
for me. I love him.
The smell of old tea returns, along with the sound of a breaking cup, at the bedroom door: Will standing,
absorbed, wide-mouthed and curling. He looked at it, listened to it. He knows.
And the cup is broken and the flight vanished, while the cancer is too advanced, eating away at everything.
Stage four, irreversible, incurable.
Will knows it and Hannibal knows it's too late to run.
- You...
Can one recover from the unrecoverable? Recovery time, never, the patient is dying. Now he can only
let the patient die in pain or be good and spare him suffering. Kill Will and Abigail? It sounds tempting.
Or maybe just let yourself die with them.
Because no, you can't kill them.
— I'm afraid so, Will, I'm in love with you.
[Author's Note: Next chapter will be narrated from Will's perspective]

Come meet the cold
When he was ten years old, his father told him that love was when two people loved each other very much, they
went to live together, they took care of each other, they had children and they stayed together until the end of their
days.
Love could also be, dad clarifies because he knows that calm is in the details, when one loved a son, a brother, a
dog very much. Not necessarily someone of your own blood as long as you loved and cared for them, it worked.
— Yes, Will you can also love the cold.
It turns out that according to his dad, you could love a house, a river, the cold, of course. You couldn't have them,
sometimes you couldn't take care of them, but they were there, to see them, because one loved beyond the physical,
the distance and the abstract.
— I don't understand, if I love the cold, why can't I marry him and take care of him until the end of my days?
— Because Will, the cold is not yours, it belongs to everyone, it is everywhere.
But I want it to be mine.
— It's not about having or not having, son, it's about appreciating, adore, far or near. Freedom, boy.
— Love is difficult, dad.
Will had heard at school that a boy loved him.
Normally kids, they either hated it or didn't care, they never loved it, they didn't even play. Will got into such confusion
that after receiving a hug, he hit the boy. Because he didn't like being touched and even less that they came to tell
him that they felt things, that he didn't even understand.
His father had had to pick him up, he had been suspended for three days, and when he returned, the boy did not
try to speak to him again.
Will had felt terribly guilty when he found out that loving someone actually meant something good, like if the boy
loved him, he could give him his lunch at recess. His father had said that to love was to give, to receive, but above
all to give.
He had hit her, he had given but given something bad, then he realized something, love also meant not giving,
better at all, instead of giving something bad.
"Dad, so mom didn't love you, did she?" — He didn't like silence when his dad did it, because his dad always
had answers. "He didn't love me either?" Because she left, right?
— Will, there are things that you will only understand when you grow up.
— Always when I grow up, always.
Beau sighs. — Your mom loved me, your mom loves you, but there are times when love is not enough
to love us as we are, enough to stay Will.
— So, mom didn't comply with the rules of love, she didn't take care of us, she didn't adore us, she didn't
look at us, she didn't want to live by our side until the end of our days, right?
"Will, you don't have to take everything so literally, son...
— Mom doesn't know how to love, suddenly she wasn't good at it, I'm not good at drawing or making friends,
it's normal to be bad at something. Poor mom.
Beau messes up his curls, puts on his sweater and looks at him calmly. "Yes Will, Mom wasn't good at it.
We're not all good at everything, right?
So Will, who always thinks, because he doesn't want to get suspended again, because that means missing math
classes, he likes math, he wants to understand it well. So that if it ever occurred to another child to love him
annoyingly and without his permission, he would know what to do about it.
Like being nice for example, if there was a next time, if there was.
"Dad, do you love mom?"
"Will, you have to sleep now.
- Dad.
— Ah, if I loved her, I still love her.
- I understand. Will looks down at his hands. — You love her but you only look at her, she's not here, you can't take
care of her, you can't have her, so you love her like this, like I love the cold.
- Yes... Will.
Will doesn't remember when mom left, he was three and he only remembers everything since he was four,
however he remembers that his dad was always sad, he always didn't eat, sometimes he cried. Will knew it was
because Mom was gone.
Will logically reasoned about it, since he was five it was obvious that his dad was sick, because something
obviously hurt him, Will then declared him in intensive care. Now, six years later, Dad was almost on the mend,
even though he was sad at times, he was better.
— Dad, loving is like being sick, right? You were, you were, I remember.
- Boy...
— It's just that if dad, you got sick because you loved mom and she didn't love you, you got sick as I get sick
for loving the cold, because even if you let yourself be loved, it hurts. In conclusion, you were sick, I am sick and
love is like measles, remember when I got measles? What an ugly dad, it was very ugly.
Beau is silent again. She strokes her curls, just looks at him. It's not very expressive, that's why they get along
well, that's why they work. That's why she lets him touch her head. Dad loves him, dad did stay.
— Dad, I don't want to love people.
"Why do you say that boy?
— Because for loving the cold, for taking care of it, for wanting to see it and feel it, I got sick dad. I don't
want it to happen to me again. That's why you got sick.
Beau laughs, Will doesn't understand but he also smiles, for that thing the psychologist says is empathy.
- That's the little detail. He hits him a little, enough for Will to fall onto his bed, totally. — You never decide who
you are going to fall in love with.
Will at this point is extremely confused and upset. “I don't like love, dad.
"Go to sleep boy.
[...]
Love, love, love, cold, cold, cold.
You must close the windows, you must bundle up, you must bundle up Abigail, you must bundle up Hannibal. -
Everyone is undressed.
- Dad.
"Leave it Abigail.
Cold, everyone will be cold because of the love in the room. Because there's already too much, Abigail
loves him, he loves Abigail, and now Hannibal loves him. Everyone is loving and no one is taking care of
themselves, so love can become abstract, it can go away, like its mother, like the cold. I'll close the windows.
Yes, the windows are a little hard, a little rusty, they are not made of steel, but they are finally closed.
He takes the only blanket in the place, takes his sweater, the bag he had brought with him, for the eldest
with his own clothes, more clothes, nothing is too much, nothing is enough.
— Will, I don't need... — Wrap Hannibal up, cover him enough but not so much, so that he still has mobility in
his arms, if that's okay. It doesn't matter if he gets angry. A little more, perhaps, that robe is very thin. Care must
be strict, no measure is considered obsolete.
- We need blankets.
The clinic is crap, because they throw him out, they call him, they throw him out, Hannibal throws him out and then, they
also call him, they don't clean the hallway, do you know how many diseases there are in the environment? On the street
alone there are more than ten thousand types of bacteria, in a clinic there are twenty thousand, in a poorly maintained clinic
thirty thousand.
Will wants to sue, don't you see that Hannibal is already sick enough to get sicker? He has two perforations,
internal lacerations, dehydration, weakness, inflammation, possibility of infection, painful scarring afterwards
and worst of all, he has "love".
The clinics are definitely a disappointment.
— I'm sorry Hannibal, I promise you it's not always like that. — Abigail is warm, she already had love long
ago, for Will.
— I like it that way, let it process... — Hannibal wrapped up.

But still Will brings blankets, even for Abigail, more for Hannibal. Hannibal looks weird, he's a mound of
clothes and blankets. — Are you cold, Hannibal?
— I assure you that I will not be cold for a long time, dear Will. Why is Abigail laughing?
When everyone is bundled up, without any breeze of air, it feels better. Love, love, love, cold, cold, cold.
— Will we don't have to talk about this, nothing has to change, everything stays the same.
— No. — They are both looking at him, waiting for a reaction, an action, a response to the probable
event that Hannibal is hopelessly ill. He might as well say something reassuring, just like his dad did when
he was sick and they didn't have money for medicine. — Do you want Chinese food?
— Dad, nobody wants Chinese food. — Abigail now qualifies not to be called stupid, but rather
annoying. Because it says the obvious, but it doesn't help.
Look at Hannibal, why does he look so sad? Probably because he is cold, maybe he is very sick,
maybe he loves a lot. "Hannibal, it's going to happen, okay?" Love happens, sometimes. I have seen it.
— An interesting observation. - Still sad.
What could make Hannibal happy? A quick recovery, physical and sentimental. Which doesn't seem to
be soon. "Do you want fancy food?" Elegant, one of those faces, a small plate that leaves you more
hungry than at the beginning.
"Dad, no one wants...
- I could want.
Will feels that he is helping, he is helping Hannibal, to heal, to recover from the terrible thing. Bad
physical, bad emotional. Poor Hannibal. Fastidious Abigail makes a pouting, questioning face, the same
face she makes when Will eats coffee, milk, and cereal all in one bowl.
Why do you encourage him?
“Abigail, for real food, I'd root for Hitler.
"Hannibal, I'm serious.
- Let's go.
"You can't get him out of the hospital.
— Yes you can. — Hannibal is less sad, more fun, perhaps now that he is useful, that he is curing
him, forget what he said about ASD. Because Will is capable, plus Hannibal would never say that
seriously, maybe it was just sarcasm, although it hurt a little. Things to ask later.
"Is there anyone sane in this place?"
“Abigail, your father wants to eat small food and I have a crush on him because of it, do you have to ask?
They talk too much, they don't move, they don't see the emergency. — We take the serum Abigail, load
the serum.
— We take the serum. — Hannibal looks hurt, but he moves, leans on him, sniffs him,
He always does. He can play, he has to lean on the chair, so he can. He always wants, Hannibal sick
and annoying like Abigail, liar and sarcastic, like himself.
— Abigail at the door, let me know. Let's go.
— This is fun, getting out of the usual behaviors and procedures is fun. Medically, keep the patient happy,
encourage a successful recovery, although the risk is greater, I can only encourage adventure, three
musketeers on the path of the sun... — The wheelchair is good, it moves fast and Hannibal hardly anymore
he looks sad, just funny, but also sick.
This is wrong, this is wrong...
- Faster Will. Hannibal points to the elevator.
“Mr. Graham!
[...]
— Is the exchange of saliva necessary?
"God, I'm not ready for this.
- Dad.
Will likes to go fishing, more like watching his dad fish, and for his eleventh birthday, his dad gives him
his first rod. When fishing, you can focus and turn off the hundreds of thoughts that weigh you down.
He throws the rope and waits, what happens next is not his responsibility, nothing can go wrong,
because it does not depend on him, it depends on the river. He can wait, he can stop thinking and the
best of all is that it's cold, for Will the day couldn't be more perfect.
"Then why do they have to kiss?" It's really necessary?
— Only if people love each other very much and live together, yes. They can kiss Will.
— I never want to kiss anyone, I won't get measles again.
Beau bangs his head a little, Will grunts. - Whatever you say boy.
They fish for hours and Will doesn't catch anything, Dad fishes twice but they get away. — I like the
cold because I can wrap up warm, because the sun doesn't come out and it doesn't bother, also, when it's
cold you make hot chocolate and when it's cold, it's quiet, people don't go out. That's why I love the cold.
— And that's why you catch a cold, because you insist on going out when it's cold.
Will has his rod at the correct angle, like Beau taught him, and just waits. — Why did you love
mom?
— She was good at fishing, cooking, intelligent, daring, rebellious.
— Seems like wrong behavior.
The Pope smiles. “She was a troubled girl.
Will doesn't understand, why would his dad love someone who gives him trouble? maybe when i grow up
in shop. — Yes, I love one day, I hope that never dad I hope, I hope that person is like the cold.
— You say everything Will...
— That he be silent, that he make hot chocolate, that he keep me warm, that he take care of me, that he
cool me down or that I do the same for him — Will smiles, because he has used sarcasm and also a literary
figure, because a person could not cool down .
— Oh Will, boy you worry me...
- Cold that is cold! That's great! Nobody likes the cold! — Then Will concludes that if he likes the cold no
one would love him and vice versa.
[...]
The car was quiet, too quiet, and Will was starting to think he was dreaming, or so he hoped, because he'd
been naughty, he'd taken Hannibal out of the clinic. What was I thinking? "Um, Hannibal..."
— I'm still alive, as Will was five minutes ago.
— I said that you confirm every three minutes, you did not comply.
Will...
Abigail is shopping, she gave him all her money for the month, that should be enough. Although you
never knew, Hannibal had ordered salmon in wine sauce, why couldn't he just have tuna? He ordered
chicken, any kind. Look at the mirror again, Hannibal has returned to be sad. — Your salmon is coming.
- I can't wait any longer.
—Hannibal.
The man looks at him sadly, more like defeat, but he smiles. "Yes Will?"
I thought you were smart.
The look of annoyance is slight, but there it is, Will recognizes it because Hannibal cranes his neck. -
Always so kind.
- Say. — He does not say that he is not intellectually intelligent, because Hannibal is the most intelligent
person he knows. "Couldn't you help it?"
— Can we avoid death? — Hannibal answers while looking at the window again and not at Will, Will
wants him to look at him. — Unless it is under our own hands or means, no, we cannot. In matters of
love, as in death, the third party in question is the one who decides our destiny. I'm afraid.
Will knows that it is logical, what Hannibal says always tends to be logical. — Death is an imminent event,
love is not, many people have witnessed dying without having felt love.
"Can you avoid picking up an abandoned dog, Will?"
Will knows that yes, he can look away and pretend not to have seen. However, many times he had tried and
it always ended the same. He taking the dog to a shelter, he looking for someone
adopt, keeping a dog because he couldn't find a home for it. - Can't.
"Well, then you can understand a little more that I couldn't either.
Will then turns around to look at Hannibal's seat. - Because I?
- Why not you? Hannibal sighs, clutching the blanket over him, looking less stylish than in his three-piece
suit. But he continues to look elegant, he is like those kings, who have elegance rooted in them and who,
even in poverty, maintain it. Will laughs on the inside, sometimes he talks like Hannibal. Hannibal seems to want
to say more, but he can't, he just sighs and leans against the window again.
— I have ASD, I say a lot of things when they don't ask me, shit, I'm a disaster, Hannibal.
- I like problems.
Will looks behind the wheel again, remembering Beau and his mother. — You have terrible taste, Doctor Lecter.
Hannibal smiles through the mirror. - I know.
[...]
When they are at home, he has ten calls from Jack, he doesn't like Jack, Hannibal almost died because of
him. Or well, because of him, Hannibal almost killed himself. So he ignores it.
He tries not to think that his house is very ugly next to Hannibal's house, but he hopes that the lack of liquid and
other circumstances will make Hannibal not notice. — A lovely house.
— Uhm, thanks, it's dirty and messy, but I appreciate the courtesy.
The dogs run, Abigail introduces everyone to Hannibal, Hannibal winces when Coffee sniffs him, when he
climbs a little on his leg. - Hello, nice to meet you.
— Coffee, her name is Coffee.
— Hello Coffee, would you do me the favor of not climbing on me? I just got hurt.
Hannibal is placed back on the couch. The sofa full of hairs, love, love, cold, cold. I'm sorry about the sofa.
- Don't worry Will.
The salmon is on his best plate, which happens to be the only plate for guests because he has no guests, it is
the whitest and the only one that is not broken. When he takes it, to serve the salmon and then cleans the
silverware, he wipes it too many times, swearing that when he has money again, if Jack hasn't fired him already,
he'll buy a better plate and better silverware, because Hannibal will surely die if he eats like this again in his full
conscience. - Dad, they're already clean.
"I shouldn't have brought it, right?"
- Definitely not. Abigail leans out, checking as she asked, to see if Hannibal is breathing.
— But he almost died with 8the clinic food, so at least he'll eat something he wants.
"You... do you think we should stop seeing Hannibal?"

Abigail rolls her eyes, she always does that, according to the book it's a sign of rebellion. But it doesn't bother
him, although he should admonish. "Dad, just don't think about it, okay?"
- It's your psychiatrist.
- Is your friend.
- Conflict of interests.
“Stop thinking, dad.
When he brings the salmon to Hannibal, he looks less sick and more excited. The salmon was $180, her
chicken was $80, and Abi's salad was $60. Without a doubt, you will have to get money from under the
cupboard. There has been a big imbalance, maybe they don't pay for the electricity for a week. Imbalance,
problems, lack of control, disorder in the kitchen schedule, chaos in payments. "Oh, this is nice.
- Do you like it?
“Will, I couldn't be happier.
Excessive spending, without control, without light, problems. But it's okay, it's okay, Hannibal likes salmon. You
can take it, you can do it.
We'll have to go back to the clinic.
Abigail has decided not to eat with them, which qualifies as inappropriate behavior, but she knows she has
to talk to Hannibal so it's better. — I'm afraid so, I'll have to go back, but can I abuse your kindness a little
more?
Will is full of lavish chicken, next to her on the couch eating. — Yes, it is within my possibilities, yes,
Hannibal.
— Can I get some sleep before I go?
— First finish your salmon.
- Yes Will.
[...]
- I let.
- What nonsense you say.
— Dad left, she just left.
— Boy, the fights happen and you'll see...
- He said he didn't want to know more about me or Abigail.
— I never liked that girl, boy, always so careless, always so irresponsible.
- What I am going to do? Abigail is going to ask, is she small, is she small, no, I don't, no, no, I know...
- Boy, listen to me well, okay? You can boy, you are strong, you will raise her well, you will
power, I'll go help, you'll see that you can.
— I... I... will be able to.
“Boy, you didn't even love her, I know you didn't.
Will lulls Abigail to sleep, right and left, right and left, clockwise, while holding the phone, while only
silence and solitude are on his side. - I wanted to do it dad. — Will cries, he knows it's silly to cry, because
adults don't cry, but he can't help it.
"Boy, everything will be fine."
Will nods, tries to stop crying. — It's just that I don't know how to love dad, I can't, I can't, I try.
“Will, son, it's okay, come on, it's okay.
— Me, I can't, I don't know, God, I don't know how to love.
[...]
Hannibal has a temperature of 37.5, which indicates that he is fine, although not quite. Will looks at the clock
and knows that in two hours he will take Hannibal back to the clinic, even if he is asleep, he will take him.
Very warm, still very sick.
Hannibal is almost asleep in the chair, he looks smaller, although always elegant, older, much older.
Will has already cleaned up, already tidied up, already led the dogs away from Hannibal. So just watch it. If I
knew how to draw, I would draw Hannibal, like he did with him. But he doesn't know, he never learned.
It makes him a little curious to know that the man who was there three days ago was about to hit a murderer,
because he touched him. Maybe, as Dad said, Hannibal wanted Will to be his and not be touched by anyone
else. No, no, think.
After half an hour, he no longer knows what to do.
When Hannibal is finally asleep, half asleep, he doesn't help and he gets nervous.
Like at school, when the boy loved him and he reacted badly. Like when Abigail's mom asked him for a hug
and he couldn't give it to her.
So she makes hot chocolate, because it's cold in Wolf Trap that night.
With the steaming cup, try to stop thinking. He makes sure that Hannibal is warm, covers him well and
finally, although he doesn't want to at all, but it seems to be the right thing to do, he sits next to him and lets
Hannibal, half awake, lean on him. — Sorry Will, I didn't want to, it was a surprise for both you and me.
— It's not your fault, it's something we don't control.
Hannibal nods, settles in more, to the point where he's fully supported by Will and Will leaves him, because
despite everything, he doesn't want Hannibal to leave. —Hannibal.
- Yeah?
— I don't love you, I don't know how to do it, I didn't learn, it seems I can't.
Hannibal nods, leans back, still looking comfortable, and sighs, eyes still closed. —
Don't worry Will, I don't expect anything from you that you can't give.
- Will you stop seeing us?
- No.
Feeling better, Will lets Hannibal lean against him and reaches up enough to hug him. He doesn't hit
him, he doesn't push him away, he hugs him. Then she wraps him up again, takes care of him and waits for him
to wake up to give him hot chocolate.
When he feels Hannibal's forehead on his face, against his skin, he discovers that Hannibal is cold. Only a little.
Will smiles.
I know the smile
Three days in the clinic and two days in a healthy recovery at home are not enough for Hannibal to feel
like he was before, for the simple fact that he is no longer what he was before, now he is something else.
Even in his accelerated physical reconstruction, very rested, very much on medical leave, in which he was warned
not to move, not to force himself, to sleep most of the time if possible, Hannibal accepts that he is changing. For
good, he doesn't know it, but he is doing it. - Aid!
A knife, the face of a man who doesn't know him, who is bleeding to death, looks at him and Hannibal envy
him, because at least he knows he will die. While he only knows that he doesn't really know anything anymore.
He was still a corrosive man, with the same thirsty hunger for chaos, but now the beast that was accommodating in
his grotesque reunion with disaster, had found in the lack of control, an uncomfortable light in which to reflect his
own weakness. I was madly in love. - The more you fight, the more painful it will be, so don't make things difficult.
And not just in love, Hannibal was enchanted by Will Graham, in the way only an animal could tell: Obsessed,
enthralled, ecstatic. - Help, for God's sake... Help.
- There is no apparent God for you, hasn't it been made clear?
And of course, she wasn't getting enough of Will, just as she wasn't getting anything from him at all.
Because Will was what the fish was to the fisherman, ungoverned prey that, even attracted by the bait, was
ready to flee at the slightest fright. And at the same time the boy, a beautiful creature, let him look at him, see
him and touch him, if Hannibal needed it so much. Benevolent, like Hannibal making death eternal. - Oh, oh...
my God.
Fish and muse at the same time, for whom now could be called the headline in his posthumous biography made
by some mediocre writer, the horrible life of Hannibal Lecter post Will Graham, full of flowers, dogs, a daughter and
an armchair. - Please, my God, don't kill me...
Yet despite the feverish, nagging sensation of phantom expanse she now felt in her humanity when Will was
gone, the now perennial lack of control, new and chilling, was beginning to feel like a habit she could adopt. -
I'm afraid it's not possible, any other wishes?
Finally, before Will there was nothing and after Will, there seemed to be everything. A companion, a friend,
someone bearable, endearing, a Patroclus, to read, to caress with words and see from a prudent distance, during
his own war. - My God... My God!
So he sees how the disgust for the unknown is denoted more adventurous than messy, the sentimentality less
pathetic and more poetic and the memory of Will Graham, his friend and now a friend aware of his feelings, is
not hurting him.
Because Will, hasn't left when he found out about her feelings, Will has stayed.
Which makes her heart warm, painfully as if she had feelings, as if love existed. Sweet feeling that threads every
part of your mind. - I didn't want to, I didn't want to... Whatever I did, I'm sorry, please!
Because despite not being reciprocated, he is still a Graham applicant, a close one and has been
forgiven for loving, judiciously letting him rotate around both, as a reward. To see it shine, to take care
of it, to give it love, in the way it needs the most, doing everything to honor its beauty, as God
commands. - You looked at him disgusting pig, you touched him, you insulted him and Will Graham,
nobody does that to him.
The body of the guy from the bar, the first to approach Will, bleeds to death in his last breaths,
claiming he doesn't know who he's talking about, while Hannibal draws petunias on the floor with
his blood. Sliding his finger like a palette that he uses, under the grotesque concrete, longing for
the image that he projects and that he wants to show, of the amplified beauty of the purest love he
has felt, served by that one, who has dared to harm him.
From your pain and humiliation, allow me to make you an altar, which is not worthy and will never
be, but will try to avenge you, as it is deserved, sweet boy.
He is not interested in the man knowing that he is dying for having been rude in a bar, he prefers
ignorance, that fight in which the idiot finds himself, looking in his last breaths, among all those he
hurt, the face of his victimizer
Despair, loneliness and fear. What Will felt has been returned.
Hannibal looks at his plastic suit and sees blood inside of it. The annoyance for the internal shirt
stain is something tedious. It means that his wounds have not closed completely and that the effort
made to kill takes its toll. He kicks the now dead body, until the end he had to bother.
However, the music makes him happy and Beethoven is a good companion for the celebration of his
courtship in his mind and also, a permit to compile what his last days as a survivor of the Grahams
have been. Because he is also a victim of fate and its sad, but sentimental consequences.
And then Beethoven rings louder, beneath the lopsided, incredulous grin of an inspired assassin
content to reminisce about the illogical actions that got him where he is.
He remembers little or nothing of the night in which, publicly and notoriously, the famous escape that
was still talked about in the clinic, other clinics and various places took place, never better told than
by Frederick Chilton: The story of a renowned but a dying psychiatrist injured in a bar, the product of
a crime of passion, a very rude FBI agent who stole blankets and a girl, with an annoyed face, in a
wheelchair, who accompanied them.
It turns out that Will had taken him out in full recovery from two shots and marked
dehydration, against the will of Abigail and the entire medical staff, to feed him in an expensive
place, spending all the money available for his two-week maintenance. As the protocol corresponds
in a situation, he quotes Abigail, from love/cold.
Because in the midst of his desperation upon discovering that Hannibal was in love with him, he
had done what seemed most coherent: risking his life for a plate of food, but wearing a warm jacket,
yes, because Hannibal could die of an infection but never of cold and even less intoxicated by cherry
jellies.
Sweet boy, what was on your mind?
His image, honorably built and respected by every doctor in any clinic, dissolved by the painful
nickname "Blanket Doctor" remains and will remain as the maximum scar that Will
Graham not only turned the beast human, but threatened to destroy it, playfully.
until reducing it to one of his dogs, meek and funny.
But he didn't have a problem with that either, not anymore. Will could do whatever he wanted.
Because and he emphasizes, as the notes accompany, Will had not left and he feels that he is already a good
person, from so much heat that remains in his body, after what Hannibal calls an illness due to an overdose of
clothing. - Now I have to clean, excuse me. - Turn the body so that it is in the final position. - Thank you so much.
The good mood disturbs him, he observes and writes down, that he has everything he wants: Someone to see him,
someone to be seen. The inert and empty body, which propitiates him to danger, was no longer important. Hannibal
knew that either he would have everything with Will or he would have nothing.
[...]
Will disappeared again, drawn to Jack predictably by what appeared to be another horde of murders of three
Ripper victims, albeit all carried out on Baltimore grounds, as the Ripper hadn't had time to go beyond the
surrounding area, or force. .
So it was Abigail who visited him religiously during his three days of recovery at the clinic.
Always half an hour at seven in the morning, a little resentful of the words said and yet, within her cold
treatment, cautious before another possible untimely reaction to her feelings, genuinely concerned for him.
But Abigail is a Graham, so she doesn't say it, rather she manifests it, so while what few words were shown, barely
cordial, what if it fell on Hannibal was a food container to be deposited on his small table , in replacement of the terrible
food at the clinic, with treachery. Three meals, for each moment of the day.
Abigail cooked decently, it was still overcooked and undersalted, but the homey air of a meal made from fresh
ingredients was enough. The girl doesn't talk about her father, Hannibal apologizes with eloquent comments, Abigail
doesn't laugh. He only deposits the food, breakfast, lunch and dinner, asks after his health, pretends to see his cell
phone and finally says goodbye.
On the third and final day of his repair, Hannibal begins to miss Wil more than usual while Will's extension
ignores him. - I want to apologize Abigail.
The girl was about to leave, like every day to school, until she turns on her heels. - Because?
- I don't know what apology you would like to hear, but I know that at least I know that I will say one correctly and
the other, with irreversible consequences, so I will say it the best I can... I apologize for wanting to leave and I
apologize for my feelings towards your father .
Abigail looks down at her hands, intertwining her fingers. - Then I apologize for the first and the irreversible one,
because for me there is no problem.
A moment of silence in which Hannibal allows himself to see if the girl is speaking sincerely and it turns out that
she is not only speaking sincerely, she seems pleasantly aware that her unrequited feelings are public. - Don't
you mind my feelings?
- They were very obvious to me, I mean, the only thing he does when he sees dad is look at him as if he
were the only person in the place and also, he's the only one who has managed to get between so quickly
us.
Satisfaction runs through his veins. - I want to make it clear that I do not expect anything.
- I think it's better this way. - For the first time, since the last two days, open the breakfast taper
which is again a simple omelet with toast. - Dad can be tricky.
- He is.
- But you too. - Abigail puts down a fork. - So I don't know who will end up giving in for the other, so
if you don't expect anything, you should better expect anything.
- Do you encourage what happens here?
Abigail smiles. - In my palace dinners are for three.
Hannibal turns his head to one side, and even though the battle hasn't started, he feels like he's already
winning. - Good to know, Abigail.
- But don't be an idiot again.
He takes his toast, takes a bite, and nods. - Believe me, as far as I'm concerned, I don't intend to
get away from any of you again, do what I have to do and if you don't see me again, it will only
be Will's or yours' decision. I'll hold on as long as I can and insist, but I'll just walk away, depending on
you.
- I know it should sound nice, but it sounds creepy. - The girl laughs.
Hannibal bites again. - No one is more scared than myself, I assure you.
[...]
From: WillGraham1985@Baltimore.com
Time: 8:37 PM
monitoring,
did you change the pads? Did you take the antibiotic? Eat before drinking. Did you exercise
right shoulder? You know, fifteen side bends, fifteen vertical bends. did you sleep Eight hours at
night, two hours in the morning, two hours in the afternoon. Did you eat legumes? Positive iron for
healing. Didn't you move? You didn't force yourself, did you? Abigail says you don't want the iron
shots, you have to get them. Healing at what percentage?
Will.
Time: 8:41PM
When you return?
From: Willgraham1985@baltimoremail.com
Time: 8:48 PM
Please answer the questions.
To: Willgraham1985@baltimoremail.com
Time: 8:50 PM
Please answer the calls.
Time: 8:57 PM
Hannibal.
Time: 8:58 PM
Will.
Time: 9:02 PM
Thursday, before Abigail's birthday.

PLEASE ANSWER THE QUESTIONS.
Time: 9:07 PM
All the measures have been carried out in strict order (I killed the man from the bar, two more guys
who reminded me of him and the abdominal wound opened a little and my arm hurts for the same
reason, from effort, I'm sorry I can't tell you but everything else has been done, I promise), I remind you
that I am a doctor.
There are still two days to go, what's keeping you so busy? Can I ask?
From: willgraham1985@baltimoremail.com
Time: 9:12 PM
You know it's the Ripper, three victims, one is the guy from the bar. Jack says you should come over, I
told him to fuck off. I know I shouldn't have, but sometimes it's really inconvenient, you're supposed to
be in recovery and you're supposed to rest.
I also know that I should have consulted you, but since the professional condition of the patient/doctor
and possible co-workers was completely unbalanced, I have reacted as a "friend".
Pdt: I know that you are a doctor, but it has been proven that exercising the function and knowledge
in oneself is more difficult than exercising it above the rest.
Time: 9:16 PM
As a potential coworker, that was very rude.
As a friend, thank you :)
Has the experience affected you more than normal or is it under control?
Pdt: A correct observation, but I promise you that does not happen with me.
Time: 9:20 PM
If it has permeated, because I'm sorry but I don't understand it, also, I feel that this has something to do
with me. I haven't been able to eat since I got here, I miss Abigail and my dogs. I feel like I should be home.
Pdt: Do you realize that sometimes we talk about "you" and other times about "you"? It's funny.
Time: 9:23 PM
Do not torment yourself trying to understand, suddenly you do not seek to be understood at the moment and
only felt, the messages can take until a true climax.
I recommend eating, physical activity always requires support, but intellectual activity even more.
Pdt 1: I have realized, I think we can keep it, I am forced to do it, imagining his smile makes me comforting.
Pdt 2: What a horrible feeling and at the same time that it is gratifying to miss, longing for the presence of
someone you know you will inevitably see again, seems illogical, but vibrant. For example, I miss you and
although I know I'll see you again, I can't help but evoke our moments just to bring you to my memory.
Time: 9:40 PM
I will try not to understand it then, to feel it rather. I will also try to eat, but I'm not very hungry, the food is
bad, as usual.
Pdt 1: We must clarify in which situations we use it, my smile requests it.
Pdt 2: I don't know what to answer to the last one, sorry.
Time: 9:43 PM
With that you know I consider myself well served.
Knowing that you smile, I miss you more.
To: HanniballecterP@baltimoremail.com
Time: 9:47 PM
Already Hannibal, rest.
Promise that you will, that you will do everything that makes you feel good.
Time: 9:50 PM
Good night Will, I promise.
[...]
Hannibal's office isn't the same now either, as if the place was now a different place since he was too. Now it was
the place where he met Abigail and Will, so the ebony cabinet isn't quite ebony if they're not sitting there. And the
deep regret of longing, hits a little stronger.
The green piece of furniture looks better, as if letting it sit had only accentuated its perfection, he passes his hand
over it and the shudder at the idea that this very thing had been touched by Will, perfected by him, exalted him.
Bringing to the present what is governed from time to time by the sweet rebellion of his instincts.
She wanted to touch Will, wanted to see him again at the small, vile, broken pole. I wanted to hug him again
even if he doesn't move and gets uncomfortable. I wanted to, I couldn't.
His office seemed bland at this time of the morning, and the idea of Will being the one to completely remodel it
seemed ideal, just so that when no Graham's there, he wants to be there.
Oh the navel, blessed navel. Shake your head, instincts.
He had to do something, so he decided to update his office papers and finally schedule all the canceled
appointments, under his new schedule, still leaving Friday completely free just in case he gets invited to a
birthday, which he's dying to attend. . When she finishes arranging her appointments and considers going home to
rest, she decides she needs to calm down and stop thinking about Will Graham's body.
So he does what he should have done from the beginning, cooks the meat of the man he murdered, and
headed out of Baltimore. Twenty minutes feel like forever.
- Will, you have visitors.
- Uhm, I...
How gratifying it is to surprise Will, it is suddenly Hannibal's favorite thing, because although he ran
the risk of an unpredictable response, he feels that the flushed face between papers, in a small folder,
in the middle of a mess in a warehouse, full of of photos of his own creations, with a more disheveled
Will than usual, with unruly curls, intoxicates Hannibal so much that he does not regret it.
Hannibal watches, indulges, and assumes he deserves it, because he's just going along with what he's
allowed. Going by Will's standards, to what he can and can't receive. And visiting at work is within the
limits of friends/colleagues/medical patient.
The gaze of what seems to be an entire FBI team doing fact checking around him feels piercing
about Hannibal, but he just attends to every second of Will's reaction that goes from shocked, to
catatonic, to annoyed, to nervous, to happy and finally, to dismayed. Hannibal, what...
- Good afternoon everybody. - The effort between the splint that hangs from his arm, bending it for a
recovery that Hannibal had already forced by killing two days ago, does not prevent him from arriving
with a heater under the other arm. - I was passing by and I couldn't resist coming to see you.
Next to his free hand lay a lunch box of food, the same food Will had eaten that day with the ingredients
Hannibal had, but now he had cooked knowing Will would eat it. With a little meat, from the man who
screwed him up at the bar. Wait for Will to open the taper, eat, notice what it is and love it.
Unlikely, but hope is never in vain. It is said that.
- You should be rested. - Will continues sitting while the blush covers part of his neck, his cheeks
and his mouth, you like that I am here but you dislike my carelessness, or you dislike that I am here and
even more my carelessness. But you feel too much about me.
- What can I say? You were right, I am a lousy patient.
- Dr. Lecter. - Will's beautiful blushing picture is overshadowed by the sour and kind tone of the
man who had risked and forced Will into a dangerous situation in the first place, ending in a quasi-
sacrifice out of Hannibal's jealousy.
The same man now working on the deaths of three men who died because of him.
- Agent Crawford. - Hannibal now greets with a small bow, which the pain allows.
- It's a pleasure to see you in other circumstances.
- Jack, please, I called him, but I understood that he was in an intense recovery. She looks at him with
a practical smile. - Not as intense as Will alleged.
- He should be resting... - Officially Will is angry, still sitting but in an internal struggle, surely deciding
if he feels more anger for Jack or for Hannibal. When he focuses his gaze on Hannibal's arm carrying a
warming bag, he decides he's more upset with him.
- Will only speaks with the truth, I should but as you will understand I am a man
hungry for movement
Jack nods. - I understand you, each bullet I received in the field didn't keep me at home for more than two days.
- I can taste it.
- These are agents Zeller, Price and Katz. - Everyone seems interested in Hannibal, although they are still
working on dissecting the clothes of their last victim. - This is Doctor Lecter, renowned psychiatrist.
- So you're the guy Will's talking about.
- The Doctor who almost died because... they screwed Graham?
- Will says his name five times a day, we count it, we have planned to take a shot every time he does.
- He should... be resting. - Will bites between his teeth, redder and Hannibal watches him carefully, are you
talking about my love?
- Although I like the fact that Will talks about me, I have to admit that I still talk about him more. I think, Mr. Price,
that you would end up drunk under your terms in my game.
Price smiles delighted, everyone seems to be surprised, maybe because a man like that is Will's friend.
- I said you were annoying and you were a liar. - Will clarifies. - Now I will say that you are careless. And I don't
do it five times, sometimes it's only four and leave me alone. - Will takes his papers, orders them, messes them
up, so neurotic and exposed that Hannibal wants to kiss the back of his neck to feel if it burns when he blushes. -
Four, maybe three, I say you're annoying.
- I usually say that you are the most intelligent person I have ever met in this life.
A hiss, a nudge, a hurray. All the sound from the loft where now the three agents look at him with a smile. - He
should be resting!
- Doctor Lecter, if you are here, would you mind watching, I think you
Hannibal pretends that not everyone is watching him, nor that Jack really dares to ask his advice, so he gestures.
- If you don't mind Jack, I came just to deliver something to Will, because then I have to go back to my office to
work.
- Because he will go home to rest.
- To my house to rest, that's what I said.
- It would be a crime not to steal a minute Doctor Lecter. - Jack insists.
Hannibal looks at Will. - Ten minutes.
Jack nods. - I'll send someone for you in fifteen minutes Doctor and you... Keep working, you look like some damn
schoolgirls.
Hannibal reaches over to reach for a chair, Will doesn't take his eyes off him, and then finally sets the
heater down on the table. - No matter how much you look at me, I won't magically appear in my house, Will.
- You promised, you promised that you would rest.
- You said that I should do everything to feel better.
- Exact.
- Seeing you makes me feel better.
Will shakes his head, looks at the table. - That doesn't even make sense.
Hannibal touches the heater. - Please open it.
Will is still upset. - Stop looking. - He says a little louder and then the sound of three giggles fills the room, while
Will opens his heater.
[...]
- Spaghetti in fine herbs, white sweet wine sauce, mushrooms, peppers, pork and a potato soufflé with gratin cheese.
Will goes from angry to emotional so drastically that Hannibal has to clench his hands on his splint to keep from kissing
him. - You made me noodles.
- Yes, the ones you liked but I improved, I know you haven't eaten well and I would like you to eat...
But Will is already eating with a big mouthful, full of bursting cheeks. - Thank you. - He mutters.
- It's a pleasure.
Damn, this is...
- Manners.
- Very rich.
- I'm glad Will.
The food before and after, will always be food, although for Hannibal it was the third greatest pleasure after seeing
die and after making love to the right person. Watching Will eat the same meat as the man who insulted him comes
first, obviously. - You did enough.
- I almost forget it. - Another taper, one full of bread with Parmesan cheese and parsley. - Companion or if it fills up, a
snack for your afternoon.
Will takes a loaf, continues talking with his mouth full. - Shit, this is more than bread.
Hannibal is smiling as he watches Will eat and thinks, would it be really weird if I brought him food every day until
the end of his days?
He thinks until he feels the stares and whispers behind him again. So look at them. - If Will allows it, they could eat
a little, it's always good to challenge the unknown palate.
- No.
Hannibal puts his hand on Will's shoulder. - Thanks Will, always generous.
Hannibal stands up and distributes to each one a piece of bread. Everyone flatters him, he knows that the
has in your pocket easily.
When she returns to sit with Will, he pokes his face into the tupperware and checks to see if there's any bread left. When he
finds there are three left, he nods. Checking. Hannibal wants to go home to do more, just to make Will happy.
- Uhm, do you want to see the photos?
Hannibal nods and receives the compendium of images of the three victims, while Will continues eating. He sees that
the symmetry of the three is still what he wanted. - So, do they have something in common?
Will denies. - Only age and that they are men, nothing significant.
- The first one who approached you is the only one who has a design.
- Everyone has a design, but the one of is the most elaborate.
- Petunias.
- Yeah.
- It almost sounds sentimental.
Will scrapes up the last of the food and takes the last of the bread. - It is, it is almost different, although very limited. As if he
wanted to convey ownership, but respecting the message.
- Is it addressed to someone?
- Me.
Hannibal tilts his face. - How did you come to the conclusion?
- He... I know it doesn't make sense, but he left a wood shaving in each of the bodies and he looked, he felt like myself. The
wood shavings I worked with on his chair.
Hannibal feigns surprise. - It is not to be an exaggeration, but you should have an escort.
Will denies. - He's not going to kill me, not while he's interested.
- Are you getting attached to Will?
Will looks at the food storage and finally looks up. - I need to know what he wants to tell me, it's just that, I would like to see
him and I... I would like him to let me meet him.
Hannibal can almost purr. - The mind and its curiosity, would you say that you feel cold for the Ripper?
Will nods, because he knows what he means. - I uh... I'll wash everything and I'll bring it to you in a second.
- It is not necessary, they are yours, give them back to me when you can and only on the condition that you let me bring
you food again.
-Hannibal...
- Will.
[...]
The car ride, cooking, going to the office, and walking to talk to Jack about murders he did himself, leave him
exhausted and sore. But the idea of not saying goodbye to Will annoys him, finally that's what he was there for.
So the return to the truck is done with great difficulty, agitated. Maybe if he should rest, he tells himself.
When he arrives, the Katz girl is with Will talking to the side of the truck, of course Will looks uncomfortable, too much
and Hannibal's curiosity breaks down, wanting to know what makes the boy so uncomfortable. Getting closer is a
temptation. - He likes you, right?
- Mixing work and personal issues can be counterproductive, me, uhm.
- Come on Graham, you have to give me something, the guy brought you food, in a tupperware, not even my mother would do it.
it's.
- It's just food.
- Don't fuck around, you know it's not just that.
Will sighs. - He likes me, he has feelings or something like that, but just stop mentioning it, okay? It can feel
uncomfortable, the exposure is quite uncomfortable.
A blow to the arm, probably from Katz to Will. - I knew, shit, it's the Graham lottery.
- It's not...
- So, he brings you food and you take dessert home?
- I do not like candies.
- Oh, come on.
A silence. - You're alluding to a joke with sexual connotations Beverly, I'll tell Jack.
Will, please...
- No, it's not... I don't feel the same way.
Hannibal sighs, he already knows that, but it still hurts to hear it. - Just give yourself time, okay? You talk about the
guy all the time.
- I complain about him all the time.
- Half of falling in love is about that.
- He is very annoying, isn't he?
Another silence. - It's that the guy made you food.
Another silence, Hannibal wants to see, he resigns himself. - He is like that, he is a provider, his instinct tells him that
Do it.
- Will, he likes you, allow yourself to accept it and that's it, just don't go crazy?
- I will try.
- Plus he's fucking hot.
- His temper... Oh, he's fine, physically nice.
- Physically pleasing! naughty level graham
- Shut up Beverly.
- Just be nicer, try not to always treat him like shit, even though he's the type that seems to like him.
- I don't treat him like shit, I... I've hugged him twice.
Katz now laughs. - Okay, that sounds crazy.
- Do you think I should? Uhm, return the gesture, right?
- Just be nice, we all want more bread and cheese.
- Me too.
[...]
- So you leave...
- To rest, my doctor and my bedside profiler have recommended it to me.
- If you don't go home I'll get upset.
- I'll be in my house until you order me out, I swear, it could be years, I'll keep waiting.
- You have to stop talking like that. - But Will is pure smile, Hannibal wonders if he can cook the same thing
forever.
- Does it bother you that I remind you of what you make me feel?
Will nods. - Just because I don't know what to answer.
Hannibal reduces the distance, his car is waiting for him behind.- Will, I told you that I only want what
you can give me, I don't need more.
- Uhm, so, will you come on Friday? Abigail wanted to invite you, I told her it was weird and she said it was
her birthday so I kept quiet.
Hannibal smiles. - Is there any dress code for such a great event?
Will tilts his face, then smiles back. - Clothes that you cannot regret if they fill you with hair
dogs.
- I think I can find something to match. - Hannibal tilts his face again. - Until Friday, Will. - He walks his
car, feeling that the boy looks at him, indecisive, but again focused on observing how graceful his behavior
is.
- Wait. Hannibal stops, Will gets closer, so, so close that he can smell the wine from the white sauce, his
sweat and his lotion. One more step and they could touch her lips, though then she can only feel the touch
of his hand, on her stomach. Stop breathing. - Is it healing well?
Will looks into his eyes, green as the forest in the afternoon light. - Yes, I am taking care to always
clean it, Will.
The hand is still there, Will looks, just looks. - Until Friday Hannibal. - Why don't you remove your
hand? - Remember to change the bandage, okay?
-Yeah.
Finally Will takes a step back, although totally flushed, breathing heavily, probably because of
the approach, because of the closeness. It takes Hannibal ten seconds to get going again, when he's in the
car, the steering wheel burns in his hands. He tries to think straight, he can't.
And after so many years, the idea of doing something about it, as banal and normal as a physiological
action, seems attractive. She drives home, Will's touch to her stomach, still burning. So close so far.
i know fishing
When Abigail looks at the clock on her nightstand, she smiles.
Today is fishing night, as Dad called him, six times a year, on his favorite days.
It's three in the morning... the perfect time to look at the sky, because it's really dark and you can move in the
middle of the forest only if you know it.
A normal person would get lost, fall into a well, not see a bear coming. But not her, she knew the forest
better than anyone and the best time to try it was at three in the morning.
Normally, on an ordinary fishing day, Dad would have picked her up two hours later, but today was special. It
was his birthday and he already counted the modification of the schedule as his first gift.
The forced coincidence of the night of fishing with his birthday, a trick of both.
He looks up, he doesn't have much control so soon the parade of bad things that can happen that day
begins, so he closes his eyelids a bit just to silence everything. The forest is wet, because it has rained, the
palace is wet, just as he wants, because that day is his birthday. And his anxiety is surprisingly tamed, it still
feels strange to do it and he still wants to smoke, he still smokes, but little by little he begins to accept that it
works, he really does.
He quickly becomes convinced that nothing can go wrong that day, those days are usually happy. Her
father and she always made sure of it. - Abi...
- I'm awake.
- Come on, get ready for school.
Abigail kicks off the covers, jumping. - I love that school.
Will then sticks out the shotgun in one hand and another shotgun in the other arm, arranged. - The hunting
school opens in an hour miss, please be ready, I am no longer your father, I am your teacher and faults are
taken very seriously.
- I love my birthdays!
Yes, Abigail knew those days were the best and they were, ever since she and Will had decided that if they
couldn't control the world, they would make their own world their own way. No matter what day it was, if it was
the fourteenth of July, Abigail didn't go to regular classes and they went fishing, Will always invented the same
illness that was the flu, which the school let pass because the Grahams were that weird.
- Well, this is not a game...
- It is a serious thing, that I must take seriously, because hurting myself is not an option and because today we
hunt, so as not to let ourselves be hunted.
- Very good.
Will is wearing his thickest coat, a blue cap, his old pants, and Abigail looks a lot like him. Will preferred to leave
at four or five in the morning, because he believed that the prey would be with
chances of being tamer, and besides, the darkness was waning, but Abigail loved going out at
three. It was his birthday and his jurisdiction, as his father said, was unlimited for twenty-four hours.
- Well, then today is the day.
- Yes. - She's excited, it's the first time she's going to shoot, not just accompany.
Dad told him to fish and not hunt, because they didn't kill for survival instincts or resort to
violence against their prey. For even when it came to ending the life of something, Will considered
vigilance and patience his best allies.
They stalked, not chased.
The night and the cold shelter them, Abigail loves the dark, Will loves the cold, so they enter with
total comfort, so for what is unknown to many, for them it is the natural habitat.
Its prey is effectively devoid of security, it is a quiet and beautiful animal, but ready to be fished.
Will signals, Abigail crouches down next to him. - Ninety degrees, fixed peephole, no shaking, no
breathing, fixed sight Abigail, there's only one chance.
The girl nods, feels the emotion of a life running under her responsibility. So, he shoots and the
bullet lands between the eyes. - I did it.
Will nods, he looks calm, he always is when they're fishing. - Happy birthday Abby.
[...]
After fishing, Will decides to let Abigail do whatever she wants which means going back to
sleep, while they make breakfast. But she can't sleep, because the thrill of control washes over her.
He loved watching his father hunt, Will usually stopped thinking and focused so much, he could
absorb his own peace. And now that she did, she felt the same way. She only had to wait fifteen
years to feel it and she's sure it's the best feeling in the world.
Write down so that later, when the day is over, build that moment in his palace, sixth tree on the
left, a small and funereal one where he keeps since the first day they fished until today. When they
went fishing for the first time, when she was nine years old, Abigail cried, and Will hugged her and
asked her if she didn't want to go fishing anymore.
Abigail told him that she cried because she thought it was beautiful to do so.
His father was downstairs, making breakfast and putting away the animals they had hunted.
Because it was her birthday, they had hunted three, one for her and two for Will. So the gutting,
cleaning, and dissection work would take a bit longer. Abigail didn't have permission to cut or
clean yet, she would only do so when she turned sixteen.
Since she can't sleep, she goes downstairs and Will hardly looks at her, he continues working, she only serves coffee and watches.
They don't talk much, they don't need to, and the morning unfolds calmly. When it's so quiet
that just moving the spoon feels loud, Will's mumbling feels too good for Abigail. Only the
sound, the practicality and the programming. -
Front incision, side incision, blood, blood, side, um, side, eight inches, incision, blood, blood.
- Lateral incision, blood, blood.
- Silence.
Abigail smiles, loving it when Dad is in her world, one that she could gravitate from with full permission
not to be dragged out. It is a brilliant world, of inaccurate and at the same time innocent thoughts.
Something more than TEA, authenticity. She was used to being ignored most of the time, but more than
ignoring, she considered it a space to observe, to accompany.
His father perfectly cut each piece, cleaning with care, leaving what was once a global, to particular
pieces. He doesn't honor the animal, he's just practical about it.
His passion is not in the meaning of taking a life, but Will converts from the simple action of sweeping
to killing, from studying to gutting, into a thoughtless mechanism.
Abigail could live like this, although she fished for the thrill and not because the action gave her another
scope of control, she appreciated the art of doing it. He might not live in the same world as his father,
but he might exist very close. Some were made to think, others to feel.
The small beep of the cell phone wakes them both up from the lethargy of the dissection, on any
other occasion that would not have happened, because Will would forget the cell phone anywhere, but
Abigail knows that this has changed, because now the beep means a message from Hannibal. - So early?
Will frowns, continues to cut but his gaze is no longer fixed and focused, staring at the glowing screen. -
Seven in the morning on business days can be considered an acceptable time for the exchange of
messages.
- If you say so.
Although she was not Will, she also resented the changes. Accustomed for years to maintaining the
routines imposed at home, at the age of ten she became annoyed and threw a tantrum when plans
were changed. For example, Broccoli Mondays, although I hated them, must have been Broccoli
Mondays because that indicated that the natural order of tranquility was maintained. Like Fish
Tuesdays, Mash Wednesdays, Pork Thursdays, Pizza Fridays.
Not neurodivergent, told when he was six and told again when he was thirteen, Will almost fainted
with ease when the diagnosis was secured by five different doctors. Abigail was only socially withdrawn,
likely through indirect influence from her father and her own DNA, such experiences as neglect and
limited development.
But Abigail liked to be different, liked to listen to what was said between the words, to watch and let
herself be carried away by the solitude of her thoughts. Her father was happy that she didn't have ASD,
but she almost wished she had because that meant a diagnosis and that meant being closer to her father.
But then she understood that she loved routines for something more, she loved being part of the little club
of those who didn't forget.
So when his father's cell phone was now always in his pocket, when Wednesdays had to be added
to the psychiatrist appointment and Will began to mumble when it wasn't normal for him to do it, when he
began to notice that fishing was a more premeditated event It didn't bother him.
Because that meant that they were mutating, just a little before a new member, who didn't
he would try to change them and that he was probably willing to make the same changes for them.
- Won't you see the message?
- Cut, cut, dissection of rib number five... No.
- It could be important.
- Hannibal is intrusive.
- It could be an issue that cannot be postponed, with a limit, you could be injured or need help to deliver a
document with an issue date.
Will sighs and resignedly picks up the phone... Abigail puts on that stoic face that tries not to reflect
anything, like the fact that she's doing her part of the deal, the rest depended on Hannibal. Which Hannibal
was doing very well.
She has seldom recognized in her father the instinct of loving or liking someone. As a child, for
example, she dreamed that her father would meet a blonde, pretty, graceful, and perfect woman who
would be her mother, but then she fully met her father. .
So she finally dreamed of her meeting any human being who could see her for what she really was and
if she was lucky, would be friends with her.
They definitely didn't need someone ordinary and when the idea that someone like that existed, who
understood fishing Fridays every semester became impossible, he believed that they were better off alone.
But Hannibal arrived.
Hannibal was that, Hannibal adored.
She adored Will, Abigail knew because there was no other way to call the way the man looked at
her dad, like he was going to disappear at any moment. He had given her a palace, she had seen them
all together, she had wanted to understand them. He had crossed the fence that they were rare, since
they were unique. That they were unique.
What was a puzzle to Abigail was whether her dad could love Hannibal back, but what she did know
was that she liked him. - What does it say?
- Do not be nosy.
- So now they keep secrets.
- Silence.
But without a doubt, the biggest change in her routine that Abigail could get used to was seeing her dad
smile. Like a fool on the phone, put your hand down, read over and over whatever Hannibal had said,
twitch your foot, lower your head, mutter ebony, green, ebony, green, and then smile.
Yes, he could get used to that.
[...]
- So only hamburgers, right?
Will had bought fifteen hamburgers even though the guests were sadly two people. - Our economic
imbalance does not allow us pizza, but I have a surprise for you that I think you might like or not like,
depending on your perception.
- A surprise? - Abigail widens her eyes, no doubt certain that it had to do with Hannibal's influence.
- A surprise is an unexpected event, which has the pillars of your liking.
- Well, then today there will be a lack of control.
The tidy table, with the event tablecloth that turns out to be beige and not white, the old but well-
washed dishes and the pretty plate, for Hannibal and not for her, even though it's his birthday, because
Hannibal is of high rank. - He is not of high lineage, he only rots in money and he has me up to the
shit of elegance.
- Dad.
- It's refined.
- Better.
Then the table, orange soda, hamburgers, no fries because there wasn't enough, fucking Hannibal
and his elegant post-shooting resurrection dinner, so we just have to wait with Abigail's favorite music,
which is nothing more than rock. He turns on the stereo and sets up his cell phone, Will sighs prepared
for whatever is going to sound, which he assures has no pattern, but it is the jurisdiction of his birthday.
He puts on "Fancy Like" and he dances a bit, not coordinated, but he dances while eating a
hamburger and waiting for the others to arrive, Will doesn't wince, which means that the music doesn't
bother him at all.
Alana is the first to arrive, probably full of goodie bags, Abigail likes Alana only because she's not bad, she
seems to be good at accommodating them, but not in, plus she loves her and can almost pretend she's a
surrogate, yeah she was completely normal. But is not.
- Happy birthday Abbi! - The hug is genuine.
- Did you come! - Abigail follows the greeting protocol in general and the surprise of seeing Alana
there is certainly not rare, like every six years ago, when she thought her father had something with her.
But then he saw that no, they were nothing. She was just like an anchor with normal, Aunt Alana.
- Tell me they bought the pizza, please, it's the only thing I've thought about since I drove here.
- We're low bottom. Will says and pours soda for Alana. - Only hamburgers.
Well, Abigail watches her father, notes a certain reluctance. He wonders if it has to do with the fact that
there is no pizza like every birthday, which indicates that it is a birthday with variations. - I was able to
bring it.
Will mutters. - It is not necessary, modifications are normal.

Alana brought clothes, lots of new clothes and brought a smart watch, Abigail thanks her even though the watch
thinks about how to sell it, just because she doesn't wear things like that. She just wants a functional cell phone and
books, lots of books. - Good music, as always Abi.
- Thank you.
- Shall we start freaking out? - For Alana it was always the same, they ate their fill, watched a movie and then
watched the night from the threshold of the house, in chairs until the cold was criminal.
- There's a new guest. Abigail raises her eyebrows. - We have a new friend.
Alana tilts her face. - Will tell me you didn't adopt another dog.
Will narrows his eyes. - No, it's a person.
- Hannibal. - Says Abigail, to which Alana is surprised and bites her lips.
- I did not know...
- It's that we're friends.
- It is late. - Her father hates being late, that's why Alana was there at eight o'clock at night and it was already fifteen
minutes past eight.
I did my part of the bargain, Doc, I didn't blow everything. - We will wait for him.
Just half an hour later, Hannibal's Bentley is outside, as the dogs jump around her, she opens the door, Hannibal
even more full of bags than Alana.
- I'm sorry I'm late. - Hannibal speaks to everyone but looks for the look of Will, who olympically ignores
him by serving more soda. Will, good night.
Dude, it's my birthday...
- You're late.
- I apologize, something stopped me.
Will is about to claim, when Hannibal takes from his hands, still with splint, a bag that smells new, ten books of an
expensive edition, the most recent. - Happy birthday Abigail.
The astonishment is general, Abigail calculates the millionaire that this must have cost but caresses each book, there
were the ten that she had selected in the library without counting the original that Hannibal had given her, ten books
that she had asked her father and that her Dad had said he could give them to them, but only on a semester basis. -
That must have cost too much. - Abigail looks at her father with annoyance. - Abigail the annoying one has not made
merit for this, although she has jurisdiction-
- Due to the unnecessary expense that was made, I wanted to return this present that will be well valued, right? I
don't take no for an answer.
Abigail smiles, hugs Hannibal, and they all look defeated. - That's very kind of you, a great selection. Alana
watches, her curiosity palpable.
- Oh and how can I forget... - Hannibal backs up, goes back out to his car, when he comes back, he has pizza boxes,
at least four of them, but he walks away from himself. - Nasty food for everyone.
Abigail adores him.
Abigail looks at her father, as normally a son and above all she would, expecting that something might bother his attitude,
however, Will's attitude is unpredictable, like the cell phone, like the schedule, like the smiles.
His father looks at Hannibal, just for a minute, the way Hannibal looks at Will. As if it was going to disappear.
[...]
When they eat, Abigail feels like she has everything she wants to have. He has Winston at his feet, receiving
bootleg food, pizza, burgers, Walter Hakes music, a little Elvis, a little ACDC and finally Bob Sager, but better Miss Molly
from Little Richard, plus his father is comfortable with social exposure. So comfortable that it washes the dishes in
disorder, not from bigger to smaller, but from smaller to bigger.
Hannibal is a meter away from his father, his dad seems tense, that's why the mess when washing something. What does
Hannibal say to his dad? He does not understand, what he knows is that there is tension there.
God, could they be any more obvious? At least Hannibal can't not when he keeps advancing several inches, then he
sees another difference, his dad lets himself be surrounded a little more. If it were someone else, it would be far away,
it would be running away. But it stays there.
- Hannibal, shall we go to Flaubert's opera? I had written it down...
Within her observation, Alana hardly fits in the picture, although she still wants her to be there, many times she had
been good to her dad, she had taken care of them. However, it does not fit, it has a space in which it now seems out of
place. Because her father only attends to Hannibal's complaints, who only talks about how horrible the food was while
she is only in charge of hovering around, so that Hannibal knows when he should approach.
- Opera?
- Oh yes, Hannibal promised to take me soon, I think Flaubert could be...
A bad sign, he becomes alert, like when he goes fishing, because his father is tense, like when they have no control over
someone else's response. The food, the time, he doesn't know what can bother him.
Until it's so obvious that it hurts, makes her happy and sad, her dad and his taste for cold, his possession. - Alana, I
think I'll be busy this weekend.
His dad is jealous.
- Are you going to the opera?
- It wasn't planned, Will...
Hannibal and I...
Abigail now has to fix everything, because her dad is tense, him and his strange need for control, because of
everything around him. - I've never been to the opera.
She says but she doesn't really need to say it, she doesn't love opera. Wait Hannibal understands, he looks at her and
does. - We can all go.
Her father relaxes, it's so obvious, to everyone but Alana. His dad stays still, he breathes better. They proceed to
watch movies. Abigail hopes she isn't being too obvious when she asks for Alana to sit with her.
Hannibal is now sitting with his dad, looking at an old western jean short. She tries to listen as best she can, plus she's
annoying and nosy too. Will...
- Hannibal, will you go with her to the opera?
- Could?
- Whatever you want.
- Will, I'll just do what you want.
- Are you cold?
Will...
Abigail tries to really focus on the movie, she does it when it gets interesting, when she looks back at her father and
Hannibal are together, too much and Abigail is happy.
Good for Hannibal, maybe one day they can fish together.
As Alana leaves, Hannibal takes out a pack of cigarettes on the doorstep where it's cold. His father lights one, smokes.
That's the surprise.
Abigail decides not to smoke because only her dad does. When Hannibal and Will share a cigarette in front of
her, Abigail decides that smoking is horrible.
He leaves them alone. Before leaving, Hannibal is close to his dad, he wishes him luck and then finally,
he thinks that he will never smoke again.
I know Will's possessiveness
It was definitely not a good day for Hannibal Lecter.
In fact, from the morning when the espresso machine broke down and he had to get regular
coffee, it went sour to a mediocre start for his taste.
What happened next was another clear sign that indeed the day intended to take a particularly
negative course, as the Tattle Crime and Freddie Lounds had been in charge of concretizing it:
"The Ripper goes out of style: The new murderer who terrorizes Baltimore has already claimed
nine victims"
A bit of an amateur and rather experienced psychopath, he terrorizes the streets of Baltimore under
his novel strategy that leaves only organs instead of corpses, perhaps in a clear allusion to the
Ripper and his reverse method.
Obviously this new psychopath is experienced and may have been killing for as long as our old
Ripper, but unlike him, he is committed to making it clear that he is different: He doesn't take the
organs, he leaves them, perhaps demonstrating superiority.
Will this new assassin be able to surpass the mark of the other? Is the Ripper seeing his novelty-
displaced method fall?"
Hannibal is not a competitive guy, he may feel that this guy, whom he knows little or nothing about,
may be an amateur trying to get his attention or just annoy him. But what he is certain of is that two
murderers cannot reign in Baltimore.
He wonders if the clear journalistic attempt at his appearance has to do with Jack, always
bent on tricks. She even wonders if it also has to do with Will and her thirst to see him show up.
Which finally reminds him, that Will hasn't spoken to him for two days.
Bad day, bad start, bad run.
The tasteless taste of comparison has finished bothering him, and the very thought that he
has to pick up Alana and not Abigail and Will for the opera later grows even heavier.
Even when she insisted on doing it, on the one call she had with Will, determined to go it alone.
Also determined to find appropriate clothing for him and Abigail, without Hannibal's advice, without
his support. - You only pick up Alana, I think I don't want to bother their agreement anymore, already
quite annoyed with our inclusion...
- Will, I remind you that it was you who encouraged an invitation to take place that I had not made.
- Good evening, Hannibal.
- Do not hang.
But he hung up and of course, he did not answer the following calls. Even with the last affectionate meeting on
Abigail's birthday and the sublime moment in which Will accepted the cigarette previously tasted by himself, still,
Will was strangely distant.
When it strikes three in the afternoon that Friday and he has Franklin sitting in front of him, he allows the
misrule to punish him completely in his misfortune. - Why can not we Be Friends? That is, we clearly have the
same tastes in common and the same default places.
- You have found Franklin another support in which you seek to cling just to hold you because once again your
confidence diminishes in you.
- No, that is. - He sweats, Franklin always sweats and stutters, which makes it hard not to smell his scent of
Channel and fear, the worst mix for a rich kid. - It is not about supplying anything, I genuinely long for your company.
- Franklin I can't be your friend, I'm your psychiatrist.
The guy clenches his hands together, his plump white knuckles hinting that this isn't his first rejection, probably
not his last either. - Please we would have so much fun! I listen to Sinatra, I have a great Sinatra collection, I know
you like Sinatra, I think if Sinatra were alive we would be friends, do you know how much fun that would be? You,
me, listening to Sinatra.
Hannibal shifts in his seat, only twenty minutes have passed and the rest of the half hour seems endless.
Besides, his green piece of furniture needs care, repair, perhaps the first washing that Will was talking about,
because the idea that Franklin waited there now bothers him. - Franklin not only can't, I don't want to be your friend.
The man closes his eyes a little. - I... why can't I have friends like you? What is wrong with me?
your despair - You encourage more what you have to give that you don't really focus your attention on what you
want to receive, that can be discouraging for people like me, not many Franklin are looking for a pupil, they are
looking for a friend.
- I don't want him to take care of me, I want to take care of him. - Lie, you want them to take care of you, to
worry about you, to hold you, to encourage you, to see you, I already have Will and his side, you are nothing,
worse than nothing, you are the sole of Will. - I want your company.
- Let's talk about why you want someone's company, why do you need it?
- Because Im alone. - Franklin smiles, but his smile is as empty as a past coffee but without espresso. - That is
to say I have friends, I have them, but they are not like you, no... they give me peace of mind.
They are not important.
- You can find that glossy company that you so long for with yourself, you can give yourself some
peace of mind, if we have the same tastes then you are similar to what you are looking for, have you
thought about it?
- That's just sad.
- Enriching Franklin, I myself am my first friend, my company is much more accommodating than
anyone.
Franklin, faced with the idea of himself as a friend, seems unpleasant to him, yes Franklin, if you are
unpleasant to yourself, imagine for me. - You lie, that is. - Smile. - I have seen it
hanging out with the Graham guy here a few times, the FBI news guy, I eat my dinner at the French
restaurant across the street, not that I'm stalking him, but I've seen him.
- I see, what is relevant?
- You are his friend.
- Yes, I am, but I don't see what my personal life has to do with you, Franklin.
Franklin closes the bag, opens it and closes it, nervous, annoyed, disbelief. - The guy is just the rustic guy, I
mean, he doesn't even wear a suit and you take care of him, right? I just don't get it, do you even know the
difference between a Merlot and a Malbec?
The idea of slitting Franklin's throat is attractive, even better of making two small incisions in his legs
and arms so that he bleeds and rots for days, better. How dare you even name Will Graham? Think you
can judge him? What banal details like a print can tell you who it was? - We don't choose our friends.
- You do.
- Franklin my choice is not in question, it's not about me, it's about you judging what a friend should mean.
- Shouldn't we choose the best?
- Will Graham is the best in my judgment.
Franklin now looks upset, irritated, even more nervous, but mostly offended. - It's not good for his image, he
must be a good guy, but if he can, why couldn't I?
- Franklin, you shouldn't compare yourself. - You would lose, you would not even compete, it would be so sad.
- I just don't get it... I would give everything for you.
Hannibal sighs. - Let's talk about why you would give everything for someone who rejects you, tell me Franklin, did you
give everything for someone who rejected you and still that emptiness haunts you?
But Franklin is not willing to heal, let alone see inside himself, because his sadness stuns him, his truth
disgusts him. - I just want to be your friend!
Hannibal looks at the time, there are still twenty minutes to go. Damn espresso machine.
[...]
The fitted suit looks good, the sleeves at the right height and the bow centered, the folded shirt and the black
color that accompanies it, this time jet, Italian looks good.
The problem is that Alana is the one who shows it to her, as she did when she picked it up and placed an
amused hand on her chest, when they were in the car on the way to the opera, and also, when Will and
Abigail are in front of them, when hangs his hand on her arm, without permission, and touches the bun,
pretending to straighten it. - You look so handsome Hannibal.
Will has his gaze fixed on every gesture that unfolds, he also has all his attention on those around him and
of course he also has his attention on Abigail, who has his attention on all the same. Hard jaw, discomfort,
impatience, lack of control.
Hannibal did not imagine his first evening at an opera with them like this, he imagined only the three of
them, one on each side of him, walking through the confines of the place, reassuring them and enjoying
their beauty. Teaching them that the art world could breed idiots, but if they moved well, they could fit
because they were art themselves.
Yet they were there, totally uncomfortable and oblivious, pushing themselves to stay on their feet, but
wanting to run away. - I'm afraid that even with all my attempts, I don't look better than Will.
And it was true.
Hannibal, in addition to the burden of a tiring day and Alana's heavy arm burning his insides, had
to put up with having Will Graham in a form-fitting, second-hand, but crystalline blue suit, completely
molded to his body, clearly not having been adjusted to your measure, because it already was. White
shirt, cherry bow and hair pulled back, exuding a particular beauty.
I had to see but not touch and it was so painful. Because there was the small waist, the thick thighs,
the upturned hip, the trimmed beard and above all, the dark look on him.
Will, you are killing me so slowly my love.
- Dad and I went to the tailor, didn't it look good?
Alana nods, agrees, Hannibal continues to look at Will, wanting to understand the inexplicable fury
towards him, maximized by his beauty, the strange harassment towards Alana. Will, if you don't let me
know, I won't be able to do anything about it.
- It's rented, I have to take care not to stain it because the guarantee is three hundred dollars. Abigail
could go without food for a month.
- If it gets stained, even if it's wine, I'll be happy to pay Will's guarantee and then discard the suit, just
to buy you a new one.
Will isn't deterred by the good treatment, just fixes his gaze on Alana's arm and then back at
Hannibal again. - Always spending on trifles.
Abigail who hangs on her father's arm looks at Hannibal, fully aware of what is happening. Do you
know what happens to your father?
- Although without a doubt the one who could make us look ridiculous is Abigail. - Hannibal intends
to erase the sharp gaze of green emeralds. - You are very beautiful tonight Miss Graham.
Abigail blushes, smoothes the dress, and looks around again, perhaps sensing that it was a lie.
- I... I had this dress saved for graduation but I didn't even want to go, I want to go, dad bought it a
year ago in a place called...
- Adolescentes Cool, Lincoln street, 20% promotion because it wasn't the season.
Abigail rolls her eyes. - I suppose this is the best use I could put it to.
Hannibal leans in, as if he's going to tell a secret to the four of them. - Your beauty could make you
confuse the dress with one from Paris itself, dear Abigail.
Abigail is smiling, Will is looking at her and a little pride can seep into the words,
after his fury, but Alana... Alana is now totally in love with Hannibal. - I didn't know you could be so sweet.
Will's cough, the renewed tension coming back, and Hannibal, desperate.
The only thing that was really missing was to see Franklin, who with his terrible smell appears making
space even despite the painful look of contempt that Hannibal is doing now, on purpose. - Doctor Lecter,
it's a pleasure to see you, I had no idea you'd be around today.
Hannibal continues to despise him but his cold smile makes an appearance. - Like every Friday or Saturday
Franklin, I fall prey to these events, I swear you know. - Hannibal stretches out his hand. - It is a pleasure
to introduce you to Doctor Alana Bloom, Professor Will Graham and their beautiful daughter, Abigail.
Franklin nods to them, though he quickly turns his attention back to Hannibal, but not before leaning on
Alana's free other arm.
And there lies Dr. Lecter, hanging from Alana by one arm and Franklin from the other, instead of Will and
Abigail, trying not to let go of everyone just to go back in time and fix his machine that morning to see if the
mod would do the trick. reality. - It is always a pleasure to meet the friends of my friends, Doctor Lecter and I
share the same tastes, so if you are his friends, you are mine.
Dr. Lecter and I have even talked about listening to Sinatra together...
Will now burns his gaze on Hannibal, rolling his eyes and biting his lips a little. So with the greatest courtesy,
which is little, that he has left, he fires Franklin with the mental promise to kill him slowly one day. - It is better
that you look for your site Franklin, do not be late for the work.
- Yes, good night...
Hannibal decides that he won't be able to enjoy the play, let alone Will enjoy it if he's going to stay angry so
he thinks he can talk to him, but the terrible call at the start of the play warns them of its start. Will takes a
third glass of champagne and swallows it in one gulp, everyone looks at him.
- I thought alcohol was a disinhibitor of emotions not necessary dad.
- You were already taking time to annoy Abigail.
- Dad.
In the exclusive box that Hannibal has arranged for everyone, the distribution of seats has been
deliberated by Hannibal, who at least feels calm knowing that he has Will at his side to watch him during the
play. Feel it, read it, find out what's going through his head.
Of course, the distribution has its flaws, such as having Alana on his other side and Abigail on Will's side.
- Will, is something wrong? - He murmurs when the curtain begins to open.
- Doctor Lecter, it's rude to talk during the play.
Expresso, Freddie Lounds, Franklin, Alana. And now, Will Graham's smug attitude. His bad mood was no
longer an option, it was a reality.
The play begins but Hannibal is far from enjoying Emma Bovary's betrayal of her husband Charles Bovary on
stage and instead watches out of the corner of his eye, attentive to everything Will does. The minor of course can
have the attention on the work and also the attention on Hannibal, since he has his gaze fixed on the scene, but
his shoulders are tense and his jaw is still hard.
Hannibal's annoyance comes when the opera itself alters and does not elevate his senses, with a gloomy song that
settles the pain of Charles Bovary upon learning of his infidelity with Mr. Homais with the total indifference of Mrs.
Bovary.
Loud music, loud piano, and Will Graham ignoring him.
Only Alana's hand on his wakes him up and startles him, while she is absorbed in the music, stroking his knuckles
in support of the emotions the work conveys. Will's search for an answer, which he no doubt now has to do with Alana
directly, settles when the boy mutters words that he can't hear because of the play. Dismayed, he looks at the joining
of Hannibal and Alana's hands.
He understood that changes always bothered Will, but did it bother him that much that two of his friends were close?
Worst of all, acquaintances? Because Hannibal did not correspond to what Alana demanded, but if he contemplated
his closeness only because of his own closeness with the Grahams.
Instinctively, Hannibal slowly withdraws his hand but Will is no longer looking, his eyes are straight ahead, his teeth
on his lips, tilting his face in the middle of a furious gesture, to relax his neck. Will...
- Excuse me. - Hannibal has to watch as Will gets up in the middle of the climactic moment of the play, only to
stumble out of the darkness of the audience.
Abigail looks at Hannibal and Alana as well. - I'll go see what's going on.
Not finding Will in the bathrooms quickens her senses and she follows Graham's thought, to where she thinks
he might be. He finds him after five minutes with an empty glass, outside the theater. - Well Will, it's time for you to be
clear with what you feel, because although I appreciate your temperamental reactions more than anyone, this has
stopped being pleasant for me.
Will denies. - You're missing the play, it's live, right now you're missing it.
- I'm not interested in the play, I want to know what's going on between us.
Will smiles bitterly, tilts the back of his neck again, and the tight suit is raised with his hands, while he cups his
forehead with one hand and his mouth with the other. - Alana will really miss your presence.
- And I'm not interested in Alana, I'm interested in you.
- Franklin on the other hand will want to exchange his perception for the work, he will not want to disappoint him.
Hannibal notes that the liquor has somewhat diminished Will, who now looks without the classic vestiges
and controlled tics of ASD, if not, the gestures of an enraged man so simply reduced to a reaction as primitive as
annoyance. - I think you know my opinion about Franklin, Will... My answer will continue to be that I only care about
you, what do I have to do to prove it?
Will steps forward, steps back again, then is inches from Hannibal, only to move away again.
Nervous, upset, indecisive. - I don't need you to prove anything to me.
- It seems that this is a lie, are you trying to be the liar now?
- No, I don't like friendship, that's what happens with friendship, it blurs, it gets confused and you, you say,
that you love me, and I lose... I lose control, shit, not even I know What happens, but it bothers me, everything
bothers me, I'm upset and I don't know why, that is, I know, but it doesn't make sense, do you understand?
Hannibal feels Will close to him again, so close that the fruity smell of the champagne sneaks in, burns
him, and Will's perfume, one that surely is for special occasions, still cheap, still bad, fills him and he likes it, he
like it so much.
But Will doesn't know that Hannibal is upset too, because he's had a lousy day and the only thing that kept
him standing up, pretending to be a great human being, was the thought of seeing him, of him smiling, of him
seeing the damn play. , by his side. - Well, Will, I don't understand and this is already bothering me even more
than you, I'm afraid my patience...
Will now, centimeters from his face, smiles, but even more full of fury. - Annoying? You? The guy who happens
to be the hottest guy out of all of your patients and Alana, you?
Then Hannibal, as he did four months ago and was punished for it, pulls Will's hand only to bring him even
closer and now it is enough for one to tilt his face to touch his mouth with the other's. - You have finished
with my patience Will, now tell me what you want, to do it, tell me what you need and I will do it, just ask, now.
I need you to.
Will blinks several times, the blush beginning to color his feverish cheeks helped by the alcohol and the
banal feeling of his emotions. - No, no... it's not appropriate, my space, my space...
But Hannibal doesn't let go and now he has Will pressed against him, suit against suit, breasts together and her
waist caught in his hand. - No, you will say it or I will not let you go.
- No...
- Will.
- I want... I want... - Will stares into Hannibal's mouth and only God knows what the doctor has to endure
not to bite the thin lips that are driving him crazy with desire, fury, frustration. - I want Alana not to touch
you, nor do I want... Franklin or anyone to say that you are his friend, not to touch you, nor do I want... God,
I don't want you to go to the opera with her, she laugh with you, you are kind to her, like me, no, no, I don't
want it to be the same...
- You want me only for you.
Wil keeps looking at her lips. - Yeah.
- However, you do not want me to touch you, nor are you willing to share me, nor do you want me to love you,
nor can you love me, but you want me... just for you.
Hannibal's inner animal roars, purrs, writhes with pleasure, with pain, with possession. - Yes Yes.
The idea of kissing him, holding him closer to himself now is the only thing that rules him, but Will's fear is
palpable, as is his own desire to understand the unknown. Will...
- Please Hannibal, just... No, don't.

- Hmm...
Hannibal closes his eyes, breathes, shamelessly inhales Will's scent while holding him in his hands, the
guy shakes too much but raises his neck for Hannibal to smell him better and Hannibal does, almost
roaring for permission, over and over again, while sucking everything you can. - Hannibal... - The call is so
painful, a call to his calm, perhaps to his patience, pleading and at the same time, needy.
- You don't know how hard it is not to kiss you right now Will Graham.
- Uhm, God.
He takes one more breath when he opens his eyes and sees his own reflection in the reddened, dilated
pupils of a thirsty but frightened Will. So he just leans in enough to kiss her cheek. Just a simple kiss, a
caress, a touch. But long, which is maintained.
- Oh, Hannibal. - Band-Aid Will still with his lips on him.
When the kiss ends, Hannibal slowly lets go of the body without taking his eyes off Will, who is
breathing heavily, dropping his hands and looking at the floor.
Will tries to find a foothold to steady himself, his reddened skin holding and a hand touches his cheek,
stroking it, then breathing heavily again. Keep looking down.
Hannibal then feels fear and surprise at the same time, the enormous discovery that Will wanted him
only for himself and his wild behavior hit him, he thinks that Will can run away even though... they both
know what he wanted the kiss from , who moaned at the touch, that he craved it, that he let it smell. His
body and humanity betrayed, his mind fractured. "Will, please say something."
But Will continues to touch her cheek without looking up.
Hannibal raises a hand which he drops, not playing again seems like a better decision, as the theater
door opens to Abigail and Alana gaping, one pleasantly though flustered and the other utterly incredulous
and irascible.
But he cares little or nothing for Hannibal, other than knowing that Will won't push him away, won't leave.
Until the boy's face lifts as he continues to touch his cheek. - Uhm, it felt good.
As Will continues to caress her cheek, looking up at her scared and surprised at the same time. Only
yours Will, whatever you want, will be. Finally, it's not a bad day.
Only that Will realizes that he is being watched when he looks to the side, his breathing returns and
he obviously walks in the opposite direction, until his steps become too fast, in the middle of the cold and the
sudden rain. And Hannibal, he doesn't know what to do.
rather than follow it.

i know patience
Following Will was an exhausting activity, not because Hannibal's physique ailed, but because even though
they could separate them just six feet, Hannibal could still taste and smell him, as if they were still glued to
each other, chest to chest.
With the kiss beating on his lips and the daring, as well as... Will trembling, wanting but not accepting the
same thing, his neck exposed, totally surrendered, still melting in his hands.
Will walks fast, looks around when crossing, stops sometimes, shakes his head, and keeps walking. So
confused with what you feel my boy, struggling with what you let happen? Did you like that I kissed you? Did
you like it as much as me? Say yes.
When Will stops and out of the corner of his eye notices that he's being followed, he slows down but
doesn't stop. Hannibal does the same, without invading the space, no longer chasing, but following,
watching Will, letting him know that he was there, that he would be there, if he wanted to turn around.
The streets of Baltimore are quiet at ten o'clock at night, few people are left behind by shopping and the
bustle of the daily interim, only small groups of young people starting the night cross each other on occasion,
but outside of them and of their own. Fleeing only from the chilling drizzle, Hannibal and Will are cut off,
hunting and fishing, respectively, from their feelings.
Hannibal wonders with his hands inside his coat, what Will is thinking.
Will he regret the permission to expose his neck? Of exposing their fears to demanding ownership?
Will she reject the kiss she didn't ask for? Or is it the fear of being exposed, to others, that he had barely
discovered that terrified him?
Hannibal wants to open his brain and answer himself, but since Will Graham's death would literally be
his own death, he can only hope that Will clears it up.
As long as it takes, so be it forever. Even if it never comes.
Will pauses again, this time stepping back and level with Hannibal, but not looking at him. - It's cold, you
don't have to follow me, if you go that would be the most coherent, it will be fine.
- I have a certain fascination with the cold lately, you can walk all you want, I'll still be here if you want to talk.
- Good. - Will nods, without looking at him and adjusting the jacket a little more, without a coat in
between, feeling one with the cold, he goes ahead. Half an hour goes by, a full hour goes by. Sometimes
they circle, sometimes they go straight, and other times they retrace their steps.
Will now decides to walk through the streets, even more silent, exactly one meter from Hannibal.
Space and time lessen the tension on his shoulders, he seems to no longer be fleeing, but rather clearing
up, and as the minutes go by, Hannibal can feel that although they do not go hand in hand, they are together
sharing just one more moment, an acceptable difficulty.
Like a couple.
You're not, not yet.
Hannibal can wait, Hannibal could walk until dawn with Will, now he knows. You can miss the opera, you can do
so much more. He can kill Franklin so he won't be touched or longed for, he could kill Alana just for the sake of
Will seeing how outdated she was. But in the meantime, you can walk, you can wait.
Will pulls up at the first gas station he comes across, Hannibal waiting patiently outside. When Will comes out he
holds out a pack and a cigarette sticks out. The same brand that Hannibal treated him to on the night of Abigail's
birthday. - I don't want to admit that it felt good the first two times I did it, so I don't want to argue about it, will you?
- I wouldn't let you poison yourself.
- You were the one with the idea, really.
- You can blame me, get rid of the responsibility with me Will.
Will extends the lighter, seems to be in control again, and now, when he inhales, with great effort, he takes his
first blow without coughing. - I'm getting good at this.
Hannibal does the same, inhaling, and smoke fills the now short space between them, from side to side.
- I doubt there's anything you're bad for.
Will looks at him, seems to have some ideas about what he's saying, then looks down. - Yes we will smoke,
it will only be from time to time, like once a month.
- If it's cold.
- It does rain a little.
- I promise I'll keep it, I won't let it become a habit.
When Will starts walking again, this time he's at Hannibal's side, playing with his cigar, taking small, few
drags. Hannibal respects the silence again, until the first cigarette is gone. He doesn't ask for another, not
until Will himself proposes it. - I met Abigail's mother at the police school where she taught.
- Were you already a teacher?
- Teaching assistant, I uhm, I was in first place so I supported the students who required assistance.
- It's hard not to notice excellence.
Will nods and a slight smile appears. - She was also intelligent, only very messy, she didn't have a study method
and she always ended up lagging behind.
Hannibal accepts the second cigarette they hand him, lights it, and they continue walking. The silence is
pleasant, the rubbing elbow to elbow something comfortable, the little evasive look better.
- The time together made us get used to each other, after a year she seemed not to be annoyed with my
peculiarities, we shared an apartment, we divided expenses, I always helped her study, sometimes I did her work
and then, she kissed me. It was my first kiss.
Hannibal tries to visualize a young and elusive Will Graham being kissed by someone who was obviously infatuated,
perhaps briefly in love. The feeling was sour, but Will's youth and innocence were provocative. Hannibal would
have too. - Was your reaction conflicting?
- No. - Will inhales, looks ahead, the smoke from the cold and from the cigarette surrounds him. - She felt
uncomfortable, like, uhm haha saliva exchange, me with my eyes open, her doing everything. I never asked him
what he wanted, I got carried away and well... I forced myself to want that, normality, someone who loves me, someone
to take care of, I tried and...
- It worked at first.
- Yes. - Will smiles, but it's a sad smile, Hannibal sticks a little more. - I never... uhm, I've never been with anyone,
it was so embarrassing, I couldn't even... I couldn't, uhm, shit, I don't want to talk about it. I guess I can't even say it.
- I know what you're trying to say, you don't have to detail if you don't want to.
- Thank you. - A third cigarette seems appropriate, Hannibal notes that he will not let a fifth come, it could only upset
Will. - But it worked at some point I could, shit I won't say how but I could, I just psyched myself up and when it
happened, we were so stupid, I was so stupid, only twice so isolated, so frustrating they brought Abigail.
- You were twenty-one right?
Will nods, looks at him, perhaps seeking his disapproval, Hannibal is an open book of normalcy.
She will never criticize a mistake in Will, let alone one that has Abigail as its result. - So, I moved in with her, even
though we couldn't, I still couldn't...
- Not all of us are sexually skilled and active, there are different ways of expressing desire and affection. Different
incentives also, to achieve it if there are difficulties.
Will blushes, the cold only accentuating his face and looks at the ground. - I know it's not something physical,
but unfortunately my head, it's my head, it doesn't let me, too many thoughts. I could never be completely normal in
that and in other things, I couldn't go to the movies.
- Too much noise.
- I couldn't walk hand in hand.
- Too much silence, contact, dependency.
- But I tried, I took care of her, but she graduated earlier, because she was two years older than me and then we
didn't study together anymore, there was only Abigail and her, she was no longer interested in my oddities, they
bothered her, she just couldn't stand me, no he tried a lot.
- Did you try?
Will looks straight ahead, drops his butt, and tastes his mouth in an attempt to remember. - I bought a book...
"how to save your relationship by being affectionate", I read it, I cooked, I put candles, I felt like an idiot, but I did it
because I was going to do what was necessary for Abigail. - It pretends to be funny, but only melancholy dwells in
the truth.
- The assessment is in the attempt. - What would Hannibal do with that attempt? No less than lowering the sky in
retribution, bringing the heart into the hands of his enemies, dying if necessary. - That
she did?
- He looked at me like I was crazy, then he looked at me sadly and I... I know it's not completely illogical, but it
still hurt. Pitying looks are the worst.
Will is silent, Hannibal waiting.
... - The second time I tried, it didn't even come through.
Will plays with his mouth again, looking slightly annoyed. - The taste can last for hours, if that's what bothers
you.
- I don't like the taste, just the feel.
- We'll try menthol next time. - Hannibal looks around, a grocery store on the corner. He looks over there and
Will agrees. When they arrive, Hannibal buys industrial milk and cocoa, from the prepared boxes, and chocolates.
- Help to.
Will takes what is offered, sticks the straw into the box and drinks looking at Hannibal. If you didn't
really know that the man in front of you is thirty-six years old with a daughter, you'd think he was a teenager
playing adult. So sweet and innocent, how the hell did they dare to hurt her?
- However, you didn't let her.
Will nods, and they walk again, continuing to drink from time to time. - I did not see it as an option, I had
established myself in a natural order, the only thing I saw for my future was to get married when Abigail turned
three. I saved up, worked three shifts, studied more, bought another book, wanted to give it to him. It was called
"how to deal with a partner who suffers from ASD". Uhm, he didn't read it, I read it.
- Was it part of your natural perception of the process?
- Yes, that is to say, I didn't want it to be mine... legally mine, nor mine, it was just... what one does when it's
time to do it. Because of Abigail and because... because I tend to follow the natural order.
Hannibal nods, Will adjusts his suit back on, shivering with cold. - If you let me. - He starts to take off his coat.
- No, Hannibal, you can't undress, you're uhm, still sick, you, just don't do it, I'm fine.
Hannibal, who now understood very well, smiled. - Once you covered me too much, so much so that I still feel
hot, don't you think it's convenient to cover yourself now?
Will looks at Hannibal, unused even though they are together. - Well, yes, just today, maybe.
- ... So he left.
- I had the ring, I had practiced in the mirror, it's my fault... I mean, it was obvious that no one would marry
someone they couldn't stand, but I thought, I thought that's what love was about.
- Define love.
- Stay even when there are no reasons to stay, I wanted, I didn't want to be like my mom.
I thought that if I stayed, sooner or later she would need me again, like when we studied.
- How did you get over it?
Will pulls out the pack again and throws away the box of chocolate. - Fishing, taking care of Abigail and
playing cards.
Hannibal smiles, the idea of Will healing while the cards were on the table made him adorable, because
Abigail would surely be in his arms. - You raised an adorable little girl by yourself.
- She is, but maybe she ended up taking care of me.
- We all need to be taken care of.
Will looks at him. - Who takes care of you, Hannibal?
The boy drops the question so sincere that it hurts, the conception of the other is not visible, nor
contemplated. There is no malice or sorrow, no intention other than that of knowledge and curiosity. That's
what he loves about Will and also what makes him feel freer, because Will is honest.
- It's an awkward question right? I didn't see it that way, sorry if I never learned what to say and what
No.
He was so absorbed in Will that he didn't know the backlash his words would have on him, he reassures him
by raising his hand. - Myself, I... My books, my memories, my work.
- I thought it was a Who, not a What.
Will.
- Not all of us are destined to be taken care of, even if we need it, in my case, for the simple fact that it seemed
obsolete... until you notice, that you don't require it, but if you long for it. It's funny that it happens to me, just when I
thought I controlled every vulnerable aspect of my existence.
Will hides in Hannibal's coat, looks small in it and still hugs himself, sniffs him a little.
- Nobody abandoned you, right?
Hannibal nods. - I left before they could do it with me, I never let them stay long enough for them to see me.
Will strokes the cigarette, stops, and looks at Hannibal, slowly moving from his abdomen to his face. The shrink
has the cigarette between his lips, he inhales, waiting for whatever Will wants to do. - I like you Hannibal, but I
can't... I can give you what you expect, I think I like you, but I can't.
- You don't know what I expect.
- I... Uhm, I know, I see you Hannibal.
Hannibal nods, pretending not to lie, so he wonders what he expects from Will, the answer is simple, he
expects everything and nothing, which boils down to the fact that he is capable of surviving with a greeting but how
thirsty he will receive a hug. - What is liking?
- Too subjective.
- What is liking for you? What makes you say you like me? Certainly I like brie cheese, but I don't intend to watch
brie cheese sleep.
Will blushes. - I like you the way I like winter, you're annoying when you lie and alter everything at your convenience,
but it also entertains me that you're not predictable. I like the way Abigail looks at you, the way you treat Abigail. I
like that you don't leave, that you cook, your stupid clothes full of trifles, your way in which you tilt your smile as if
you were going to eat... As if you were going to stop everything for me.
Hannibal could bite him in that instant. - So you like me, Will.
- But I still can't, without giving you... what you want.
- What do you think I want from you?
The older one resents the cold, feels that he is trembling and hopes that it is physical. - You look at me, you
look at me in that way you look when... when you want something more. - Will smiles, lowers his eyes and then
looks up, so mischievous, so eager. - You want to play more, more than I let you do.
Hannibal thins his lips, smiles back, and nods. - I won't lie, if I could consume all of you forever I would, I
wouldn't leave anything.
Will blushes, shakes his head, and narrows his eyes. - And you say things like that, things that... I mean, I can't
do it, I never could and you're going to want to, you'll ask for it and when you can't, you'll leave.
- Do not confuse my hunger for you as purely physical, it is also mental, your single words cause great
pleasure. I think I could be satisfied just listening to you, Will.
- Why, why do you always have to be like this?
- As well as?
- You... talking like that, getting, shit, you make me nervous.
- In a bad way?
Will shakes his head and smiles. - In a good way.
Hannibal nods, encourages us to keep walking. - It's a mutual feeling.
- I couldn't make you nervous.
Hannibal denies. - Just smell you to start losing control, if you touch me, I lose focus. Nervousness is another
change in my own schedule.
- How do you control it? How do you not cross the limits, my limits?
- I love you too much to try to lose you.
Will stands there, totally stunned even though he already knows it. His next reaction is to rip off his coat
and slam it over Hannibal. - Sorry, I just need you to
put.
- Fine, fine, wait Will, it's fine, I'm fine, Will.
Will returns to silence, Hannibal no longer intends to back down. Do not avoid your feelings, do not lie, do
not hide what you feel. Not knowing that Will feels something, still premature, but he feels and that's enough.
- So, if I... if I let, let us try.
- Yeah...
- Would you wait? Would you take what I can, what I can give? Even if I can never...
Hannibal slows down his pace, he needs to order what he feels, like the simple fact that his boy is thinking about
it, he is putting his name on the imaginary schedule, changing himself. - Will, I would be happy with the simple
fact that you consider it, I would wait, until the last flower of this world withers, for your company and Abigail's.
- Even if it never worked?
- Even though if you let me, we could try.
Will nods and stretches out his hand, quick and accurate. - Well, take it.
Hannibal briefly discusses some subsequent damage control, but repeats himself, he'll take everything and leave
nothing. Try and failure.
Hannibal reaches out his hand slowly, until he has Will's hand with him, slipping slowly, a warm, sweaty hand
between his fingers. And the guy breathes fast and looks painfully at the hands. - Will?
- Uhm, no, I can't.
Hannibal lets go of his hand, thinks. - Maybe...
He stretches out his cloth-covered arm and offers it for support. - You can take my arm, whenever you want
and let it go too, we are not holding hands, or rubbing against each other, you are supporting you.
Whenever you want.
- I'm a troublesome little shit.
- You are perfect.
Will shakes his head, smiles, and places his hand in the space of Will's arm. They're not touching, Will is leaning
on each other, and Will is breathing easier. - That's ok.
They continue walking, now together, and Hannibal has to breathe to keep every detail of that moment in
his memory. - So we're trying.
Will tightens his grip a bit. - We are, yes... I should tell Abigail.
- If you let me, I would like to tell him myself.
Will narrows his eyes, seems to be thinking, then tries to get the pack out without letting go of Hannibal's
arm. He gets a little tangled, lighting the cigarette is difficult with one hand, Hannibal is smiling.
But he does. - Are you going to ask permission to go out with me, Doctor Lecter?
Hannibal tilts his face, smiles like Will says it makes him nervous. - Could.
Will keeps smoking, calls Abigail, still with her arm around Hannibal, the teenager says she's sleeping at home,
that Alana left her there. Will nods, Hannibal proposes to take him back.
When they get to the car, Will is conflicted about how to let go of his arm, until Hannibal slowly opens the car
door and invites him inside. - If you don't stop looking at me, it will be as if
you keep holding on
Will nods, watches him walk around the car, and when he gets inside, Will quickly puts his arm through his again. He is
conceiving his idea about touch, since he cannot take the hand, he does not want to remove the arm from the cloth. Give
and take, by Hannibal.
The cloth is there, but Hannibal feels it invisible. - Can you drive like that?
- Yes, no... don't worry, Will. - Please don't let me go, not now, don't do it.
The walk back takes place in silence, Hannibal glances at Will from time to time, their eyes meet, Will smiles and stops
looking, but looks again. They stay that way, playing, trying. - Watch the way, we will die before we can even try anything.
- I could die like this, looking at you.
- I don't, so look at the road.
Hannibal complies with amusement, Will continues without letting go.
When they are on the threshold of the Wolf Trap and the house is dark, Hannibal doesn't want to leave but Will's
heavy breathing encourages that it is time to give a partial space, one that rearranges the last events. Let the change
settle.
The change that Will and Hannibal are trying.
- Good evening, I guess.
- Good night Will. - But Hannibal doesn't move, because his hand is still there, without letting go. - Can I call you before
bed?
Will looks at his hand on the cloth, flushed, full of emotions as the tight suit makes him look youthful, ready to be
eaten. - Maybe a call before bed and a call to wake up, I sleep at twelve and I get up at six, if you get up at seven or
eight, we can find a half hour. The messages are for when we can't talk and you don't always have to call, I don't
always have to call.
- Then I'll call and if I don't you will, a balance, word contract.
- You just play along with me...
- Yeah.
Time keeps passing, with another person, Hannibal would have tried to enter, kiss, devour and get into his bed.
But the simple hand on his arm that holds him back burns even more than nudity itself. - I can't leave if you still
touch me Will.
- N-I've never felt like this before.
- Say it.
- Not wanting to let someone go, because if you leave you can think, you can consider, realize what you're getting
into, when right now... I'm falling in love with you Hannibal and I'm scared, I'm scared and it hurts, the fear hurts.
You will think, you will realize.
Hannibal sighs, moves a little closer, although the arm is there, the distance between the faces is
even more disturbing. She doesn't mean to kiss Will, even though she wants to, she just uses a
bit of vulnerability, enough to fuel her own instincts. - Would it help to reveal my own fears? What will I
really think when I leave?
Will looks at her face, her lips, her cheeks, surely finding imperfections, perfections, details, meanings.
Someday he will get her to say it, to reveal everything that her mind screams. Yes, it would help me.
Hannibal squeezes the dangling arm of himself against himself, as he now deliberately looks at Will's
mouth. - I'm afraid of not being able to sleep tonight, or any other night, knowing that you are far from me.
- Okay. Will swallows, looks at Hannibal's mouth too. - What else?
- Do you know why I couldn't sleep knowing that you are far from me?
- No.
- Because right now you will go up to your bedroom, you will touch the cheek where I kissed you, you will
smile, then you will undress, you will let the clothes that you wore all day fall on the floor, then you will walk
naked towards the shower, you will let the water touch you, you will touch your body, you will clean it, then
you will dry it with a towel, you will touch again, you will walk naked and wet to your bed, you will dress
slowly, only with underwear, because you like to feel a little cold when you sleep and finally , your lax and
vulnerable body will fall into your bed, totally alone and available, touching the sheets.
Will's eyes are open, he's not breathing and his little mouth is ajar, he's muttering so low, so silent.
- Louder, Will I can't hear you.
- Will you think, will you think, will you think about all that?
- Every second since I leave here, do you know why?
- No no no, say it, uhm, say it.
- Because I won't be there to pick up your clothes and smell them. Will moans slightly. - I will not be
there to watch you walk naked to the shower, nor will I be the one to clean you, who will dry you, nor
will I watch you get dressed, nor will I lie next to you, just to see your thin body fall asleep, nor will I be
there to touch a little, without you noticing, until I fall asleep, hugging your waist, which will be hot and I'm
afraid... of never being able to do it.
- God.
Hannibal breathes a little close to Will, just a little while Will is no longer holding him, but squeezing him
hard, that the circulation hurts as Hannibal controls his hands, glued to his body.
- I think that now that you know my own fears, you can understand that you are not alone in this.
Will looks mesmerized, flushed and still, like a mongoose waiting for a command, so still and ready to
obey, vulnerable, available, attentive. - Will you think about all that?
- As soon as you stop touching me.
Will chuckles a bit, still looking at Hannibal's mouth. - I almost feel that it is better not to let you go.
- It would be recommended.
Will takes a long breath, looks down, and tries to take his own control, which Hannibal always takes away
from him and finally lets go of his arm. - Good night Hannibal, I will share your fear so that it is less heavy.
Hannibal starts down the steps, turning a bit. - You will do it?
Will nods, getting closer to the threshold. - I'll think the same.
Hannibal stops and tries to figure it out. - The same?
- I will think that you take off your clothes, that you undress, that you bathe, that you change and that
you sleep, while you think the same of me.
Hannibal has to close his eyes, breathe in, and then nod. Naughty boy, see if you can?
Slow, Hannibal slow. - So, almost and we will sleep together.
Will blushes for the last time of the night and nods, from his open front door. - Yeah.
Hannibal drives with a smile on his face, he has work to do.
" Tattle Crime: Our old Ripper is not going to back down in the competition for the kingdom of psychopaths in
Baltimore: Three new victims grace his long list.
The body of a young thirty-eight-year-old woman was found, the body of a forty-year-old man and the
body of another seventy or eighty-year-old woman, all heartless in a gloomy staging that reveals, according
to specialists, a love offering.
Even the bodies remain unrecognized. However, this time the Ripper has left a very clear message, which
we believe is addressed to his competition: Although he took everyone's hearts, he left the stomachs, lungs
and kidneys of victims of the past, frozen and well cared for. .
Is it some kind of punishment for the recent victims and an apology to the victims of the past?
Or just a way to show that if the new psycho can drop organs, the Ripper has even more to drop?
Our beloved Ripper has returned to the ring and all that remains is to wait for his counterpart's
response, if he dares to challenge him, of course."
It's six in the morning when she calls Will, her voice is still laughing and lethargic. - Good morning, um,
Hannibal.
- If I woke you up, I can call back.
- Uhm no. - Yawn. - It's just that I slept a little late yesterday, okay, good morning. - Will is smiling,
Hannibal can feel the change in tone, the gesture, the cheeks on the pillow.
- Did you suffer with me?
- Yes, I um... I was thinking about you.
- Well, then there are two of us who haven't slept.
Will yawns, Hannibal feels the exhaustion of a fruitful, exciting and unforgettable night in his bones. - Lie with me.
- Now?
- Uhm, yes, can you?
Hannibal looks at his suit ready on his bed, the disposition to leave early for his office relegated and after a couple of
movements, he takes off his clothes again, the few he had and falls into his bed. - Fine, I'm in my bed.
Will smiles. - Don't hang up, okay?
- I could not.
- Sleep Hannibal, I'll be here.
- Will you promise?
- Yes, I take care of you, sleep, uhm, sleep with me.
Hannibal nods, the heavy sleep and the idea that he's there, in the same bed calm him down. They're trying and it
feels so alive, they're trying. - I love you so much Will...
- Sleep love, just sleep. - Will murmurs, more gone, more tired, perhaps.
And Hannibal for the first time, hearing the word, gets carried away. He sleeps three more hours, he's late for his
first appointment of the day, but nothing matters, nothing more than that.
We know the relationships
Lack of sleep over the past week has taken a toll on Will and it's not like he's really getting too much sleep, but
four hours is always appreciated. However, given recent events, Will thinks more, sleeps less, and at twelve and
six, when the phone rings, Will is already awake, staring at the screen.
Hannibal says that he could help him sleep. At first he took it seriously, then he considered that Hannibal
was perhaps being annoyingly suggestive in some double meaning joke.
He confirmed the latter when Hannibal said that the best way to sleep was naked in the same bed. Will
determined not to ask Hannibal for advice again.
Also, as if that wasn't enough, he ended up thinking even more about the comment and inevitably,
he not only slept less, but also became catatonic at the idea that someone wanted to sleep naked with him. And
not just anyone, but Hannibal.
Positive modifications, but still modifications, also awarded to a new and revamped "fishing" schedule with Abigail,
who was extremely happy with that and was also, momentarily left out about Hannibal and him, which amused Will
a bit, because Abigail was always in on everything.
So yes, Will sleeps less, calls more, changes hours, fishes a lot and smiles too.
But above all, he does not sleep.
- Papers, analysis, papers, smell, bled body, incision, bad cut on rib two, papers, I need the papers, uhm,
coffee, I want a coffee.
He holds his face, is sleeping on the floor acceptable? No, his father told him it was not acceptable, Abigail got
annoyed when he sometimes did it, although Will liked it, it was tough, it kept him on his toes, it was obviously
cold which was good, general knowledge and above all, it was stable .
- Papers, no papers, no, I mean photographs of the cut, yes, three bodies, balanced, there are no loose clues,
they are looking at me, just a little blood that should not have fallen, hasty, tension, he is looking at me, incision
number ...
Someone hands him the photographs/detail of each cut, he doesn't know who makes it, he doesn't care
either, look at the images, someone hands him a coffee, it doesn't matter who it is, the coffee is decaffeinated,
look at the following images, he returns the coffee , someone receives it, no matter who it is, keep looking.
- Unidentified organs, they are looking at me, however they have a pattern of order, it is lung, stomach, lung,
stomach, kidney, images, I want another coffee, they were not papers, cut number eight is a tear, do not cut,
lung, stomach, Kidney, they're looking at me a lot, they're...
Hannibal stops looking at me. - Your voice is two decibels higher than normal.
Hannibal makes that face of innocence, the one that raises his eyebrows and then pretends to look
around as if they hadn't spoken to him, Will raises his eyebrows by default, is it that among the four people
who are watching the scene of the Ripper next to Will, is there another named Hannibal by any chance? Will's
perception is quick: petulant, self-centered,
cocky, controlling, and he... dates him, by the way. - I was looking at the bodies, Will.
- No, you're looking at me and you're distracting me. - Will is annoyed, well not annoyed per se, the
definition is too surly for his feeling, he is actually nervous, nervous as Hannibal puts it, that is to say that
he is fine.
But nervous about being well and in love with being sick, they do not correspond to appropriate attitudes
for work.
For a crime scene, especially, especially with Price, Beverly, and Jack within an inch of them. - I'm sorry
Will, the last thing I want is to bother you. - Liar, funny, he's having fun, Will notes because Hannibal
continues with his hands in his pockets, but his feet are moving.
You can't make him nervous at work, because it doesn't correspond. Break the system. But it has already
been established that Doctor Lecter does not respect the system, none.
Hannibal always does and Jack, Jack is not stupid and Will is exposed, so there is nothing left but to be
Hannibal for a moment, that is, a liar.
- Yes, I'm sorry, you're right... I need to concentrate, Doctor Lecter. - He smiles, because now he knows that
he also makes Hannibal nervous and the effect caused is the desired one, because the Doctor opens his
mouth but doesn't say anything, lowers his gaze and stands more tense.
- Ready, everyone out, Graham is left alone. - Jack murmurs impatiently.
Will sighs, thanks, and jots down a reminder to take Hannibal's arm as soon as they're alone, because it
felt good to be taken out to focus, which doesn't define affection at its best, but mostly because he wants
to lean on, like that day.
Well, Ripper, no papers, photographs and corpses. Not Hannibal making me nervous.
Ripper, just the Ripper and me.
Will looks at the bodies, closes his eyes, and the overwhelming feeling begins.
There is no noise, other than the cries of three bodies bleeding to death. He takes lady number one,
the oldest, places her as a spectator, she is so injured that taking care of her is not necessary, she has
been the first to be hunted and will be the last to die, because she deserves it.
The number one woman is the one who will die the fastest, she is younger, he has been rougher with
her and also more painful and therefore careless, the cuts on the palms and the removal of the face, it is
only anecdotal, the trauma is in letting it burn without skin. - You're mean, you're rude and ungrateful, so I
won't even be careful... this isn't about you, it's about me venting, doing justice. - The guy's body, has a
partial cut on the back, rough but last, it will be the second to die, a filler, simple, banal as his appearance.
Will breathes, the air escapes. - All of you hurt the same person, but you are representatives in a
play for which you did not perform, you just replaced, that's why I'm upset, because you are not who you
should have been, but at least you cover the place, that... It's my Design.
When he returns from the dark place where he has lived with the Ripper since he met him, he feels
calm. Even if I empathize with him, even if he clears his thoughts, he always comes back with something,
however, this time there is nothing, only peace.
As if all the anger and revenge of the murderer had been dilated in each death, that's why the
lack of care in the cuts, that's why the lack of control, because this time, it was something personal. The channeling of
the feeling of the other, through their hands. Deliberate, beautiful.
Will is lost in the triangular scene of death, fixated on the body of the older woman, who died last and bled to death,
before the two of them, until the touch on her shoulder wakes him up. - Will.
- No! - He's yelling, he shouldn't yell, it's not appropriate, or go back, but he doesn't like it... - Jack, I'm sorry, uhm,
I don't like it, I don't like it, you know... I've told you many times that I don't you have to
touch me.
- Graham, you've been locked up here for a damn half hour and you just look at the scene, stunned, we don't
have the whole fucking day.
Will shakes his head, the peace gained from the murders, inappropriate peace, vanishes. - I didn't realize, okay?
-He doesn't look at Jack, looking at him only makes him angrier.
-And good?
- It's personal, Jack... This is personal, he has a message for someone in particular and at the same time he
involves himself, for the first time, now.
Jack renews his faith in him, he always does, but he also always loses it, so it's not relevant, Will really wants a
coffee and wants to lean on Hannibal, too, please, he wants to go, he's sleepy. - Are you saying we have a tracking
line Will? Can we start investigating each one and we'll get somewhere? Could these people be connected?
Will denies, he didn't mean that, listening reading comprehension can be a sign of Alzheimer's, but he leans
more towards intellectual stupidity and that's it. Inappropriate comment avoided, people shouldn't be told they are
stupid. - No, I mean, it's personal, but you don't know them, not really.
- Will, always filling my patience and my time.
She misses the peace, the real coffee, maybe a cigarette and Hannibal. - I want to say that these people
represent the real people that the Ripper would have wanted to kill, but could not do it and looked for a replacement,
the message for the person must still be received, I don't know, I don't know what else I could...
- Then nothing, again we have nothing, Will.
- It's not my fault, Jack.
- So if we don't have clues, why did you seem so delighted with the scene, Will? Boy, sometimes I think I only
bring you here for fun.
WILL touches the back of his neck again, tired, he needs to sleep, he could sleep for a year. Physically
impossible, own sarcastic comment. - I don't have fun, I... - The idea of sleeping on the floor is no longer an idea,
but rather a deep desire, not peace of mind, Will wants the floor, he wants it so much that he starts falling, falling,
fall, floor, floor, floor. - ...If you follow the line between the three there will be
can, uhm, no obvious
floor, common factors, but... You
you can...
-Graham?
- ...
You can figure out what the Ripper means in general terms, without context, I'm sleepy.
- Will, clarity. - Jack is so annoying, his head hurts. - If you're not going to help me at all...
- The profiles of the three build a story, find out their lives and you will have it, the most obvious will be.
- Will?
Then Will collapses, two seconds later everything is dark, still Will is conscious when he finally hits the
floor, he hits the floor, without Hannibal to have leaned on, because he kicked him out of the place. He finally
sleeps, wait, no first he must know that he has, oh yes, a nervous breakdown due to exhaustion and stress.
Now yes, blackout, darkness, there is no Hannibal.
[..]
That's definitely not your car, because it smells clean and because it's pretty.
Distance to the door and its handle, thirty centimeters, speed of the car, 80 km/h, chance of survival if he jumps
out of that hijacking: Fifty percent chance, also of course, there is a chance of being paraplegic, of hitting your
head, contusion and probable frontal rupture, paralysis of forty percent of his body...
- You're in my car Will, calm down.
He opens his eyes fully, the daylight accentuates his headache, although he is no longer sleepy, so he must
have rested in his collapse for two to three hours. - Hannibal. - He smiles and when he barely smiles, the
stretching of a cut on his forehead ignites a sharp but bearable pain. - Then I passed out.
- You collapsed, your pressure dropped and I had to revive you.
- A natural reaction to a picture of dehydration, stress and anemia, within normal parameters. I don't need
medical attention or care, I just wanted to sleep on the floor, they never let me.
The speed of the car increases, Will turns all the way in his slanted passenger seat, so he can have a good talk
with Hannibal. Then, he notices, Hannibal is angry. What did he do wrong?
But if they just started, do you want to leave yet? ruined it so early? Can't place your hand anymore?
- You neglected yourself, exposed yourself and let Jack...
- Are you angry.
- Yes Will.
He wants to stretch out his hand, but the idea of an early rejection keeps him in place, two seconds is enough to
go back in his mind, for the episodes since they arrived on the scene, every action he did to make Hannibal
angry and even if it hurts him. over his head, he finally comes to the conclusion that he did everything wrong. -
um.
- I'm not angry with you, although maybe a little, but not mainly with you, Will.
- A little like not trying anymore? Or, a little to top it off with a touch on the arm?
Will watches, peace returning to his body as Hannibal fights not to smile behind the wheel. - I could forgive
you with the touch on the arm, it depends on his pressure to know if I need a little more, but I could, it's an
option.
Will reaches out and leans back, automatically feeling Hannibal's stability fill him. Well, just sometimes it
was good to have excess empathy. - So, what will we eat?
- Will you fainted, you have a concussion, you were unconscious for ten minutes, you have to rest.
Will touches his forehead again, indeed he had ended up on the floor, clearly not the way he wanted. -
Sometimes it happens to me, that is, I usually manage to get to my bed before.
- How long ago?
- Since I was a child, five boys from my school once beat me, then I fainted, the psychiatrist said
that it was a collapse of my emotions, I know that it is a normal escape route, negative reception of the
stimulus and it serves to channel, that is, That I'm fine.
- No, Will, that's not right. - Hannibal always so upset, he doesn't have ASD, he doesn't understand that
the roads are always good, he finally feels better, he could still sleep, but he feels much better. He just
wants to touch Hannibal's arm and he'll feel all right and then he could eat, maybe Hannibal could cook
something.
Will doesn't say anything, the silence he uses is to figure out how to argue with Hannibal regarding a
neurodivergent problem because it's annoying, because even though he has first-hand testimonial
experience, Hannibal is still the psychiatrist with specialized studies. He does not want to disavow, nor does
he want to give in to what he has clearly proven. God, love is so hard. Love, love, cold, cold. - It's fine for me.
Hannibal's sigh comes. And Will looks at the window, they are already far from Louisiana, where the
three bodies were. An hour to an hour and a half to go to Baltimore. - Will, would you do something for me?
- Yes, it is within my possibilities.
- Sleep, I'll wake you up when we get to your house.
- But... - Look at his hand on Hannibal, if he sleeps he will unfailingly let go at some point.
Hannibal watches, smirking. - Maybe if I... - He stretches out his own hand, leaving Will in the air, but
then that hand is on Will's leg. Not the thigh, not near inappropriate areas, just the knee and that's fine,
because it prevails within the statute of the natural order.
Any part of the body can be support, just as Will can be Hannibal's support, as Hannibal is his.
- Can you drive like that?
Hannibal nods, breathes, smells it or tries to, Will notices that he likes to do that, should he ask if his
special occasion perfume that he now wears on occasions when he sees Hannibal is okay? He writes it
down to do it by mail, which is now not a formal way, now it is a trifle way. -
So I'll try to sleep.
Hannibal nods, his hand still on him and it feels good. But he thinks, he keeps thinking about the
perfume, about the Ripper, about Abigail, about food, about the apartment, about the coup, about his
new relationship, he has to pick Abigail up from school. - Uhm Abigail, Abigail leaves at three.
- We'll go through it before going to your house.
- Jack, he will be furious, because we review the case after the scene and I'm not...
- Jack has been notified of his momentary impossibility based on what happened.
- I didn't buy anything for dinner, there's nothing, it's broccoli and Abigail Monday.
- Will I'll get the broccolis.
But dogs need...
Hannibal squeezes his knee a little, Will shuts up. - Will then I will talk about my chores on Saturday, the
patients I attended and their diagnoses, as well as their treatments, I want you to number and memorize
each one of them, you will listen, you will classify and in the space of each testimony, you will count until
five, I will count on you and at the same time you will use, the intervals where the noise filters, the memory
of the furniture paint mixing procedure that you did. There is no free space for another thought, only my
voice and yours from the mentioned process. You have understood?
Surprisingly, within Hannibal's orders, Will listened. - Yes, I'll do that.
- Good. - Hannibal releases the knee a little and keeps his hand, still and firm on it. - Yesterday at fourteen
hours a thirty-two-year-old woman came to my office, afflicted by the deceased presence of her husband
in her dreams, named Irena Ferreyros Brown identified with insurance number 2786549, of Spanish
nationality, her diagnosis it is that of early schizophrenia caused by a multiple concussion, confirmed by an
accident and by the subsequent death of her cohabitant, she testifies...[...]
Will thinks he falls asleep on the third patient, doesn't feel the car stop when Abigail is picked up, doesn't
remember being with Abigail in the car, doesn't remember stopping to buy broccoli, or buying dog food.
When they wake him up with noise, because he's fast asleep, it's night.
His mind is so quiet, he almost feels like he could consider if he ever left the house that day, he feels good,
he feels so good, he could sleep until the next day, but he's hungry.
Abigail's giggles reach her ears, she likes her laugh, it's so unusual and a calming emotional
uplifter. When her eyes open, the image is... strange, inappropriate and at the same time, chilling, because
she longs for it and likes it.
Abigail and Hannibal with kitchen aprons, Hannibal has flour on his nose and Abigail has flour on her
hands, while they mix something in a bowl, around them Winston eats from Hannibal's hand, from time to
time.
Will notices the changes, they're fine, and falls asleep again, so quickly, as if Hannibal had always
been there.
He is asleep on the floor, with a blanket on top, as he said he liked. Abigail doesn't bother him about it, she
would never have let him sleep like that, so he knows that Hannibal has intervened.
He's in a relationship, he's in a relationship with that guy and really, nothing bothers him about it by
saying it. - Patient number three, uhm, diagnosis... - Sleep.
[...]
- So how many people did the Ripper kill this time?
The table is small but enough for the three of us, the beige tablecloth staying indefinitely, because
Hannibal would be eating next to him indefinitely, while Abigail was on the other side.
Hannibal's now fully plated, full of food, just like his own. The broccoli that they always eat these
days adorns the plate of meat, probably lamb of the kind that sells dearly, that Hannibal managed
to buy at some point during his nap.
When he eats, it's heavenly and he knows Hannibal could cook anything and make it look
heavenly. - This is too rich, shit, really good.
Hannibal smiles. - Thanks Will, always so eloquent.
Abigail eats, she doesn't like broccoli, but when she does, she hits the table a little. - God, is this
legal? Dad, if you had cooked like this before, we could have eaten broccoli without having to stop
breathing long ago.
- You don't cook that well either.
Abigail takes offense, complains a bit. - I must confess that he never let me down during the days
when he brought food for me at the clinic.
- You are being condescending, you want to get along with her, so that when -
Hannibal raises his eyebrows, Abigail listens intently. - Why me when?
- Your father wants you to continue attending your therapy despite our recent friendship, so he
discredits my clear devotion to your premature culinary attempts.
Abigal narrows her eyes, she's skilled, not as skilled as Hannibal. - Well, I... I'll keep going, FBI
extension discount plus friendship discount then?
- Abigail.
- Just kidding.
- You could go for free, even... - Will raises his hand, he won't let that happen, everyone
agrees.
Will looks at Hannibal, he seems amused by the situation, as he continues eating. Will is
surprised to be a spectator of the lie and how comfortable Hannibal was in it. so skillful
as if he had spoken an absolute truth. - So how many? Three again? The Ripper wants to compete right, is it
three?
- We won't talk about murders at the table Abigail, you don't have the age to talk about those issues.
- Dad, I always read Tattle Crime when you do. we do it together.
- Indifferent, you do it without permission, which continues to make it negative.
They continue eating, the sound of a giggle from Abigail alerting him and when he looks at the reason, Hannibal
is holding up three fingers at Abigail who nods. - Hannibal.
- I wasn't doing anything.
Abigail laughs again a little. Will conceives of his complicity, he likes his complicity, even if it implies
breaching his authority. - Very funny Doctor Lecter. - Hannibal smiles, cuts a piece of his lamb and eats
looking at Will. - Perhaps you can tell us why you make calls to my cell phone every day after the opera, at
six in the afternoon and midnight each day, respectively.
Hannibal stops his meal, Will clearly knowing that he asked to tell Abigail the news that they're dating, clearly
intending to do so at an opportune moment. So it's just annoying, because nothing bothers more than the
mess of something organized. - I... - Will likes the image of a stripped-down Hannibal, because he regains a bit
of control. I could have played bother you Hannibal too.
- It's true, the cell phone always rings at that time, you can't sleep in this house anymore, I've wondered...
Hannibal looks at him, it looks like an animal being hunted, but the pupils indicate fun, he's accepting
the challenge, wait, Hannibal, no... - Apologies for the Abigail case, what's happening is that your dad
asked me to call him after I showered and dressed, to say goodbye each day.
Abigail then turns ninety degrees wide-eyed at her father. - THAT.
- Not me, he was the one who said, after taking a shower, before going to sleep, wait, I didn't say that,
that can be misinterpreted.
- You said Will, that you would think of me doing that and that we should call each other at that time, you said
it together.
- Dad...
- ...Abigail, you will see that I would be incapable of bothering your father, you know me, I only see
myself surrendered to the desires of our friendship.
- I don't, wait, I didn't really say it like that.
Abigail smiles now. - What's going on here?
Hannibal and Will look at each other. - Nothing. - It sounds in unison.
Abigail narrows her eyes. - Now they're both lying to me and it's not funny, because something is happening
and they don't tell me, I'm part of this family, uhm my dad and I, I mean, I'm your friend, Hannibal too and I'm
your daughter dad, so they will tell me right now.
Hannibal denies, this is not the time, says his look. - The last thing we want, Abigail, is for you to be upset.
- Even if you look silly.
- Not that you are, how do you call it Will? Nosy.
- Only the Excluded momentarily.
Will and Hannibal are laughing now. Abigail rolls her eyes. - So, that reduces you to being Abigail, The
Excluded.
- But also very dear.
- Which rounds it to...
- Exclusively dear.
- They are unbearable.
Hannibal evokes the talk about the Ripper, Will allows it because it's true, Abigail will also read about it in
the newspaper. The talk becomes comfortable, like a normal day, just talking about murders. Without
realizing it and without thinking too much, they spend three hours at the table.
[...]
- I'll pick up Abigail from school tomorrow for dinner. - Will has his hand on Hannibal's arm
again, having made sure that Abigail is indeed in her room, while he walks Hannibal to the threshold of the
Wolf Trap. - Yes, that's fine, of course.
- Yes well, if it helps, you don't eat anything related to shellfish, that could be a good reference data.
- Help is appreciated.
The nerves that dinner has relegated return to Will's body, the same nerves that usually are when they
are alone. Those tickles that are born in his stomach, at the idea of a physical expectation of Hannibal.
Whichever was appropriate, if he was damn normal, would be a kiss.
But Will doesn't want the kiss, I mean, he doesn't know, definitely not, because he may not like it and he
doesn't want to find out. Or even worse, Hannibal could find out that Will definitely doesn't know how to kiss.
Already to collapse, they could catch an unknown disease that someone carries.
- You would kiss me?
The cold from outside hits her cheeks, which doesn't help the fever she feels rising up her cheeks,
because she knows it's red over white. Hannibal has that expectant air.
like when he wants something physical that Will recognizes as hunger, definitely hunger. - Right now?
Would you let me?
- No, I wouldn't let you, but would you? I mean, would you like to do it? It corresponds to a natural act, part of
the parting process of a couple, it should follow it and you should expect it, but no, uhm, I think I couldn't.
Hannibal looks at his mouth, Will is afraid that he will still do it despite the warning. - Yes, Will would kiss you if
you let me.
Nerves, cold and heat at the same time. - Oh, it is that it corresponds, right?
- The natural order is the one you choose Will, which influences my own natural order, if I want to kiss you
and you don't, it won't be done. A balance will be found. Or it won't be done.
Will feels calm again, like when he went to sleep in the afternoon, like in the car, Hannibal is good,
Hannibal is patient. - How would you do it? How would you kiss? - You need to store data, trial/error,
such as knowing in advance that Hannibal likes you.
It's an excellent idea, he's being a good couple, actually.
Hannibal narrows the space, Will doesn't stop him, because he intends to advance and each advance
is balanced and Hannibal seems to understand, he likes that Hanibal always understands, so he lets him, lets
him stretch out his hand and tilt his face, standing directly at him.
It looks like she's going to kiss him, Wil lets her sniff it, a little. God, Hannibal, don't do that, it's okay just a
little bit. - First I would kiss your cheek, I like the memory I have of her hot, then I would make a path here... -
His rough fingers make a path from her cheek that leads to her lips, she trembles, let it let it let it do it, no no
no no because you will do it wrong. - When I reach your lips, I would just touch my lips with yours, I would see
your reaction, just a stamp, nothing more.
- AND...
- If your reaction is positive, even if you tremble, I would realize if you want to advance a little more or it is
enough, so thinking that you want more, I would open your lips a little, like this. - Hannibal now slightly presses
his mouth, Will opens it by default, God, is he dying?
Fast heartbeat, heart attack, no, just nerves, anxiety, pain, control, love, need. - And I would open my own
lips to join my posterior lip with your lower small one, to savor it.
- What do you think it tastes like? What would you like?
- To you Will, to butter, perhaps strawberries, but above all to you. - Hannibal presses his lower lip again, a
little harder. - Clearly I would continue, because if you haven't left until then, I couldn't control the next step.
- You could not control... - Hannibal's finger now walks along the lower part of the lips, from one side to the
other, just coloring, feeling.
- I would bite here, right in the middle and pull it, just enough for you to say that word that I liked to hear so
much the other night.
- Love.
- Yes that. - Hannibal's eyes are closed, his breathing is rough, and Will knows, knows... that he's hurting me.
hurting him, not directly, not on purpose, he's... pushing him, playing him.
Will slowly pulls back, missing Hannibal's finger but pretending not to hurt. - It's... it's good to know what
you would do.
- Would you do something for my Will?
- Yes it's inside me... God, you make me so fucking nervous. Yes sure, tell me.
Hannibal adjusts his suit and takes a long breath. - Would you think about that kiss not given
tonight before going to sleep?
- Uhm, sure, why?
- Just do it for me, because I'll do the same.
Will agrees, because he's in a relationship and in a relationship where Hannibal doesn't kiss him,
because he asks, he can think of a kiss, because they ask him too. - Good night Will.
- Hannibal?
- Yeah?
He reaches up to place a kiss on Hannibal's cheek, a little clumsy, a little rough, a little quick. Will
blushes, shakes his head several times, he liked it but he doesn't know if Hannibal liked it, who just
looks at him, surprised, agitated. He doesn't say anything, Will stirs too. - Good night. - Close the door
hard.
God God God. What was he doing?
It felt good, hope you did well, just that.
Time: 11:00 PM
Concept of love according to the RAE: Intense feeling of the human being who, based on his own
insufficiency, needs and seeks the encounter and union with another being.
Concept of control according to the RAE: Verification, inspection, control, intervention.2. command,
m. Domain , preponderance, over something or someone.
Attachments: How to deal with a friend or partner with ASD.
Attached file: How to deal with compulsive spending and other eccentricities.
Attached file: Physical contact with neuro divergent people, updated to the present year, supervised
and endorsed by more than twenty-five doctors.
Attached file: Parental responsibility with troubled adolescents.
PS: No call today, I don't want to talk about the kiss.
Pdt 2: Did you like the kiss? Yes and no answer, just checking.
To: Willgraham1985@Baltimore.com
Time: 11:05 PM
The gesture is appreciated, each reading will be used, except perhaps for the one on expenses, because
when you barely let me buy you something, I will not be able to stop and all academic support will not prevent it
Pdt: Should I prepare for a teacher exam?
Pdt 2: I touch my cheek every five minutes, I just think about it. I loved it.
Time: 11:27 PM
I can really prepare an exam, I really like to take exams, I should note that it will be an exam in
search of qualitative, quantitative answers and with hypothetical justification of development.
But since I know you're speaking sarcastically, I'll choose not to take the exam even if I wanted to
and say, God, I'm just going to play along okay: You must be a good student, otherwise you'll have
to stay in private classes and I won't be easy at all.
PS: I feel like a teenager.
Pdt 2: I liked it too.
Time: 11:33 PM
Can I have the exam and private classes? The idea of your evaluation and possible classes is
highly provocative. It's exhilarating dating a philosophy professor.
Time: 11:45 PM
You are a demanding student, I hope I can measure up, Mr. Lecter.
Well, well, well it's not sarcasm it's flirting, definition of flirting, projecting hypothetical situations based on
fantasies, which can be subjected to exaggerations and banalities of a profession. Will can do that, he can, he can.
Time: 11:46 PM
I could eat you right now.
Time: 11:46 PM
I apologize for that last message, please try to delete it from your memory.
Time: 11:47 PM
I'm sorry.
Time: 11:50 PM
I'm sorry, but it's good to know that I have to be careful. Easy Hannibal.
Pdt: When will you know when to kiss me? When will I know when to let you do it?
Time: 11:56PM
You got me lost Will.
Regarding the kiss and its proper moment, I have already thought about it and I have come to a single
conclusion. The one who will kiss the other will be you, not me. You will decide when to do it and I will gladly
receive you when you try it.
Time: 12:03 PM
How will I know when to do it?
Time: 12:05 PM
Will, you will know and as much as you want to avoid it, you won't be able to. Nothing will stop you from doing it, you will
want so much and I will leave you, there will be nothing else you can think about, I assure you.
Will stares at the screen, one more farewell message, because he's extremely nervous and somewhat in love.
He undresses, showers, changes, thinking of Hannibal, because that's what he was told to do. When he's trying to
sleep, it takes a while because he's rested in the afternoon, so he takes the opportunity to remember that that day, in
particular, Hannibal felt like part of his family, not like someone else. That calms him down, lends him a chance to clear
his mind a bit.
He turns on his bed, turns around several times, and finally sighs. - Hannibal told you that you will think about it and
now, just do it.
Then he moves his hand over his cheek, slowly, the darkness helps, because no one sees him, nor can he himself. His
heart is beating, but he already knows it's not a heart attack or a panic attack, it's a heartbeat regarding Hannibal, which
only causes him.
Then he runs his fingers over the path, the same one that Hannibal left hours before, slowly as if the Doctor
himself were there. Well, he has done well, now his lips, so Hannibal would touch his mouth, because he is good, he is
patient and just a seal, his fingers press.
Hannibal smells good, he always does it so it doesn't bother him and his mouth smells like mint and wine, it always
smells like that, it doesn't bother him at all. Think of Hannibal's breathing, always agitated and his serious, amused,
egotistical look. All right, all right, one finger, just one, and her mouth opens a little.
What does Hannibal's mouth taste like? Yours tastes like butter and strawberries, because Hannibal said so.
He wants Hannibal to taste like wine, cigarettes and mint, yes lots of mint. Moisture, he can feel it, as his fingers now
wander back and forth, slowly and finally, a bite, like a little tug he said, so pull, a little.
He opens his eyes, agitated and unable to breathe, he is sweating and swears that he could feel Hannibal's
mouth, he can and looks at himself like this, agitated and excited, terribly alive, like never before but also terrified,
because while a hand is over her mouth, which she removed... the other one was going down, it was, um, going
down her belly.
He breathes, he breathes, and then Will Graham laughs, because for the first time in his life, he feels that, that
thing, that thing that everyone talks about, one that he had never felt until today. Hannibal, Hannibal...
- He murmurs, while repeating the process, cheeks, mouth, lips, bite, pull, cheek, mouth, lips, bite and pull, no matter
how many times he does it, he feels it, he can feel it. - Shit. - Repeat, cheeks, mouth, lips, bite and pull.
He laughs again, clearly, he's not sleeping.

I know the word "dad"
It was easy to find Abigail among the crowd of young people coming out of the school, you only had
to look for the hot spots of loneliness and you would find among the lonely faces the few who were
not among any particular group.
There were those withdrawn by nature who wanted to be among the majority and could not,
prisoners of insecurity, as were those who could and did not want to, prisoners of their autonomy.
And there was Abigail who wanted and could but didn't need to be there, fitting in and surrendering
to utter authenticity, she had settled into being the girl who was alone and that was okay.
When she saw that Hannibal was waiting, she smiled in surprise. - Tell me dad's not in trouble.
- Oh Will is always in trouble, but today the problems are on us.
- Kidnapping or exit?
- Both?
Abigail didn't ask any more questions, she took Hannibal's arm and they walked to the elegant
and flashy car. The restaurant they went to without any conversation involved was a comfortable
choice, a mix of what Hannibal and the girl could enjoy. Pizza and pasta. Artisanal pizzas, because
Hannibal wasn't going any further that day. - So, is this about therapy or does dad have to tell me
something he can't?
- Abigail, what does love concern you?
Abigail made the same face Will does when asked about a particular color, a thirsty search for
deep and vain knowledge on an interesting subject. - Need, pain, commitment, holding hands, looking
into the eyes... A nuisance when it is not reciprocated, rare when it is reciprocated.
- Do you think your dad is ready for that?
Some silence, but not the comfortable one, if not the really thoughtful one. Hannibal felt
nervous for the first time, the mere idea that Abigail didn't think Will was ready meant that he wasn't
the right person. And if Abigail didn't see it as indicated, she would have to change many things that
she had seen in an already built future.
- My dad has always been ready, but maybe the world hasn't been ready for him.
- Very sure.
- Do you want to go out with him? - How can the gaze of a fifteen-year-old girl feel so scrutiny?
That was what Hannibal wanted, though.

- You told me that in your palace dinners were for three.
- Yeah.
- What do we do at dinner? What are we talking about? What is Will like in your imagination?
- He... includes you on fishing nights, lets you change schedules, forgets to check the light, to check the burners,
because you distract him, because you understand. We're talking about the Ripper, the Copycat, the new killer.
- Do you want Abigail to see them?
And Abigail smiles. - Yeah.
- I cannot sit at such an important table, without knowing that I am irresponsible, without knowing that you would give
your life for me, as much as I would for you. That they will see me too.
- We want to see you.
- If they see me, will they get away from me?
- I couldn't get away from my other dad and dad himself couldn't get away from you.
loyal girl. Do you see me as your father yet? Do not press.
As a reward, he took out a pack as a sign, a squeeze on the shoulder and Abigail smiling. Of course, the squeeze
turned into a hug, too cold a hug for two people with the novelty of a relationship beginning, an unbreakable bond.
Leaving the restaurant, they smoked, because that was Abigail and Will for Hannibal, a corrosive but equally pleasant
vice. The cold of the street was nothing more than the perfect framework for the complicity that was being built, which
was preparing for an obvious and possible discovery. - Abigail, I want to tell you something.
- They're dating right?
- Your dad formally agreed, yes.
Abigail then inhales a little harder, a pearly, big and beautiful smile opened, Hannibal wanted to hug again, this
time a little hard. Relief, peace, control. - No wonder the red line in the schedule, as the reason for the changes.
- Can I ask?
- There is a schedule, you know, wake up, drink coffee, take vitamins, wake up Abigail, brush my teeth, watch Abigail
brush her teeth, check on the dogs, walk the dogs while Abigail gets changed, change, bathe Monday, Wednesday and
Friday, do not bathe Tuesday and Thursday and Saturday, Sunday only bathe if I need it. You know that schedule.
The idea of Will's schedule became something needed, like being able to draw on him and not have Will kill him in the
process.
- ...
But now... you have red lines, in the morning before you drink coffee and after you drink coffee in the morning
night, plus a blank space of two hours each day in case you decide to come see it and of course a small space
between bathing and sleeping, which says "Thinking HL", I don't know what the hell he thinks, but it's underlined
several times.
- An organized boy.
- So much so that I can't call him after nine o'clock at night, if I call after that time, he goes crazy, he can
have an attack due to the possible scenario of bad things.
- You can call me after that time, I promise not to go crazy. - Hannibal nods, Abigail smiles back.
- My dad is in love with you.
- He says he likes me.
- A person with ASD doesn't change their schedule for things they don't consider important, they
almost convulsed when I started going out to smoke on Fridays, do you understand? Jack is blue in many
places, he doesn't like blue, but he puts it on.
- However, it hurts to establish closeness with me.
- Hannibal, my first hug with my father was when I was eight years old, I remember it because I had
fallen and I was so sad for having lost a stuffed animal, I think that later I was very sad because my father
trembled when he hugged me. Then I understood that it was difficult for him, you see? I was happy then,
now he hugs me, he looks like a robot when he still does it, but he does it naturally.
The idea of Abigail waiting for a hug at eight years old, unknown to affection, was painful for her; the idea
of Will sacrificing his limits for that hug, was heroic. Both built to receive and give affection, the hardest
way possible, yet willing to risk giving it to him.
- Can I ask Abigail... What happened to your mom?
Abigail's cold gaze changes radically, like an actor in a bad play, who has repeated the same thing several
times in a script. - She just disappeared, she didn't call for six years, for the best, believe it, because then the
space in the schedule, "prepare to call Abigail's mom" and "order pizza so Abigail won't be sad after the call"
no longer are.
Cigarettes come and go, Hannibal decides to spend the afternoon with Abigail walking around and talking
about everything, like fishing and other small things. The hours go by fast, it's easy to spend time with people
you care about, but even easier if they care about you and even better if they care about a third party in
common. Already a pleasure, if they talk about things that matter to them, only to them.
As the afternoon ends and it is late at night, Abigail is dropped off at Wolf Trap, in a Graham-for-Graham
swap, Will waits at the door with his hair pulled back, wearing a shirt I've never seen before, maroon and
skinny black pants. , looking deliciously uncomfortable. Beautiful in trying.
Will receives Abigail, repeats his own instructions for care before leaving, the girl accepts each recommendation.
As they say goodbye, in a hug because Hannibal can't stop giving them anymore, he slips three cigarettes
into Abigail's hand without Will seeing. The girl accepts them, totally wary of the mischief.
- Dad, have fun.
- Yes, I'll try.
- See you later Abigail. - Hannibal supports his arm, offering the touch, Will is about to take the
arm, blushing before the eyes of his daughter, who now watches with a smile.
- I uhm, I guess you already know...
- It's okay dad, you can take his arm.
Will does, looks down, they walk to the car and Abigail shows three fingers, the naughty fingers that indicated the
Ripper's information, the number of cigarettes in her pocket. Oh and Hannibal adores her and can't wait for the day
when the three of them live together, making the dogs always sleep outside, but sharing a gala table of new dishes
and Will's dishes, plus Abigail, calling him "dad." ".
[...]
Seeing the world through his lens is invigorating and hopeful.
The vast collection of details that can be memorized is so unlimited... that one can gloat in the passageways
of life, weighing the taste of existing, over non-existing, in a stimulating way.
So much to see, so much to touch that he drowns in perception, impossible to escape, so susceptible to feel,
gladly:
Colors, places, memorable people, works, books, hunts, musicians, ideas, flowers, every gesture of Will Graham,
textures, heaven, earth, studies, moments and of course, food.
Ah sweet ephemeral and banal pleasure, for the purpose of survival but exalted to the values of enjoyment.
A taste, a beginning and so short the moment in which to cook, bite, swallow and do it again, can become eternal for
the connoisseur, if it is good.
Eating and cooking, one that can't survive without the other and Hannibal that can't be found without both.
Like now, right at this moment, when he slides the edge over the vegetable and it is seen surrendering, without any
fight, to his authority, falling into pieces, all the same, making the carrot that is only a carrot, something that is about
to change everything.
A carrot is part of a group of simple and isolated ingredients that will finally bring up another collectible moment:
A Dinner for Will.
The table available, straight posture and pristine white apron, rudely white, kept as white forever, against
everything, under its secrets, so clean and neat, that it combines with the walls, also white, probably the closest thing
to purity. Hannibal's kitchen is the branch of heaven and white is never enough.
Five large pastry cabinets, eight medium ones, three storm doors, a main cold marble table for cutting, a
dishwasher, eight types of table, ten or twelve knives, for tough meat, soft meat, for deep cutting, for filleting, for
butter , for giblets, for vegetables, for fruit, for long cuts, for small cuts, for sawed bread and one, to kill, if you need
it.
The ground meat processor, the corn grinder, the row grinder and no, no Will, they are not the same. When do you
wash them? When nobody sees it, because nobody sees the dirt but nevertheless, everything is clean.
Because everything has to be clean, lush, masterfully immaculate so that what happens in the kitchen, on the
table and on the table, is procreated magnanimously and in excellence, from two palates that
They only deserve to collect that moment in the construction of a forever.
Odors, deep that slip from one place to another, come and go so that Hannibal Lecter, who he is...
someone who plays with food as with the lives of those who detract from it.
So Hannibal is watching for the knife to fall gracefully, for his posture to be straight, for the glass to be the right
length, for the apron to stay white, and for everything to match, with the desperate idea that not only he's
making poetry, if not the poetry is for Will.
Of course, the boy gets lost in the apron and looks at him in total disbelief if he really considers perhaps if it is
so white or his perception of the world has changed, because suddenly his eyes are gray and now they enhance
the whiteness. - Scientifically... it can't be that white, that is, if we're talking about white guys...
He loves it and it hurts so much, that even cutting himself, if the food burned, if the ingredient
perished, nothing would hurt more than not listening to Will ramble on about colors, for just one day.
Hannibal doesn't answer, because the poetry is Will speaking and cutting, the water boiling, the potatoes
kissing the pan, joining in the butter, the meat browning, the heat rising and the rosemary grinding. Hannibal
is cooking a filet mignon for Will Graham and the kitchen is trying to be worthy of such an event. - Uhm, I
think I could watch you do that all day.
- What thing Will?
- Chopping, grinding, slicing, boiling and moving, everything, uhm, you look like a moving picture.
- One who fits...
- To perfection.
- Hannibal? Why do you like me to see you?
Oh, and Hannibal stands even taller, because he wants to impress, because he wants to gloat, because he is
providing, because he is serving, caring, fattening a prey that will never be eaten, but who can imagine it, and
because Will Graham is falling so slowly. , which he does not realize. That his unconsciousness does not allow
him to have reached the most dangerous place in the world: Hannibal Lecter's kitchen.
- Because no one looks like you.
White walls, white apron and dark mahogany, one artifact more modern than the other, with infinite and
immediate tasks, sharp knives not to cut, if not, to touch the meat on duty, the chosen human, the punished
animal. Spectator's bench at ninety degrees, not too high, not too low, just at the height where you should be
to not miss a single detail, looking directly at the chef, because the chef needs to be observed. - Uhm, cut, cut.
Oh and Will is so enraptured he can taste it, his hands no longer cook, but wander, subtly caressing each
utensil, joining him, Hannibal touching and molding the food as he will mold the boy across the street and
wanting him to know it, He wants you to feel that your clean hands, the ones that cut, move, pass and
process, are the ones that want to touch it the same.
- Will, more wine.

- Clear.
And Will fits perfectly, because he goes in front and never behind to reach the bottle, which tends to become
more diluted when he cooks better, a little wine to the lips, a little to the sauce.
Always half a glass, never again, Will measures the rim not because he has the knowledge but because he's seen
Hannibal do it and imitation is part of his charm.
Hannibal cooks slowly, pork is always better treated, its meat is juicier, so patience is virtuous not only because of
the result but because he enjoys postponing, just like the years over wine, just like he enjoyed Will Graham . - Pork
tenderloin, stuffed with pesto accompanied by a spring salad in cruchet sauce.
Will listens, understands nothing, smiles. - You know I could eat anything you make, you don't have to choose
the strangest dish on your menu.
- You only deserve the exceptional Will.
The boy is rude, because he sighs, rolls his eyes and nods, existing in the midst of cleanliness, perfection
and order, alien but well behaved, until of course, Will is still Will and... dips a finger in the sauce , funny, spoiled
and Hannibal wants to bite the mouth that sucks, draw a little blood, impart discipline. - It lacks salt.
evil boy.
Hannibal wants to break it into a thousand pieces, just to remake it, just because he has dared to destroy everything
and even the apron is no longer white, now it is White Will, because he has stained it with a different beauty. - Oh. -
Will lets the flavor advance, the one that is felt at the end of the palate, right in the throat when the carrot comes
alive in its sweetness. - I just had to wait.
- The best always takes time, Will. But it's something I'm going to teach you.
Will eats fast, sauce adorns his upper lip, Hannibal can't kiss right there, content to accept the praise for the taste,
which comes with curses he's beginning, horror of horrors, to normalize. - Can I ask what Jack entertained you
today? I would have liked to be there, I was invited although my dinner with Abigail, I'm sure, was much better.
Will nods, finding it difficult to eat and talk at the same time, Hannibal pours more wine, until Will seems tense, but
little by little, he normalizes the idea of talking to him about it. - There's a guy... One I met when I was doing my
halfway house therapy, a mandatory measure for the FBI to accept me, when I didn't take therapy with you.
- I've heard of them, they're just classes, right?
Will smirks, they both know that those classes are protocol, more of a bureaucracy than really a test upgrade. -
Yes, I attended three or four times, it's that in the end I left in the middle of the last session.
- Very boring?
- Very uncomfortable, there was a guy... Matthew Brown, he was a psychiatric assistant, he did the exams
after classes.
- I do not get it.
- He wouldn't have, he's nobody, but he...

- Did it annoy you?
Will shakes hands, some more food. - He became obsessed with me, uhm, he said it was love.
The idea of another being in love or obsessed with Will, either one was valid and either one could be
taken as one, turned Hannibal sour. The displeasure was so obvious that Will slowed down his eating, just
to look carefully at Hannibal. - I suppose it must be difficult not to be amazed with a mind like yours.
- Rather, I think it's something sadistic to look at someone like me, I just treat badly or, properly speaking, I'm not
skilled with courtesies.
- Charmingly honest to me.
Will shakes his head, looks down at his plate, plays with his food a bit. - More wine please.
- So? - Hannibal leans over, sniffs Will a bit, he stretches his neck obediently, so that he does it, more and more
naturally, as if he knew that Hannibal needed to mark him in some way that is not verbal and that, at the same
time, is not so physical. So ready and available to be claimed as property, more and more.
- I got fed up with his bullying, I left and now... he's killing to get my attention.
- How do you know?
- There was a word that he said to me... - Will doubts whether to say it or not. - ... It was nothing, uhm, I
didn't feel anything for him, but he told me, my love. So, he killed two people, there are already five, and he
wrote "my love" on their bodies, on each one.
- It seems extremely dangerous to me that you have a murderer after you, Will.
Will smiles, carefree, seems to calmly count the colors on his plate. - I'm used to it, that is, in this
environment, right? Seventy percent chance of being involved.
- Nothing worth normalizing.
Will tilts his face. - Are you jealous of a murderer?
- Yes, I don't want anyone to look at you more than me and since I can't stop them from doing it, I feel a little
frustrated Will, besides your way of seeing the situation so nonchalantly.
Will nods, shakes the back of his head, the same way he makes Hannibal sniff him, perhaps unconsciously,
perhaps on purpose. - Hannibal I don't like people who want to get me by force, that's why I told Jack... I
told Jack who he was, they're looking for him, it's a matter of time before they catch him, they have his
address.
Hannibal drinks the rest of his drink, too quickly. - I guess that's okay then.
- Hannibal.
- Yeah? - He tries not to take the drink so hard, but there he is controlling his mood so as not to scare Will.
- Uhm, shall we sit on your furniture?

And there they are, with unwashed dishes in a formerly pristine kitchen, because of Will Graham who
doesn't want to wash, because he wants to sit next to Hannibal, three feet away, Will totally tense.
- I'm not upset Will.
- I try to do things well.
- What are you trying to do?
-Touch you.
Hannibal holds out his arm, like he always does, and Will doesn't take it.
Instead, he stares longer than he should, and when he's made up his mind, he takes Hannibal's hand and
narrows the space. Will's hand is small and sweaty and hot, Hannibal's hand is dry, long-fingered and cold.
However, they fit so well that Hannibal squirms in peace, it's not pleasure, it's not carnal, it's the union that
moves him. They spend half an hour holding hands, in silence, until Will begins to smile. - Your hand is getting
warm.
- I guess the heat beats the cold when it comes to you.
Will nods and finally exposes the back of his neck again, without realizing it. - If someone notices me, I'll tell
you and we can hold hands again.
- And will I be able to smell you in total freedom?
Will blushes, looks down, and squeezes her hand. - I'll let you do it.
- I mean Will, can I do it even when you don't expose your smooth neck?
- I...
- Approach you, tilt your neck myself, serve me and do it.
Will seems to consider it, denies it a couple of times, acknowledges that there will be an unpremeditated
action that he will have to assimilate in seconds, without permission, with total hierarchy from a third party.
Hannibal thinks Will runs through all the possible scenarios, weighs discomfort against upset, finally sighs.
- Yeah, well, you can.
Hannibal smiles and squeezes his hand into his hands, finally moving closer to Will in what looks like
a kiss, only to lift his chin and sniff. Will tenses, lets go, and then laughs. - Yes, of course, why not now?
Hannibal intends to continue collecting information and permits, so the idea of a new wine comes to mind, plus
the promise of getting Will drunk, just to watch him sleep. Until his own cell phone rings. Hannibal wants to
throw it away from that moment, but on the screen Abigail's number glows. Will looks interested, it's a second
in which both of them change their attitude, their hands are released, fear blooms.
- Abigail.
- Dad!
Abigail, I'm Hannibal.
- Dad, there's someone in the house! - He speaks to him, not to Will and Hannibal takes the imaginary knife,
number twelve from the kitchen.
- Abigail... - Hannibal breathes, looks at Will who has heard everything and is standing, with dilated
pupils, tense, painfully. - .... Listen well, don't hang up.
- I... He's coming, he's coming.
Will picks up the phone, listens, and his heart aches. - Daughter, Abi, in my bedroom, drawer five,
under the elegant clothes, my gun is loaded, daughter, you know how he uses...
Matthew Brown's voice appears. - Hello my love.
And Will panics, Hannibal pulling him, only to walk out of the house, phone in hand. -Matthew.
They just walk, they're in the car before they can hear any more. - Dad!
- You... went out with Doctor Lecter, but not with me, not by my side, why? Why Will? Too bad, Will,
you didn't accept my gift, but if you break my heart, I have to break yours.
- Don't do anything to him, I'll go, I can talk to you Matthew, I...
Hannibal drives, anger invades his soul, the unknown pain and his mind recognizing that not every detail
is memorable, that there is a great collection of memorable moments that he wanted to forget, like that,
when his extension, his little smoking girl, his loyal girl he's in danger and she's his, like Will, and she
drives so fast. - My parents will come! They will kill you! No!
The idea of the house of three falls apart so fast, there is no turning back. A shot.
And the phone hangs up. "My parents will come and kill you" "My parents" Hannibal, cries.
I know Will's dogs
- Will Graham, age thirty-five years... right?
Desperation, low self-esteem, syndrome of... uhm, I don't know, she's looking to have one. Observant, hunts in
silence, possible psychopath. - Yeah.
- FBI right?
He likes me, he knows me, he has read about me, how annoying, I don't like being known, they make me
visible. His last name is Brown, he works here by choice, so premeditated job choice, he can't be a psychopath,
he mixes between them. - Yeah.
- Dates Tuesday and Thursday right?
He seeks to meet again, I can feel his emotional attachment. I don't want anyone like that, I don't need anyone
like that. Just one dark person in my life, well two maybe.
Just Abigail and me. And those who will be forced to love us will only be the dogs.
Wolf Trap's house was big, as had been said, too big for two people, although if those two people were the
Grahams, it was small, because they were space-fillers by nature, in need of freedom from the world they were
constantly building. .
Of obvious knowledge for Hannibal, of elusive knowledge for all. Except maybe the
dogs.
Will had seven or eight dogs, he doesn't remember, Abigail once talked about them, the name of each one is
still an enigma to him. Unlike the house, dogs are not appreciated as much.
He only knows that one of them is Winston and another may be Coffe, nothing more. Although what he can
assure is that everyone, EVERYONE, annoying aberrations, threw their hair away.
Because? Because Will was full of them when he came, because Abigail was too, because even he, who had
only touched Will three times and hugged Abigail four times, had hair on him in countless outfits. In addition to
everything smelling like that, the house, Will, Abigail and, because that was the fastidious life, her green furniture.
Will's dogs could be a slight problem to perfection, they included chaos, mess, dirt and out of control.
Above all chaos and because two beasts couldn't exist in one place, note Will and Hannibal's dogs.
Hannibal thought that dogs were necessary accessories to shower compensation and sentimentality
on the one who craves it, always subservient and protective with the first hand extended to them.
She had to admit, though, that there was a certain tolerance for Will's dogs, the kind of empathy that kept them
from killing them all, because they were rescues and not a note of idle sentimentality, yes.
no, because the rescued dogs did not worship just anyone.
His loyalty consisted of a gratitude stronger than a simple meal, if not the meaning of salvation.
Will hadn't petted them in the street and given a piece of food, Will had picked them up from the cold and
night, put food on a promise to last a lifetime, given a home, a family.
In addition, there was not only Will's salvation for them, but also Will's work to win over each one, a
concrete sample of his dedication, discipline, decision and affection. They were dogs loyal to Will because
Will had been loyal to them.
Well, Hannibal still hated them and although he once gave food to one of them, he thinks it was brown or
he doesn't know which brown, he planned to get rid of them in the long term. Little by little, adopt them,
until the only thing left of a dog in the house is a photo of a distant memory of what they were.
He hates them, he hated them or rather... he did, until that day. The day Abigail phoned.
Wolf Trap's house was big, too big, but when the first trickle of blood outlined at the entrance, it seemed
to be small because it all came down to that, the dark and cherry trickle, almost jet black of blood, that
slipped from the gate to the stands: The first victim, a dog with a cut wound, receiving Will and Hannibal
in a show of their fight, of that loyalty that everyone talked about about dogs, having laid down his life
before, to protect the house, to protect Abigail.
After the passage of blood, a second wounded more. A deeper cut, good luck for the dog to be bigger
than her, though hurt, too. Dying.
Hannibal, the eighth beast of the place, entered the house with a knife, he didn't explain to Will where
it came from, he didn't have to. Will didn't ask.
Will noticed the dogs, Hannibal sensed their pain at having to evade them in search of Matthew.
- I'm here, Matthew... We can talk.
Hannibal was a bloodhound, ready to kill without having to pretend he would. He hunted in the
darkness of the house, he moved like a bear, hoarding the kitchen, training himself with more weapons,
stimulating the ear and strengthening the smell: There was a different smell in the house, apart from
the dogs, Will and Abigail... he smelled of cheap cigarettes, lemon cologne, and despair. Done I had
Matthew mapped. - Will, upstairs.
Will nods, he has his FBI gun trained, but when he steps onto the first step, the third dog, hit but not cut
but unable to help, howls in pain. - Sorry Sorry...
Hannibal began to not hate dogs, he began to feel like one of them. Wounded by collateral damage,
a prisoner of loyalty, typical of a grateful animal.
- No weapons.
Will...
Will turns to Hannibal, cold gaze and empathy with the murderer on duty, Hannibal wondered if for him
or for Matthew. - He has Abigail, I won't risk it. - From above, the barking of three or four more dogs
caught the attention of both.
- Dad!
Will ran up, Hannibal put away the knife, in exchange for that, he still felt that he could kill even if it was using
his teeth.
The scene itself was gloomy.
A pale, skinny guy, holding Abigail by the neck, gun in hand, low.
Hannibal read in seconds the desperation welling up plus the bright glare of a pathetic underdog who
was blindsided with the wrong guy.
Matthew I understand you, I also want to be seen, but dear Matthew, what do you have to give in return? In
your desperate simplicity you have nothing, more than emptiness and you could not woo a Graham, attacking
another Graham and you are not worthy of the hand, nor of the hugs, nor of the hasty kisses on the cheek,
nor of smelling, of nothing. Because you are nothing.
- You came my love.
- Dad....
- I came, I'm here, you can let her go Matheww, uhm, pain, pain, pain... I'm here, Matthew, I, I'm what
you want, you can let her go.
Surrounding Matthew and Abigail, two dogs stood by, too smart to know that one false move would harm
their protégé or, inevitably, be damaged like their equals.
Two last dogs, there is one wounded and another wounded by a weapon, the latter recognizes him, it is
Winston, a prisoner of the bullet they heard on the phone. Deliberately bleeding. - You brought Doctor Lecter,
no, no, very bad my love, that was very bad, do you want to make me jealous?
- Mr. Brown, I am nothing more than a guest who has arrived by himself, Will Graham has not brought
me, I wanted to come to talk with you, I think that together we can come to our senses.
- What would you have to talk to me if you have stolen what is mine!
Hannibal snarls, Will glaring at him. - I'm not Hannibal's, but I'm not yours either Matthew, please, please
just... come on Matthew, you can leave Abigail.
- But you don't want to talk to me, you love your daughter, look how far you've made me come, look what you
made me do Will, to get your attention, look my love...
Will takes a breath, chokes a little, Abigail's eyes are scared, but she doesn't shake, she doesn't move, she
looks at Hannibal. Seek calm, Hannibal nods. - If the fantasy of a relationship between Will Graham and me is
your idea, it is nothing more than a mistake, Mr. Graham and I, we are good friends, nothing more and you are
losing the opportunity with Will, with a decision like this Matthew.
- No no no. - Matthew's smile is long. - He has seen you, monster and has accepted you, don't play with me.
- Matthew... - Will takes two steps closer. - the restless killer tightens his grip on Abigail.
- How could Hannibal Lecter match the beauty of your work? I saw you Matthew, I've seen you and I've
walked away, because... I don't think I'm worthy of you.
Hannibal squirms a bit, the lie in Will is natural when he empathizes, as sick as his
assassins. - You never wanted to see me.
- Mr. Graham, I have seen you in therapy, I would like to know if one day you would like to have coffee with me.
- No, I don't see the approach productive.
- But Will you don't know me, I...
- I have to go Mr. Brown.
Will shakes his head, a smile, a cold smile. - That's a lie, do you really like lying to me, Matthew? I saw
you: Pain, loneliness, sadness, nobody sees you, nobody listens to you, nobody believes that you are
capable of killing, right? I did, that's why I walked away Matthew, that's why I left.
Matthew loosens Abigail's grip a little, just a little distracted. - Why didn't you tell me Will?
- Matthew I'm afraid, of who I am, of how I feel, love... - Hannibal has to breathe. -...
I'm afraid to start and not be able to stop and then hurt you.
A little more ease, a twinkle in Matthew's eyes. - So you see him? See our difference?
- Doctor Lecter is nothing more than appearance, a friend to hang out with, Matthew. You are the one I
run from, because in you I reflect. - Another smile, another more and this time it feels real, Hannibal could
swear that Will is not lying.
Finally the hold is free and Abigail is running before a second, Matthew smiles and takes two steps towards
Will, gun still drawn, Abigail behind Hannibal. It's about two seconds, cut, cut, pain pain pain, Abigail Abigail,
it's okay.
Will hugs Matthew Brown.
In a tender hug, because Matthew rests his head on Will's shoulder and Will nuzzles his head, cooing. -
Hannibal you better go.
Pain, pain, cold, cold.
But Will's hand is outstretched, in a gesture, covertly. - Hannibal now.
Then Hannibal attacks, a cut in the sternum, impossibility of movement, a cut in the arm, impossibility of
reaction, cut in the face, pain and a cut in the leg, bleeding. For the fourth cut, Will stops him. A hand on the
shoulder.- You're going to kill him, not Hannibal anymore.
The end of a terrible dream amazes him, there are five injured dogs in Wolf Trap and a Lecter, too.
[...]
Matthew lives, leaves in an ambulance, and Jack Crawford searches the house, uselessly as usual.
Abigail doesn't let go of Will, who strokes her hair. - Hannibal.
- No.
Hannibal works best with tasks, when the activity is physical, preventing thinking. Driving is one option, killing
is another, and since he can't do any of them, for now, he pulls out his first-aid kit.
his car.
The number one dog has a cut in the stomach, not deep, for speed. The bleeding is stopped with gauze and
antiseptic is applied. The dog breathes.
Dog number two has a deeper cut, it is disinfected, it is pressed to find the cut vein, when it is found it is
cauterized with Hannibal's rustic catalyst. Will and Abigail watch, Hannibal works. Sew superficially, the dog reacts
when the bleeding stops. - Number two, good.
-Hannibal, thank you.
Pain, pain, cold, cold. Will belongs to someone else, not mine.
Dog number three needs a repositioning of the twisted leg from a kick. You must do it now even though the pain will
be sharp, otherwise you could lose extension and die with an unlikely recovery. Hannibal strokes the head, waiting
for a positive reaction as he squashes the animal's mouth a little so it doesn't fight or bite, returns the paw to its place.
The dog howls, doesn't bite and in the friction, licks Hannibal's hand. - A sprain, I recommend rest.
The surviving and uninjured dogs let Hannibal do his job, aware that he might be a different kind of savior, another
like Will. However, they are also numb, from a different pain.
A sixth dog, he's dead, Hannibal can't do anything for him. More than cleaning up the blood, picking him up
and cooing him in front of Will and Abigail, who is crying. - Your hero must have a good room in his palace, miss, he
has not died in vain. - Abigail caresses, tired and off. Another pain, of another new type seeping into his soul.
Winston is another case, he does not move or open his eyes, however he has a heartbeat. Hannibal looks for the
bullet that grazed the stomach, when he finds it, he takes it out. - He needs blood. - It says more for him than for
Will, he has no blood on hand, he makes a tourniquet on the legs so as not to spread the irritation. - I have to take
this one.
Will nods, touches Hannibal's arm, it doesn't feel good, neither do. The doctor looks at Abigail, checks her in
general, although the ambulance doctors have already done that. - Are you OK.
- I am. - Abigail nods in automatic mode. - Thank you.
- It was a pleasure Abi.
When he carries the dog it is full of blood, Matthew's blood, the dogs' blood and hair, lots of hair. So when Winston
hangs on him, it could already be called dirty, messy, and totally sore to the core. - I can take it.
- Will, stay with Abigail.
- Hannibal you know I didn't mean it, right?
- However, you see it, you saw it... Will, I have to take the dog.
-Hannibal...
But Will's voice is no longer heard when Hannibal leaves Wolf Trap, or when he drives, or when he arrives at the
nearest vet. - Is it your dog sir?
- Yeah.
He waits for the three hours of Winston's operation, sitting in the early morning. The thought of
being deeply abandoned terrifies him, Will can easily see others, he can touch, and the thought of losing him
is what terrifies him. Plus a deep dark possessiveness, typical of a selfish being, who does not want to share.
Loyal like a dog, territorial too.
Hurt, no apparent hurt, because Will hugged Matthew. Because I can do it and caress him, when
he had to beg for a touch, for a handshake.
He did it for Abigail but even in that he was like dogs, unreasonable.
- Sir, your dog will live.
He feels relieved, why should he feel relieved from the beasts he hated before? That they were not his,
loyalty.
- I'll come for him in the morning.
- Do you want to say goodbye to him? I mean, not that anything bad is going to happen, he's strong, but
owners always want to say goodbye to let their dogs know they're okay. - The girl is stupid, but sweet and
naive, torn between saying no nicely and saying yes, for show.
He says yes, for some third and strange reason.
Winston is half asleep, connected to the IV and with his hair shaved off the wound. Hannibal caresses
him, Winston doesn't move. - You did very good boy.
Hannibal stays longer than he should, stroking, furry, and the thought of having dogs isn't horrible
anymore.
He understands why people have them, not because they are going to die to protect them, but because
they love Will, blindly like him. - I come tomorrow. - Winstons, lick his hand. Hannibal doesn't get clean.
The following days, Hannibal works not to think too much, he slept two or three times in his green
furniture, and he got away from Will, although in a rhetorical way of saying it, because he was in Wolf Trap
every day at seven at night. Nobody asked why, nobody questioned anything.
However, there were no meals at work, no calls, no emails. Will sent them, Hannibal didn't reply.
It was just Hannibal arriving, looking at Abigail, hugging her as soon as she arrived, making
sure she was there, really was there. He was asking about the bruise on his arm, which after two days
had almost disappeared. Hannibal greeted the dogs, checked on them, told how Winston was, whom he
visited at six in the morning every day.
Will for his part, towards a totally new routine too, did not detach himself from Abigail. He didn't work a
week, Abigail didn't go to school, and even though Matthew Brown was still in recovery and soon in jail for
psychopaths, he felt exposed.
When he finished checking the dogs, they were willing and already aware that it was their savior, they
lay on their backs ready to let them check them. Hannibal cleaned the wounds, looked back at Abigail,
then sat up. They ate dinner in silence, they made a mere protocol talk and at ten at night, Hannibal left
with a nod to finally sleep in the furniture in his office.
Will tried to get closer, but they were still too far away. The poor boy, to his regret, understood that Hannibal was
also hurt. They didn't believe him, but the pain of the possible loss of Abigail made him drowsy. Perhaps the thought
of not seeing her daughter and losing Hannibal was too much.
On a fourth night, the day before Winston was to be released, Will said they wouldn't be home for two days. Hannibal
nodded, eating a stew prepared by Abigail in silence. Like every night, he looked at the girl and hugged her ready to
leave. - I'll see the dogs while they're gone.
- Can I ask Alana...
- I said I'll see you.
- Hannibal enough.
The older one looked up, tired, perhaps too much with the fresh memory of Will empathizing easily, feeling the smell
of lemon on what was his. - I have to go Will, I go to Winston every night to...
- I touched Matthew Brown, I touched him I know and I know it bothered you, but it was because of Abigail, you
know right?
- I know, Will.
Cold Cold.
- So? Do you just want me to die for you? I... um, I'm sorry, you know? - Dirty clothes, messy hair, chaotic,
beautiful boy. - I see you Hannibal, I don't know what you're hiding from me, but I see it and although I also saw the
same thing in Matthew, I'm not running from you.
Will...
- Matthew, I said I don't want to go out with you.
- Do you know that we can share our difference with the world?
- I do not know what are you talking about.
- You know Will.
- I'm sorry, I want to be alone.
- There aren't many like us, Will.
Will denies, his schedule is too full for someone else, not worth the change. - I know there isn't, I prefer to be alone.
Hannibal nods, still heartbroken. He is selfish, he knows, immature perhaps, uncomfortable with the new lack of
control in him. - However, Will... If you can see me, why do I feel you so far away?
Will stretched out his arm, Hannibal took it away.
Will's air of wonder, never rejected before, stung.
Will and Abigail's two days of fishing felt like two years, Hannibal returned to Wolf Trap with Winston and the house
seemed not to be big, but an abyss where the two all-embracing and annoying beings left a sharp pain in his chest.
What he did next is not something that
Hannibal Lecter wants to know about him.
He slept with the dogs.
He fed them, checked on them, cared for them and missed work, trying to be a Graham, although a very bad copy
of them, he plunged into solitude and silence, trying to find what they were looking for. After two days, he hated the
silence, failing like Graham and the only thing that saved him were the barking of the healthy and recovered dogs.
He checked the grave of the deceased dog a few blocks from the house. Cemented on him. He thought of him.
It felt like him.
On the second day, he couldn't avoid the obvious and killed about three outstanding people on his own list.
However, it didn't make him feel any better. When he returned home, that is Wolf Trap, with the dogs that were now for
him: Winston, Coffe, Perry, Snow, Pesto and Lucky, each with their own well-defined personalities, he felt better.
At midnight he woke up uncomfortably in Will's bed, not because six dogs surrounded him, but because he realized he
was an idiot. An idiot unable to share, afraid of losing what Matthew didn't have, more than he'd savored.
By the third day, when dawn came, he felt devastated and only Pesto could help him, cornering himself
against him. - How do you survive without them?
The dog looked at him, sensitive and stuck more.
Hannibal waited with well-cooked food for the Grahams, not asking where they came from or why they were so dirty.
He accepted her silence at lunch.
Abigail went to sleep, much calmer and clearer, hugging Hannibal. - I love you Hannibal.
- I love you, daughter.
Will, on the other hand, looked calmer but more somber, perhaps accepting his distance. The dogs had already returned
to his side, little ungrateful, only coming to the being that belongs to them. A loyalty earned for years. They were all
surrounding Will, who sat in an armchair, caressing the nearest heads.
Will...
- If you don't accept who I am, this won't work, you can leave, you can... You can see Abigail, but not me, I'm not lying,
I'm getting closer, I'm rotten, but I am who I am and if you can't, uhm, if you can't take it, if you can't wait, we better not
have... You better go and...
Then, like the dogs themselves, in the space left by Sparkles, Hannibal drops, surrendered, given over to
justice. Graham, a more collected dog, loyal and totally, on his knees, on the side of Will's leg, hugging Will. she. - I'll
wait, I'll always wait for you, Will.
Silence, calm and Will caresses six heads and one more. Hannibal between her legs, still embraced, hurt and happy,
in his place, at Will Graham's feet.
Hannibal sleeps there, Will too. Although Will has to go to work eventually.
There are six corpses to check, three of the Ripper and three of the murderer that nobody knows about.
But Will goes back to dinner, as his arm goes back to Hannibal and Abigail, before falling asleep and looking at
them one more time, says goodbye. - Good night parents.
- Good evening Abigail. - It resonates in the house, a little smaller, but just as big, an ordinary day in the sweet
world of Will Graham.
I know the patterns and the routine
The days after her fall at Will's feet, the loss of Sparkles, the near loss of Abigail, and Hannibal's complete
loss of ideals regarding tolerating six dogs, are routine days, which in the lives of Will and Hannibal means
nothing more and nothing less than absolute heaven.
Because in the routine, Will found order and control, quite the opposite of Hannibal who found the routine a
fun and challenging test to deal with and sweeten in his own way, honing his own need for control, in the
chaos. caused by himself and no one else.
For example, if Will had dinner every day at six, Hannibal was there at five, and if Will walked the dogs at
ten-thirty, Hannibal would call at eleven, and if Will picked up Abigail at three, Hannibal would show up at
the same time at the same school, as if it was really true that he passed by.
So Will's routine life was not so routine because of Hannibal, but after six months since they met, he could
say that within the improvised invasion, it was already routine for Hannibal to constantly test him.
Hannibal couldn't stop watching Will, Will let Hannibal watch until he had enough.
Abigail was happier and more stable, even with cigarettes involved, but attending a therapy that turned into
an endless discussion about the absolute truth and everything the girl read, enriched by her own mind as
well as by the minds she consumed.
But without a doubt, the favorite part of Hannibal's routine was opening the door at seven at night after
each date, to find Will happily sitting in his green chair, as if he had built it for him, reading magazines.
Game and Fish that were now numerous volumes ignored by all but Will.
However, there were other routines and other patterns that Hannibal was eager to consume in regards
to his new life.
For example, Will Graham ate lunch every day at one o'clock in the afternoon, no matter what, even
if Jack was raging for a consultation, Will ate lunch at one o'clock, not a minute more, not a minute less.
For him to eat something really nutritious was a very different thing. Sometimes lunch for the guy was just
a matter of getting the first unexpired energy bar from the machine and sitting at his little makeshift desk
staring at nothing for sixty minutes.
But what did Will think for an hour each day? For Hannibal it was an enigma, however, in the schedule
framed in paper and fine-tipped markers, it was very clear: Lunch and thinking one o'clock, every day.
Because Will loved to look at nothing, for an hour because the norm established it that way and in his
schedule it said that way, so it was like that. Nothing filled Will and his schedules more than following the
pattern of normality, there was Abigail who intended to have lunch when she got hungry, which could be
at three and Will then almost swore, according to Abigail herself, that this person could not be his daughter,
if not a strange and unstable person who ate at any time and since then Abigail, the disorganized one,
was born to stay that way.
However, as Will later confessed to Hannibal, he considered that within sixty minutes, there were between ten
and fifteen that could be cut and skipped, because in forty-five minutes he had already done enough thinking
but he was just clinging to continue on his way. term, because he had nothing else to do and because finishing
an activity in an odd number or worse, not rounding up an hour, was something tedious for Will.
So there he was, forty-five minutes later trying to come up with something more every day, so he wouldn't
go out and give Jack the pleasure of having gone out sooner or the disappointment of not finishing something.
However, when Hannibal began to bring food for him, the sad beige table, unpainted and old, soft and
finished wood, from the section of the FBI that nobody visited, was painted with a white tablecloth and five
place settings, just because and then the sixty minutes could be up to an hour and fifteen.
Because Hannibal wasn't going to let energy bars take over Will's world. And because if Abigail was the
disorganized one and Will the organized one, then Hannibal was the over-the-top one.
Everything clearly, always celebrated by Price, Beverly and Brian, who were in collusion to push Will to
meet his schedule with the Doctor, because they were sure that love could be born between blood,
psychopaths and pain.
- Mushrooms stuffed with blue cheese and steamed sea bass fish and fine herbs.
-Hannibal...
Hannibal had obtained great information in his inclusion and invasion of the Graham house, such as the
absolute knowledge of the famous schedule. A small A4 paper taped to the wall in Will's workshop, handmade
with the days of the week marked, highlighted at one o'clock.
Having fun, because he, too, could take advantage of the ever-changing new boundaries in his relationship
with Will, because if Will could have him at his feet, what have I become? Hannibal could see the schedule.
Hannibal observes the environment, not very honorable and surely the most abandoned in the FBI, willing to
transform it worthily for Will. - I said that I would bring you food every day.
Will, still unaccustomed to the new relationship, a strange relationship, moved his head to one side, looked
around as if someone else was witnessing such an invasion of his time to think, that according to the schedule,
not disorganized like Abigail, he was mistreated by the elegance of a tupperware, two covers and a Hannibal,
deeply in love.
Looking at him as if he had something to share, when clearly he even had time to spare from how empty he
considered himself in the act of thinking.
All information collected, time later, but today was ignored.
Will has on his old FBI jacket, faded navy blue, with peeling lettering, two sizes too big for him, hiding his body.
A brown shirt, also faded by an excess of soap, jean pants, always tight and moccasins, which betrayed his
origins of yesteryear, also wearing shoes, one size larger. Still, even if she was a spitting image of mess,
Hannibal liked her.
But Hannibal could always like Will, because Will made the wrong clothes the right ones, just by looking up
slyly and saying, - You shouldn't be here, why are you?
here? Showing up unexpectedly can be considered rude.
- I was just passing by.
Will narrows his eyes, looks down, plays with the papers in his hands. - No, no, it's not possible, the FBI
office is in East Baltimore, you work in the West and live in the South, so there's no way you can be passing
through, other than a forced visit, which would require... .
- Will, I wanted to see you.
The boy nods, the slight blush coming as always and then a half smile. - So, you just have to say it, you
shouldn't be indirect, you have to say it.
- What did you want to see? I would have to say it many times a day.
- Uhm, yes, of course, I... it's still better than having to read you, you're annoying when you're
enigmatic.
- Then why did you blush? Anyone would say that you like that it is.
- Uhm, I don't... uhm yes, high blood pressure, you raise it, you are... - Will denies, smiles and then
becomes serious. - You're desperate.
Hannibal smiles, wants to squirm under the small table to feel Will's legs, to be caressed, wanted just
because Will is painfully honest. - The TEA always so appropriate for our relationship.
- Honesty is a virtue, it depends on how it is taken. - Will repeats, with a speech learned for the world.
- Whatever you want. - Hannibal stretches out his arm, while he takes out and slides the three food containers
on the table, one small, two large, full of the smell of an expensive restaurant. - So, if honesty is a virtue, you
should know that I left my office, canceled an appointment, cooked for you, drove two hours to the store
because I didn't have an ingredient that I thought you would like, came back to finish cooking and drove
another hour. up here, just to watch you eat, because I like the way you sigh and swear, thanks to me.
The tension in Will's body is obvious, his mouth in a tight line, perhaps wondering what to say at such a
size of lack of schedule in fine point pen and typical of an Abigail Graham level disorganization. - You...
you... always make me...
- Highly strung. Hannibal smiles.
Will nods and fifteen minutes left becomes fifteen minutes letting Hannibal look at him.
[...]
Why does Hannibal always make him nervous?
That is to say, he is a person who meets the appropriate pattern of stability, because Hannibal has patterns,
routines, and order. He likes Hannibal, he likes his clean clothes, his expensive perfume and the lopsided
smile, he likes that he always makes Abigail smile, that she doesn't see him as if... as if he's strange, instead
he has that interested look, as if Will had something important to say, every time.
He likes Hannibal and Hannibal likes to watch him eat. Will sighs, he can't help but feel weird, because
he knows that the guy he's dating, his daughter's psychiatrist, has something hidden, although he's not
interested in discovering it for now.
He just wants to learn how to play it, because he's afraid it's going to go away like everyone else seems to.
Uh, Hannibal has put some food on a fork, he holds it out to him.
Will thinks of a thousand negative things about it, yet he eats. He sighs and curses, by the way, it feels like
a play Hannibal attends, well he can do it.
Chew slowly, sigh, curse word, look at Hannibal, blush, pattern established, chew slowly, sigh, curse
word, look at Hannibal. Hannibal smiles, Will too.
[...]
Jack looks at the metal tables of the always cold inspection room, Bryan and Price move as if they were in
their summer house, too used to blood, however, their always subtle jokes do not intimidate the dark scene
they witness: Six bodies , three with missing organs, three with surplus organs.
Six victims older than twenty-five and no older than sixty, all with clean records, except for two who had
debts with the State. Normal, with jobs and families. - This is bordering on crazy. - Jack always says that
when he doesn't have a logical procedure in mind, when the pieces of the puzzle are jumbled and without
any pattern, without routine like Will and Hannibal.
Will, on the other hand, looks too calmly, immersed in a distant world that no one can get close to and
Hannibal loves it. On the other hand, he also lives in his own world, one of the mirrors where he can reflect
himself, the art of seeing his work analyzed first hand. - The always clean cuts of the Ripper, unmistakable. -
Says Brian Zeller while pointing to the exposed sternum of the dentist lying on his table.
The dentist, a clumsy man with nervous hands, had performed three cures and a crown on Hannibal three
years ago, cures covered by insurance but which the dentist skilfully managed to dodge under strategic
strategies.
The other victims had met a similar fate due to his past rude acts, like the girl from the supermarket he had
missed and the lawyer who had once made many of Hannibal's known friends lose money. The victims of
the new murderer, however, had no provenance of any crime, other than two who had debts to the State
and the third, which Hannibal has to admit, was quite a pleasant surprise.
Part of Hannibal and Will's new routine was working together officially consulting for the FBI, which
required a lengthy email conversation where Will made it clear that the work environment was not conducive
to crime scenarios. arms together, no quick kisses on the cheek, which ended up reducing Hannibal to an
amused pout of complaining and saying that it was going to be hard not to kiss him or smell him or touch
him with him so close.
Which made Will not answer the message for a full hour, to conclude himself, that Hannibal was
not a man with whom you could have a serious conversation, neither by mail, nor at work and that he
should read a book that could be read. called: "How to be a functional and correct human being in
contemporary society" to which Hannibal replied, that he already had many books to read, such as "How
to tolerate six dogs and not drown in hair in between." Will put on LOL again, Hannibal loved it, so much
more.
Of course, within the new routine, it included moments that Will called moments out of focus and
control, which included interventions by Jack or any other being from the outside for immediate
consultations, typical of a murder that warranted improvisation due to the urgency and need of the
scenery. Hannibal loved the out-of-focus moments, because in them was an atypical reaction from Will,
which meant more knowledge of the boy and what it also deserved, suspended arm situations and
therefore, a blush on Will's cheeks for almost being discovered in a situation as compromising as the
fact of touching each other so superficially or, God forbid, looking at each other deeply.
Of course, Hannibal would have preferred that Jack had found them naked, while holding Will
against his desk in the office, but of course, he could also be happy with the fact that they were almost
found, hand in hand in a contest for who adored Hannibal the most. other. Because that was how Will's
limits were.
On a day like this, it was precisely when they were behind an absolute peace of patterns and
routines in Hannibal's office, when Jack and Alana burst in for an exceptional consultation on
murders that had become dramatically publicized thanks to the press and a city in fear. .
The subtlety with which Will slides his leg across the ebony furniture is moving, one leg crossed over
the other, tense and moving, a sign of discomfort, expectation, emotionality and nervousness. Typical
of the off-hours moments of fine point.
The deep ebony shows off in his company, contrasting with the surly moment they are going through
with a gloomy discussion and a Will totally devoted to listening and analyzing what surrounds him. A
worthy piece of furniture, which only takes value when the person who uses it is Will Graham.
But the leg does not maintain any pattern easily perceived by the basic eye of the human being, rather
it moves, in a subtle but exact rhythm of five nervous blows in the air, a jerk and three seconds of
stillness to repeat itself.
Hannibal doesn't mean to be rude, because it's not in his nature to be rude, but he finds it
dramatically difficult not to look at Will whenever he can, while he's surrounded by people. Just a glance,
now and then, checking that the pattern is correct, that Will, his Will is nervous and upset, lacking control
and displaying some of the comforting possessiveness that precedes him.
Will is fine, always with Hannibal, tactfully brushing off moments of emotional turmoil, but generally
fine. Except when Alana Bloom is around, is it a bad thing for Hannibal to be amused?
- Hannibal, what do you think? - Alana's voice is clearly sweet and harmonious, but it is noisy
for Hannibal when he has just discovered that in the pattern of Will's leg, on the chair in his study, there
is a hand on his thigh, somewhat tight, not white-knuckled, but restrained, doing a stretch every ten
seconds and only stopping when Jack and Alana say something, then coming back together.
But most of all Will is angry because the only person who really knows something is going on between
them is Alana, if she didn't mistake the kiss outside the opera for a weird approach from Will, if not for
a friendly gesture, which was strange, because friends don't kiss and run away when discovered.
Anyone would think that Alana was…facing Will, in a fight she didn't know she had already lost, yet
facing off.
- He is a methodical murderer, but not with a clear purpose, he may have stories to tell but he does
not need to be understood. They are not stories told for a specific audience, perhaps for no one...
I think we know a lot, how can we know nothing.
Will is wearing tight gray pants, which is evident in his tight hamstrings and contracted
thighs, plus a navy blue shirt, which Hannibal notices is new and smells like a department
store but at the same time, it fits so well that for a moment the eyes of Will looks elusive but the
color of the sea, like a chameleon.
And it's so hard to listen, it's so hard to pay attention and stop thinking about her mouth,
contracted and thoughtful, opening from time to time, to say something brilliant, it's hard not to
imagine what it would be like to kiss Will, to bite his lips. , hearing him moan about it, confused
that pain and pleasure can be one and the same. Perhaps asking Hannibal later, because pain
and pleasure could feel good and proceeding to argue for hours, while he was consumed with
excitement.
- Doctor Lecter, one of your victims is one of your former patients, do you have any idea about
it?
Will follows the pattern, which has now been redone to a clenched knuckle, slide of thigh, heel
strike, breath, and a look at Hannibal. Knuckles, thighs, breath and look. Would it be wrong to
have control of Will for a moment?
- Dr. Lecter?
Oh right, poor Franklin.
Yes, Franklin, slit and hunted in the comfort of his home, just as he intended to eat a five-
seater meal, all by himself. With an extra stomach and brain too, overusing one, wasting the
other. - I have no idea, Franklin was a charming being.
Hannibal hadn't killed Franklin, he would have at some point in his life, but he hadn't now and
that bothered him a little. Because the hunter was him and not another.
Will tenses his hand again, his leg at the same time and finally, he loses his gaze in the back
of his office, interested in the cherry color of the wall of old books.
Hannibal had never seen Will distracted, so uninterested when it came to murderers, he liked
the idea of seeing him so far away. It meant he wasn't paying attention to the new killer. - I think
the Ripper is who we have closest Jack. - Will kept looking at the wall, totally present, showing it
when he spoke. - It is killing more often, we no longer have to wait five months or a year to see it,
we are obtaining evidence that can...
- Do you mean then Will that we have a clue? Because if not, I don't understand why I should
pay attention to you.
Jack was also on his list, although Hannibal was hesitant to leave it, since he fervently believed
in the plurality of punishments. For example, Jack was a man who had to die, he would, and he
would find nothing more than heroism in it, while Bella's death could be more painful than a knife
to her throat. So yes, Jack was on her list, but in a different way.
The idea of Will's death clarified the point much more, as did Abigail, making it clear to him that
death was not remotely the worst thing that can happen to a man in love.
- Jack, are we really questioning Will's ability to decide if we're close or not? - It wasn't good to
always defend Will, but Hannibal found respect for him unpleasant, because the derogatory
treatment for Will was abysmally different.
- Hannibal. - Alana slides her hand through his arm, tenses immediately and meets the eyes of Will, who is
staring at the same hand. - Do you think we should focus on the new killer or the Ripper?
The pattern changes, now the crossed leg is open and Will has an attentive pose, as well as a free
attentive to noise pose, of a predator. The white, clenched knuckles and his intense, dark gaze.
Possessive again Will?
- I think we can follow the thread of both, because although neither has a pattern, we should not give up
the opportunity to confront them, although I think agent Crawford already beat us to it, right? I read the note
from Freddie Lounds.
- I didn't agree with that. - Alana's hand is still on her arm, if I could I would take it away.
But he can't, for two reasons: Being surly would reveal his closeness to Will and an exposure of their
relationship that hasn't been authorized by mail or in person. The other reason is that he wants to upset
Will.
Then, Hannibal Lecter's mind wanders, in his own pattern... Having fun at Will's upset, just to show
that he has some control, too. Sad and miserable control, that in a blink of Will threatening to leave
him, would destroy him, but pattern nonetheless.
[...]
Hannibal is always looking at him, it's not a novelty, it's just something he's learning to deal with.
Looks have always been something difficult to deal with, as they mean criticism, expectation and
subjectivity.
Will always shuns the look, also runs the terrible risk of being able to understand that person and empathy,
a thousand-edged evil, always means absorbing things that he does not allow.
Sadness, pain, joy, envy, selfishness, loneliness, love. So, looking always implies returning with a little more
and losing a little more, besides, what is he interested in adding more problems to his own?
However, Hannibal has a different look from the rest, superficially he could say that he is mysterious,
experienced and intelligent. A little further, you can say that he is cold, calculating, practical and orderly.
If you go a little more to what others think, you can tell that he is someone of royalty, class and a born
fighter. But if you look a little bit, more into that dispute between the brown and the swamp green, cold
cold, Hannibal is just a man full of love.
A human being sensitive to art, a guy in need of affection, a caring soul, lonely in search of a non-
existent excellence. That's why Will gets nervous, because Hannibal seeks excellence in a world he
learned he doesn't have. So why are you looking at him like he's excellence?
Also and not least, Hannibal is so handsome to Will. Physically pleasing, yes, of course, he is athletic and
muscular, strong and a provider. Besides, Hannibal always looks so elegant that Will is annoyed by the
expense of trifles, the authentic suit, the indecipherable colors. That makes Will want to play, but he can't
play, so he convulses. To touch or not to touch?
But the one who touches is Alana, she touches him and he has not allowed them to touch him. Negative
thinking, it is not good to be possessive of the other. Human beings are not object, evaluate own therapy.
- Can we check the bodies together? The last six of the Ripper and the last six
of the new killer? - Hannibal wears a leaden suit with blue squares, perfectly fitted, well fitted, Will doesn't want
to look, because looking requires the desire to touch and Alana can touch.
Alana shouldn't play, Hannibal lets her.
Will is upset, he clenches his knuckles, counts and squeezes his leg, Hannibal looks at him, Hannibal is
amused. And that's a routine that Will still hasn't gotten used to and debates whether or not to include it in his
methodical schedule because it takes a lot of effort not to nudge Hannibal every time he invites him to get out of
control, at the expense of his own amusement. and curiosity.
They both know that it bothers him that Alana touches him, as much as Hannibal bothers that Will has seen
Matthew, yet here was the most impromptu man given to minutiae, not only letting Alana cling to him but tipping
his head to the side. smile for her.
Oh and Will gets upset.
[...]
Will is upset, Hannibal knows it because the patterns are now non-existent, if not a mixture of gestures and twists
that Will shows off sitting in his ebony chair, which now looks darker because Will Graham's possessiveness
overflows and the talk of murderers looks so outdated that the older man wants to throw Jack and Alana out of the
nearest window to throw Will but into the green chair, just to taste his mouth and create his own pattern of wet
kisses and moans, full of jealousy forgiveness and lots of , but a lot of contained excitement.
However, because he is a man of his word, he sticks to the previously discussed contract to stay utterly
professional in the FBI consulting field but have fun at the expense of Will and his jealousy of Alana. - Dear, you
yourself have a peculiar vision on these matters, I think it would be enriching if you enlighten us about whether to
continue provoking the new murderer being compared to the Ripper with the help of Freddie Lounds.
Alana blushes, but it's not as pretty as when Will is, but Hannibal can pretend he's gorgeous, so he smirks as he
was notified it was the guy's liking. - Thanks Hannibal, I think that indeed a confrontation is nothing more than a
tabloid technique to bring one against the other, we would rather be endangering more people.
- And yet they will continue to die with or without provocation, Alana. Will answered, thick voice, chaotic
patterns.
- I thought, Will, that you didn't agree with including Freddie Lounds in the topic. - Alana is ready to fight.
- You thought wrong, one thing is my pleasure to do it and another that I don't think it convenient now.
- What do you think, Hannibal?
- I think that...
- Alana, wasn't your idea originally to expose the Ripper a year ago?
possessive boy. Interrupt me as much as you want.
- You said it yourself Will, conditions change according to convenience.

- However, you said that situations could always require exceptional measures.
Jack sighs. - When did this become a situation of what the one or the other said in the past? It's
about having solutions gentlemen.
Hannibal couldn't be more amused and even the idea of taking Will's schedule and crumpling it up just
to make a new one that includes "pick time for Will" at five o'clock every day, not one more minute, not
one minute. least, it's tempting. So now not only does he let Alana hang on to his arm, while Will stays
away on the couch, but he now puts his arm around Alana's shoulders, pulling her closer, like he's totally
on her side. - I think Alana is right Jack, exposing more people in a media fight can be dangerous.
Will bites his lip, Hannibal sure he could hear Will growl. Sorry kid, it's just so funny...
- Doctor Lecter has no idea how to treat the Ripper, I'm the one who has studied him for years.
Jack and Alana look at each other, although Alana smiles a little, surprised by Hannibal's closeness,
believing herself to be triumphant. - Do you invalidate Dr. Lecter's opinion?
- Yeah.
Hannibal then smiles. - I would like to know why my opinion is less appreciative for you Will.
- Because you are a disorganized and trifling man, you are also annoying and...
- Will.
- Alana, shut up.
Hannibal then can almost claim victory at that moment, because in no schedule, routine and pattern,
Will has shown that the TEA or his personality can boast of a level as great as violence. And only his office,
Jack, and Alana may be witnessing that he's never been so proud to see Will Graham lose control. -
Gentlemen, control please...
- Will, I think you should apologize to Alana. - Hannibal knows that the eyes of everyone present
are on Will, while Will looks furious at Hannibal, so knowing his advantage, Hannibal winks at Will,
showing that yes, I'm bothering you Will, I like to see you upset, I I like to see you fight for me.
[...]
Kill, cut, slice, clean, kill, cut slice, clean. Like when fishing.
Hannibal gets out of control, he is upset with Hannibal, they are in a relationship and Hannibal is aware
that Alana likes him and lets her touch him, agrees with him and plays with Will.
Will wants to touch Hannibal, but he wants to push him, he wants to hit him, and he wants to, after all,
let the back of his neck open, so Hannibal can smell only him, and then have a discussion via email that
will clarify the limits of how to have fun and how not to have fun
Hit, kiss, kill, touch, smell, Hannibal I'm upset.

Do you think you know my patterns? Do you think I don't realize you're watching them? Do you think you can
predict me? Do you think you know who I am?
[...]
- I'm not going to apologize.
When Will gets up to walk around the three of them, like a caged lion, Hannibal is still willing to see how far
Will can go while wondering what to bring his lover to eat tomorrow, only to apologize for such a test of curiosity.
While Alana and Jack are oblivious to the fight that a couple under construction is going through. -What is going
on here, Will?
- I think Will has lost the direction of the discussion Jack, clearly he is mixing his emotions with the
decision, I recommend that he be excluded from the investigation until he clarifies his thoughts. - Alana, comments
and Hannibal puts his face completely neutral, which is just another way of passing off as innocent.
- Maybe we should exclude you Alana and Doctor Lecter.
Will...
- You also shut up Hannibal.
- Graham you better be more professional with this discussion.
- The only one who is not professional is Hannibal, Jack.
- Boy have you lost your mind?
- I'm dating Lecter!
What happens next is Hannibal politely stepping out of Alana's tense arms, who is now gaping, and walking past
an equally surprised Jack Crawford, walking to Will's side and nodding, totally apologetic but not so apologetic.
Will is breathing hard as he tries to find a north to lean on again, even though he is extremely angry, he is
grateful that Hannibal steps aside, just so he doesn't fall before the emotional exposure and leans on, because
it is up to him to play.
- Is this true Hannibal?
- Yes, Will Graham and I have had a romantic relationship for almost a month, but we had decided to keep
it private.
It's your fault, your fault, your...
- Will.
- Yes, yes, yes, I shut up.
Jack and Alana decide the meeting is over, too confused to continue in the same place where Hannibal and Will
are now in their own pattern unknown to everyone, even them.
[...]
Hannibal is patient, always has been in his past life to build what he is now, and in his present life, when it comes
to waiting and consuming what Will can give him. Yet there are moments like this, when Will leans against his
bookcase, head down, gasping for breath, silent and flushed to the neck, when he wants to shake the man just to
find out what's going on in his head.
- It wasn't very nice of me to expose you like that, I admit it Will.
Silence more silence, within the routine they have many of those moments, enjoyable and pleasant, in
which the lack of words is not due to a shortage of them, but rather, they are moments where their minds find
peace to find themselves vulnerable in company. But the moment they are going through is not pleasant, nor
peaceful, although perhaps vulnerable, but not in the way that Hannibal knows.
- I can leave you alone at home, I can stop going to Wolf Trap for a couple of days, within my knowledge of
healthy relationships Will, I am no more knowledgeable than yourself, it is not a justification, nor an apology, It is just
a comment that seeks understanding from you.
Will shows no pattern, there's nothing Will points out that Hannibal has known in six months that would at that
point prevent the boy's next move. Will might as well pass out, run off and finish him off at any moment, and he
wouldn't see it coming.
Will, talk to me.
For example, Will has never had his fists clenched tightly, nor has he looked at the floor for more than fifteen
minutes, nor has he remained silent without murmuring some idea that he repeated in his mind. He looks furious,
pensive and animal. Hannibal is sure that perhaps he has gone a little too far, and the idea of another estrangement
from Will tortures him, because if it required not touching each other again until Will wanted it, he would accept it, but
his absence would hurt more. Because within her routine, it is not possible to erase the mental schedule in which she
has filled every space of her day thinking about Will.
- Will, my boy... I'm sorry.
Will has a decision for the last plea which is to walk as quickly as possible out of the office, Hannibal can run and take
it, but within the permissions that have been taken, he does not resort to doing it and lets Will slam the door with total
freedom. Will's absence and his new shirt leave a hole in his chest.
Until the door is knocked three times, again.
- Will, I know I was wrong, thanks for coming back...
A push, a strong one inappropriate for a person thinner and smaller than him, which he gladly receives. If
Will wanted to fight, Hannibal would let him.
But another push, the other way around comes. Will...
- Be quiet.
Will...
And another shove, and another, he steps back, does nothing and the green chair snaps at his
heels and finally, ready for the last shove, one that knocks him over, rude, amusing, for playing
with Alana, arrives but in the form of a word. - I will kiss you.
- Yes please.
Will is red, he is breathing hard and finally, his mouth reaches Hannibal's and his kiss, which is
nothing more than a blow on the older man's lips, comes with a slow moan. Will separates, looks at
him and blinks, several times, Hannibal feels the chair burning while his dry lips burn too. Then Will,
kisses in earnest, the mouth opens and pushes Hannibal to do the same, a parting of the lips and
Will's little mouth is wet and tastes of afternoon coffee, while its opening is slow, so slow that in its
tentative search to fit in with Hannibal, turns out to be delicious.
Hannibal does nothing but mimic Will's every move, encouraging him to stay on the right track,
which is exploratory and damn Will, when Will's tongue peeks out to taste his lips, Hannibal has to
hold back, because he's getting melting, in the mouth of the other. And Will's lips feel so thin and his
mouth so small that he feels the kiss is the greatest pleasure he's ever had.
His hands, however still until now, rise to settle on Will's waist who leaves him, still tense and
their mouths that could not find a compass, after a minute of colliding with each other, they curdle
better and the kiss is hot, slow and saliva, it can feel so good, when Will's waist is squeezed hard,
just to balance his self-control and not finish actually sticking his own tongue inside Will.
[...]
Hot, hot mouth, racing heart, Hannibal tastes good, Hannibal feels good, uh grab my waist, if you
grab me, if you squeeze me,
I am doing it right? It feels good, do you like it?
You're mine, if I mark you because that's how relationships mark, Alana can't do this.
I'm going to insert my tongue a little more, because I want to do it, I want to feel you more, I want
to move forward, I want... I want to feel like this, I like you, I like you, I like you. You bother me too,
your mouth is hot, hot, waist, my waist, if you take it.
I can do it, am I doing it right? Tell me I'm doing it right.
[...]
When Will's tongue is completely inside his, Hannibal gets full permission to show Will what he
can do and he himself makes his tongue battle against Will's, Will tenses up when the two meet in
a fight and makes a gesture of walking away, perhaps thinking he was being kicked out. - You're
doing well, just... - Hannibal
he murmurs into the other's mouth, breathing hard. - Our tongues can play, just follow me Will...
- I like I like.
- Me too Will.
Their tongues then clash and Will quickly learns that this is okay, that this is how a kiss should be
and the green chair, behind them becomes the perfect setting, because Hannibal pulls Will so that the
kiss deepens, sorry I need more Will.
Then Hannibal has Will all over him, the boy fights a bit but eventually lets Hannibal take control and
the kiss turns into a fight over Hannibal consuming the other's red and swollen mouth as Will tries in
one clumsy move to let Will his mouth is available for whatever Hannibal wants to do, which is finally,
bite his lip and pull. -Hannibal...
- Yes, Will... a little more.
- All right, yeah.
His tongue is back inside Will, Will tries to fight again, and finally, Hannibal bites again.
When Will walks away trying to breathe, the couch turns out to be the best place in the world right
now, by absolute decision and Will looks so disheveled and Hannibal too, while their mouths are
wet and Hannibal searches Will's eyes for his conclusion.
- I want to do it again... But not now, because I feel like I'm going to faint.
- Can you stay on me a moment more?
Will breathes, he's red and his mouth looks so provocative when he licks it, to savor the kiss he had.
- Yeah.
[...]
The next day, at one o'clock, Will has a five-serving, forty-five-minute lunch to eat while Hannibal
watches him, though now Hannibal seems a little impatient.
When he finally finishes eating, Will looks at his watch and knows that there are fifteen minutes left,
the fifteen minutes to spare each day.
- Can I kiss you again?
Hannibal darkens his gaze. - Yeah.
So, they do it again, until their tongues play again. Will's schedule changes, so does his
routine, and a new pattern emerges: Will Graham wants it, as much as he does.
I know a brown chair
Hannibal doesn't sleep when he gets home, not when the last image in his head is Will's mouth swollen as
he keeps his eyes locked on his mouth, so bewildered by what he's just done, looking innocent and
provocative.
No, he doesn't sleep.
Instead, cook a dessert and consider nuts, strawberries, coffee extract, and milk.
But when the cream is done and the nuts are ground and the first bite sweet, it doesn't taste like Will
Graham's mouth, Hannibal throws the china bowl to the floor. - Will, I need you to be here.
But Will is not there, Will is in the Wolf Trap with his mouth available to himself but unavailable to Hannibal
who needs more. Hannibal needs it, because he has tasted Will's mouth and nothing is as sweet, not
honey, not sugar, not blood. And probably nothing will be.
Angered, he steps over the mess, detaches himself from his clothes, doesn't put them in order, doesn't fold them, or adjust
them. Hannibal takes a shower, but the water doesn't calm him down, neither the cold nor the hot, nor the coffee, nor the
wine.
So Hannibal smokes, in the middle of the room even though the smell is pervasive, even though it's a
terrible habit and even though he's promised Will to do it together, only twice a month.
Look at the furniture in your living room, so different in function with the other armchairs in your life,
this time brown that at first sight, intends to go unnoticed. It is Hannibal's favorite place to think and where
to rest his mind, in a false friendship different from therapy, because brown highlights the presence of the
other and calms his own mind.
Molasses brown and not clay, bought in a passionate rush for the color close to coffee bean, that only
Will would know and that would look so good right now with him there moaning as Hannibal smothered
him with his weight.
He inhales, as hard as he can and the smoke hits his lungs and burns in the pit of his stomach, but the pain
and the invasion are nothing compared to the sensitivity in his chin, latent proof of the scratchiness of Will's
beard, that two hours ago brushed against him.
Will's sweet moan eats at his soul at the memory while the boy was totally oblivious to what a sound like
that can do to a man like him.
There, in the middle of his living room and sitting in his clay-brown chair, now three cigarettes
consumed, Hannibal lies wearing only pants and no shirt on, waiting for his warm skin to soften and the
cold that surrounds him to help him calm down.
But he can not.
Not when his body anatomically has normal physiological responses, responding carnally to the
obvious: A raging boner in his pants from Will's mouth like a ghost on his lips and her invisible waist
burning in his hands.
Hannibal thinks of his past, of the numerous lovers taken for his benefit, for a methodical purpose or
a banal pastime. None of them would have hesitated to let Hannibal strip them of their clothes, none
would have put a but. None except Will.
Ah patience, but why Will? Because?
Then, caught up in his instincts, Hannibal is furious with himself because it's irrational for him to want
more, having recently had nothing. He decides that his body can't wait but that it must, because the
carnal act of touching himself has never been important, because perhaps he's never found something
that inspires him to do it before.
Even the night he thought he could, he ended up miserably rueful against his bed, pretending he didn't
want Will.
And because above all, he doesn't have Will's permission to do it and because everything he does
and will do since the kiss has to be approved by Will, the boy has it in his hands. And also, because Will's
approval is above all, the most delicious part of his torture.
- One more cigarette. - He says totally surrendered to waiting for his furious physical response to calm
down and when he manages to sleep, he dreams of Will Graham's mouth and the little sound he makes
when he gets excited, because yes, Will wanted it and that was just the beginning of a questioning,
ready to savor slowly.
Fortunately, the next day Will seems to be available to be kissed again, which is not intuited but
warned. - I'll eat first and then, can we kiss like yesterday?
- Of course I do, Will.
When Will finishes eating, which for the first time becomes for Hannibal the most obsolete and even
tedious act in the universe, Will wipes his lips and sighs, looks at his watch, asks if he should brush his
teeth. Hannibal almost yells no. - No Will, that's fine.
- OK that's fine.
Then Will leans in slowly and another kiss comes, the second for Hannibal's palace room, a room he's
called: Will Graham's Mouth Room. Just enough.
Ah, addictive boy, corrosive boy, wet and obedient, open your mouth, as I taught you to do, so very well.
A little more, okay.
Hannibal contemplates that his hands on Will's waist are accepted, but touching beyond is not. For
example, when Will's tongue briefly wins the battle, this happens when a distracted Hannibal tries to get
his hand down far enough to slide down Will's leg. - Hannibal, um... no. - He sighs resting his forehead on
the other's forehead.
- Well, not then.
- Hands up, okay?
- But kiss me a little more, can you?
- OK.
So, Will takes a breath, looks at Hannibal's mouth and takes all the strength he has to try again and
Hannibal, grabs the waist, but not only grabs it but holds it, pulls it
towards him and the pressure is as strong as the kiss, which Hannibal takes care of, always governs Will, although
at times it is he who covers the other's mouth, thirsty to know how far the boy can go in his delicious inexperience.
Of course there is always a limit, although in this case there are two and one is that it will already be two in the
afternoon, time for Will's lunch to end. - Now... it's almost two o'clock Hannibal, uhm, Hannibal...
One bite, Hannibal's tongue savoring inside Will's mouth to shut him up. - A little more.
- Oh, Hannibal, I like it. - How to stop if you say things like that?
That's where limit number two comes in, which is new and unroutine, lacking in patterns that is only the product of
two bodies rubbing together, it can only cause Hannibal's body to react and yes, his reaction is harsh and Will just
pushes him to look at him, full of wide eyes and cheeks boiling with color, as he licks his injured lips. - Are you... You're
excited, your penis, shit, I don't mean, I already said it, you...
Hannibal doesn't say anything, affirming or denying the obvious seems illogical to him, just as Will isn't stupid
and he doesn't intend to pretend anything. In addition, he can almost savor the entire logical and anatomical
process that Will may be going through at that moment, to conclude that Hannibal wants him, that is, in a very
TEA and very Will thought, Hannibal wants to have sex with him.
So he remains silent, still with his waist in his hands and a disgruntled Will. So Will does what Will would normally do.
He runs out.
And Hannibal looks around. Well, that's what he deserves, he thinks.
The rest of the afternoon they work for the FBI, Will is focused even though every five minutes Hannibal
catches him looking at his bottom. When their eyes meet, the older one tries to calm him down with the urgency of a
committed loyalty to slowness. Will instead blushes and goes back to work.
- Doctor Lecter, stop looking at me.
- Sure, I'm sorry.
[...]
- What did you do today?
Will can recover from any impasse with the coldness with which his thoughts run in total normality and coherence,
attached to the facts and nothing more. Of course, he can always be a little direct, although he trusts that Will is
always cautious, within the social norms that- We were kissing for fifteen minutes.
Abigail who was eating stops the spoon in the air and looks to both sides with her mouth open and her eyebrows
contracted. Hannibal really stops eating and needs a cigarette. - Gross.
- Will, do you remember the emails where you wanted to keep our relationship private at work?
- Yeah.
- I ask the same with Abigail.
- They suck, I swear I just wanted...
- You were kissing with your friend, in the street and not in a private place.
- Dad!
- Shall we remove the "nosy" from your long list of adjectives?
- Will.
Will looks at Hannibal, brings to his mind the series of behaviors appropriate for adolescents and realizes his
mistake. - We had lunch and then we were working, we didn't kiss, well we did, but it's not relevant to your
question, daughter, I'm sorry. Hey, yeah, eat your broccoli.
Silence back at the table, Hannibal tries to scold Will with his eyes, it's hard when Will has cranberry sauce
in his mouth that would be easily removed with a kiss. But according to Will, kissing can only take place
from now on, at one forty-five, in the privacy of his hideous FBI room. - So, let me erase the horrible image
from my memory, what else did you do today that doesn't have to do with my father's saliva?
Hannibal too...
- We investigate the new murderer.
- Finally something interesting.
Will now seems attentive. - We don't talk about those issues... - He seems to remember something. - Do
you think the new killer has a pattern? That is, within the message of differentiating from the Ripper,
there could be a way to know how he chooses them.
Abigail nods. - Do you know them or do you not know them?
Hannibal pours more wine for Will, tries not to look at Will's mouth, fails, and pours himself more wine. - If
you know them, it could mean that Franklin is part of a list of a range of acquaintances and that means that-
- The other two would have to coincide and also, more of your close ones could be involved.
The idea of the killer going after Will and Abigail shocked him. He felt the terrible discomfort of having to
deal with a subject foreign to Will and finally, after a long time, he was lost in a long list of possible
acquaintances with the prospect of murder, who might be trying to curry favor with him.
Randall Tier, Tobias Budge... Anyone could be, more Tobias than the first. Things to think about later.
Saying goodbye to Will was now much more difficult, because the availability of the boy's mouth was
there, but the rules were there too, which made Hannibal a totally malleable beaten animal and yet,
when for a moment Will's mouth was not the center of everything, his nervous eyes came in replacement, to
transmit calm, pity and patience.
- Have I been forgiven for my terrible behavior towards Alana?

Will makes sure that in the middle of the night, with the healthy dogs by his side and Winston at home
recuperating, the animals are aware of his presence as they walk. While his arm, where Hannibal is holding
on, a little stronger perhaps because of the cold of the night. - I think that after kissing yesterday and today,
that's more than clear.
- However, I want to make it clear that I never wanted him to feel pressured about it, Will was not looking for
an exhibition, much less, a physical approach.
- Hannibal, I did it because I wanted to.
- Good.
- Although... now Jack believes that your opinion may be conditioned.
- I do not blame him
- Is your analysis conditioned on me?
The cold and freezing wind of the Wolf Trap forest makes Will paler and his mouth pinker, so when his
insides are burned, his answer is clear. - I have been influenced by you for a long time.
Will nods, keeps walking. - You also condition me, I don't know if it's good or bad, but you do.
- How have I influenced you, Will?
- I... - Will denies. - ... I think I trust you, that is, I think you will not go and leave us, I think you are not lying
to me.
Ah, blow to the stomach, right in the abdomen, under the lungs, a gap, a reminder: Will doesn't know that
Hannibal is a murderer, especially the Ripper.
Hannibal's plan, when he found out that he wanted to collect Will and Abigail, which had then radically
changed to waiting for Will to let him sit in his fucking flat for eternity, was always for Will to find out
everything.
That the pain was not as strong as the disappointment and that Will Graham loves him so much, that he
can tolerate his true nature.
But even with Will's beautiful darkness and attachment to pain, his empathy for the baser instincts of
humanity and his proneness to violence, she thought, if Will took a kiss and Hannibal's intrusions into his
checkered schedule Could he live with the idea that Hannibal gutted and ate human beings?
The answer was obvious, the hope futile and the optimism yet painfully strong.
Time was short when he toyed with the idea of manipulation, one that had superficially gotten the Grahams
to let him in, but he had barely made it to the gate of their souls and his loyalty had not been tested.
He had managed, for example, to get them both to smoke, that the dogs would accept it, that they all ate at
the same table. Being seen as one of them, but not really one of them.
The idea of Will hating him when he finds out is both painful and very possible, almost as much as
exciting. Will disconcerted, surprised and scared, when his eyes contemplate the truth and Hannibal opens up
the vast number of possible scenarios in which his boy would find himself, sure that he would never guess what
he would do.
And in that moment, when Will decides... Hannibal will know whether or not he will have to kill him, whether he
can take Abigail's sweet life for his own salvation.
Her heart said no, her sense of survival said yes.
That if they didn't accept him, he would have to content himself with living with his memories or that finally, and
in the long run, he would end his own unhappy life, taking with him what belongs to him, what could not be. -
Will, I want you to know everything about me.
Will stops in the cold and the smoke he spews, a product of the frigid air and internal heat, precedes
a smile. - I know you want me to, but you can't tell me everything, right?
- It's been many years hiding.
- I understand, I live in hiding... that is, not literally, I sometimes think that if everyone knew what I think when
I see the eyes of a murderer, they would move away from me.
- I don't.
- Not you, you're weird. - Will nods, stares at the landscape.
- Do you see yourself killing when you see them?
Will reaches into his coat, checks to make sure all five dogs are in sight, and nods. - I see every detail, I feel
like them, their wishes are my wishes. For a short time, although I always take a little of each with me.
- Is it hard to forget? Hard not to empathize?
- Because I like the feeling.
- What do you see when you look at me Will?
The boy stops his pace, the darkness of the night is not an impediment for the moon to illuminate his gaze
and for him to lose himself in Hannibal's eyes without running away. Will goes from being a nervous man to
looking cold and static in seconds. - Hunger and exceptionality, loneliness, but the loneliness with which one is
fine, however, you think you are superior, no one is worthy of you, it must be tiring.
Hannibal falls silent, absorbing his own image in Will's eyes, trying not to look down at what he reflects. -
And do you feel like running away when you see me?
- No, because it's strange, but I also see myself.
Will, I...
- You will tell me when you have to tell me, right? What you are, what you do, what you think, right? You
would never hurt us right? You're good, aren't you, Hannibal?
Don't be scared Will, don't go. - I love you Will.
For Will it is not an entirely clear answer to his questions, however, the blooming feeling of Hannibal's
lost eyes make him nod. - I think I love you too
Hannibal.
[...]
Trust and truth are clear etymological terms in knowledge for Hannibal, however, in practicality, they
have always been elusive when it comes to exercising them. - Do you want to take off your persona suit
before Will Graham but you are clear that he may not like what he sees behind him?
Bedelia was good when it came to clarifying Hannibal, within her game of double messages,
she was always one step closer to knowing him and yet, she only served as a simple mirror to wonder
things that he himself avoided. - Like and accept can be complementary terms such as distant, you
can not like and yet accept them in the same way.
- But you want him to like it. - That was Bedelia, what she didn't want to hear and yet she had to. -
You yearn to be seen but you yearn even more to be accepted.
- I have lived my whole life without the need for approval.
- Until the arrival of Will Graham and Abigail Graham, right?
- I think we confuse approval or acceptance with the fact that for the first time I meet a pair of
my height, whatever their reaction was, it is the only one that lends itself to a breath of
hope.
Bedelia crosses her legs, she is a beautiful but sarcastic and cold woman, a version of Will and Hannibal
too fearful, incomplete and yet intelligent. - Do you think that your approval is based on the fact that Will
Graham is the only person who can accept you?
- I don't think so, I know.
- You have placed too much hope in him, Hannibal, it is not like you.
- We never stop changing.
- Not you, you were complete before Will.
- I was calm, yes.
- However, the lack of control now is what corrodes you. - Bedelia stretches her neck and smiles. -
You've been here very little since you met him and yet, every time you've been here I've ignored
you. Is the change for the better or for the worse?
Hannibal thinks, and the violent memory of his utter new lack of independence is still painful,
but he already knows the answer. - I feel more alive, as if someone had woken me from a litany.
- Then, you must make him see you once and for all.
- Or live partially showing a truth.
- Will Graham is an intelligent man from what you tell me, a person who pays attention to details and
with a latent syndrome that will make him finally know that you are living a lie, do you think he will be
able to live calmly when he lives with that lie?
Hannibal imagined living with Will and Abigail, sooner or later going hunting, the questions
infinite, doubts and distrust being born, the pain of the lie fading and finally, the truth pushed out, without
permission. - It may be that I'm being somewhat optimistic about it.
- He will leave you in the same way so, one way or another, your destiny with Will Graham seems to be
finished.
- I told you he was different.
- We want excellence in the people we love, we blindly long for it and yet, the actions do not always
correspond to what we want.
- What I want can become what he wants, I could...
Bedelia then leans back and stares at him. - Hannibal, you and I know that not all the emotional attachment
in the world will change who you are.
- Then I could switch to Will Graham.
- I don't encourage manipulation.
- However, it is the only way.
Bedelia denies but her cold gaze is contained. - I still believe that the end is inevitable. - Take a sip of your drink.
- As I also believe that he has changed you and the one who is losing the details is your Hannibal.
- What are you talking about?
- You are so lost in the eyes of that boy that his sweet world has not allowed you to see who he is, that perhaps
he is manipulating, changing or transforming you, however you want to see it.
- Even if changing makes me acceptable, I would.
- Even if you have to sacrifice your physical attraction?
- Will is more than that.
- You want to consume as much as you can.
- All you can give me.
Bedelia smiles. - You see? You're changing Hannibal.
[...]
When Will arrives at his house, Hannibal smiles without realizing how much he likes that the boy is there,
walking through the corridors of his home, fitting so well despite the gross difference between elegance
and beauty. in its simplicity.
- Molasses. - Will says when he drops into the chair.
- Sorry?
- Molasses, it seems to be clay brown, but it's molasses, right?
Hannibal nods, transformed, malleable and devoted, Bedelia was right and although she always is,
she doesn't want to listen to it now, not when Will is kissed on the cheek, when he obediently gets an award for
his skill. - If it's molasses, knowledgeable boy.
- I like it when you say things like that to me.
- So you like it?
- You are... my attractive man.
Hannibal was serving the drinks when Will awkwardly tries to play along, stops and turns to look at the younger man
who has his hands in his pockets expectantly. - Attractive man?
- I can't call you boy, because you're bigger than me, physically and you're many years older than me, so you're
not a boy, you're a man, I think calling you old might sound derogatory.
Hannibal turns back to finish pouring the drinks in their hands. - I looked for that answer, definitely.
Will stutters behind him, when Hannibal reaches for his drink, Will is completely red. - I'm sorry, I don't know how to do
this.
- You are doing it very well.
- You are doing well, I am trying not to ruin it.
Hannibal reaches out his hand, which he can now touch, only from the waist up to stroke Will's beard. - You
couldn't ruin it even if you wanted to.
Will shakes his head, looks down and cradles himself in Hannibal's palm. - You seek exceptionality and yet, I can't
tell you even half of the nice things you tell me.
- You make me feel good things by talking and not doing it, too.
- You see? I, I, I can't say it like that.
- Try it.
Hannibal takes Will's hand, when they sit on the couch and Will bites his lips, he takes a long breath. - I like you.
- Could you do it better. - Hannibal has fun, Will denies because he knows.
- I like when you smile.
- It's good to hear it again, but you can even more.
- I like that you always bathe.
- We got lost there. - Will takes the face.
Hannibal laughs, for the first time in so long, it's weird to hear himself. - I better stop trying.
- Better yet, we'll try again.

-Hannibal...
- You're a smart boy, aren't you Will? - The blush again, Will nods. - So if you can, let's talk, for example,
about why you moan when I kiss you.
- No, um, we won't.
Hannibal tugs on Will's beard lovingly, the boy looks at him again. - Come on, just a logical explanation,
nothing you can't explain, right?
- Physiological reaction that leads to an onomatopoeia in the absence of clearer verbal resources that
encourage a positive feeling.
- It's so nice to see you talk dirty, Will.
Will bites his mouth, wants to laugh, just because Hannibal is smiling. - You're being sarcastic.
- We are learning together Will.
-As? I mean, how should I say it?
Hannibal traces his hand across Will's face, until it brushes his lips and returns to the nape of his neck. - You
moan because you get excited with me.
Will closes his eyes, feels the hand on his skin, and avoids facing the discomfort of the new exposure. -
Because? Why do I do it? Because with you?
- Only evidence of a healthy demisexuality, my boy.
- Attraction to minds. - A kiss on Will's unsuspecting cheek, while the boy opens his eyes and they are so close
that they can kiss. - I like your mind.
- Is this the first time you feel like this, Will?
- Yes, it's tedious. - Will looks at Hannibal's mouth. - I think about your tongue a lot of time a day, but I also think
about what you say with the same tongue and then your look, uhm, yes, I like to think about that. But it leaves me
with less time to think about my own things.
Hannibal gloats over his victory, on his way slowly through Will's new experience. - I apologize for that.
- Your presence brings conditions of arterial elevation in my body and also sensory alteration
and...
- You can say it better.
- I wanted to touch myself thinking of you a month ago.
Hannibal nods, smacking his lips at the thought of a bewildered Will not knowing what to do, totally turned on
and confused. - You did it?
- No, not me, that would be rude.
- If I don't find out, it wouldn't have to be bad, Will... Our sexuality and our thoughts are ours, our
decision and exploring your body, a healthy way of living together
with the new sensations.
- But why would I want to touch myself thinking about your voice?
- Because you like my voice.
- Have you touched yourself thinking of me?
I wanted to do it yesterday.
Will, blush, breathing, wanting to run away, stays. - You...
- I did not do it.
- You didn't follow your own advice.
- I'm afraid it was because if I did, I would have ended up in Wolf Trap, taking your clothes off.
- Hannibal, wait, wait.
- I stop.
Will nods, smiles, and shakes his head. - I think about the other day.
- What are you thinking about?
- I think of you... when we kissed for the last time.
Will is an exploratory being, two steps forward and one step back, sensitive and willing, frightened and cautious, who
must be let go, even if he is unaware of what it causes in Hannibal. - You can say it the way you want.
- But it's about your body, it's not right, it shouldn't.
Hannibal takes Will's face. - I'm asking you, you can talk about my body.
Will nods and continues to look at Hannibal's mouth. - Sometimes, shit, I sometimes think about your penis hitting my
leg, how it will feel, how it will smell, how it is, what size, what shape and I know it's not right, I don't have your permission,
intimate part, but no I can stop thinking about it and don't bother, okay? I know you don't speak so literally, I didn't mean
your penis, but it's your penis and I want to touch it, but not now, I don't know when and I keep talking, Hannibal please.
Breathing, patience and the pain in the belly, preceding the heat that is born in the damned innocence of a man
who, even though he was the father of a teenager, was a virgin in his hands. - It's okay Will, we're dating, you can
think like that about me, do you know why?
- Because?
- Because I like that you think about it.
Will looks down, bites his mouth when he looks up. - I also think about kissing you.
- Outside of lunch break? How daring, Mr. Graham.
- I know it's not lunch, but talking about your body...
- I don't know if I have fifteen minutes for it.

Hannibal, please...
Hannibal smiles and perhaps the only thing that prevents him from taking Will's body in his hands is the way Will
looks at him, fully trusting him and everything he says. - As we continue to learn, I must not ask for less than a clear
message, what do you want, Will?
- That you kiss me.
- What else?
- I don't want to say it.
Hannibal approaches Will, until their eyes are fixed on the other and their noses brush, while the boy is lost in his lips.
- You have my permission, I won't bother.
- I want to moan and feel you again.
- Let's materialize the term Will, you can say it, okay, we're together, right? I'm yours right?
- I want to feel your penis on my leg. - Will obeys and Hannibal growls before finally kissing, out of schedule.
The joined mouths skip the previous step they have been taking which is to savor shallowly until one opens their
mouths, only for Hannibal to be the first to fight for space, feeling the boy throw himself on the couch, without the need
to be pushed, while the elder appreciates such an act of commitment, such a display of advanced learning.
Hannibal suckles a bit, until impatient Will sticks his tongue in and prompts Hannibal's tongue to play. - Do that,
uhm, do that thing you always do.
- Yes, Will.
Hannibal wraps around Will's tongue, pushes it, until it's inside the boy's mouth and Will moans, opens his eyes and
Hannibal finds his green irises startled by that strange sensation of pleasure. - Oh God. - It only takes two seconds,
for Hannibal's body to be stretched out over Will, with his hands on his shoulders and his legs wrapped around the
thin body.
- I will have my hands up, but my body on you, what you will feel will be fine and if you want to stop you will tell me.
- Uhm yes, yes.
Hannibal now looms large, letting his suit fall open and Will's hands just follow what instinct tells him to touch,
Hannibal's back. The kiss is deep and finally, Hannibal's arousal hits Will's leg. - Can you feel it?
- Shit, yeah.
- You do that to me, see?
- I want the same, I want...
- Patience, love.
Will nods, the kiss continues and each time Hannibal feels that control is further away from his touch, that
his mouth almost bites the other's, Will can't breathe, until little by little his hip seeks friction while Will
continues fighting to keep up. Until the English come together and Hannibal tries, even a little, to find the same
answer in Will, he doesn't think to be discouraged when he doesn't find it, it's normal for Will to still be afraid
and that doesn't help.
But it's so hard now not to keep pushing, even more so when Will keeps moaning and wanting to keep up
with a brutal rhythm of a tongue he's lost against him. -Hannibal...
- I stop? Will, shall I stop?
- No... Oh. - Will separates from the mouth and takes a breath, until he looks down, at the junction of their
bodies. - Talk to me please.
Hannibal kisses her chin, her chin, her forehead, her nose. - The wood that you used in my chair, that
strange union, I really like Will, I like it because it doesn't sound...
- Yeah.
- It doesn't rattle when you sit on it, it's so good, just like you. - English together, a short kiss, tongue
licking Will's chin, Will opening his mouth in the shape of an O, trying to breathe.
- Do you like it?
- I like to think that we are in that chair.
- Hannibal, stop, stop...
Hannibal immediately gets up and Will too. - It's alright, it's alright, boy...
Will looks at Hannibal's pants, the erection is obvious but his eyes only look at Will. - I'm sorry.
- You don't have to apologize, Will, was it too much?
- I was thinking of taking your penis in my hand.
Hannibal has to breathe, three feet away from Will, turns his back, holds onto the table. - Why did not you do it?
- Because I'm afraid to do it.
Hannibal turns, Will looks at him like he's been naughty, and finally, another deep, long kiss, one that
makes Will melt a little in Hannibal's arms. - So, not today.
Will smiles, totally disheveled and with his shirt in disarray. - Love, I need some water, I'm dehydrated and
I...
Hannibal holds onto the waist, the heat subsiding to make way for attention. - Say it again.
- Love, I need water.
- Just the first.
- Love.
Hannibal nods, patience returns to his body and Bedelia is right, his transformation is obvious, but what
Bedelia doesn't know is that also Will's transformation and that only fate
will say who changes who more, enough to support the truth of the other. - One more time.
-Hannibal...
- Please.
- Love. - The boy with the swollen mouth, disheveled hair and messy shirt smiles, looking at him from
his molasses-colored furniture, not clay. His love.
I know oblivion and a notebook
Will does not forget things because it would be difficult to forget details when your behavior bases your walk
in society on a series of data collection, thus avoiding being classified and cataloged under stereotypes,
when strangely you did not belong anywhere.
How to say, what not to say, how to go unnoticed, what to do when you are surrounded by a group of
more than four people, how to look like a functional father in a school meeting or finally, how to be
someone relatively normal at first glance.
Lots of information to keep, lots of things not to forget.
Will, for example, remembers very well the first time Abigail had chickenpox, what was her temperature,
what clinic did he take her to the first long night she spent awake, terrified by a disease she had not
expected to arrive, and the second night of this, when it happened. counting each freckle that appeared on
the skin of the five-year-old girl.
One hundred thirty-two freckles, counted during three hours of an early morning on April 5, 2004, Abigail
had a 38 degree fever, it was cold in Wolf Trap, they only had three dogs and Will, feeling frustrated because
his daughter didn't stopped crying.
Abigail loves that story because her dad made her laugh telling it, Will is scared to remember it but it's
helpful because his daughter's medical history is the most important thing.
That's the way Will's mind is, perfect even when sometimes he'd rather it weren't.
Of course, there are times when Will forgets details, but rather obviates them indirectly, because his mind
has learned that he shouldn't always memorize things that hurt him. For example, she hardly remembers the
look on Abigail's mother's face the day she said goodbye, because she has omitted it and has decided that it
is a memory that she does not want to store. Not by choice, but because it is his tacit way of taking care of
his stability.
On the other hand, if you remember the stomach ache pill Abigail took on June 14 three years ago,
what she ate for breakfast on January 2 when they traveled south, and the face of the forty-eight
murderers she had caught along the way. throughout their lives, plus their files, number of victims and the
respective prisons where they finally ended up.
But if you ask Will the name of the music he danced to with his mother before she left, he doesn't
remember. Nor does he remember the first time he kissed, nor who was the girl Abigail kissed that day at
school and how it was the first dish that Hannibal served him at home, when he fell asleep feeling the peace
that only Hannibal could. make him feel
Because the less intellectually important things, the ones that made him feel strangely sentimental,
slip off his logical radar, perhaps to prevent him from collapsing in the face of more intangible emotions,
like shame, grief, pain, and love.
That's why Will has a diary, one where he writes down everything he doesn't want to forget, if he ever has
to face his heart and its sorrows. A small notepad that one day they gave him as gifts in a store. It is blue
and somewhat old, small enough to fit in your pocket and at the same time capable of storing everything
you need to remember. - I like
Hannibal Lecter, I'm dating Hannibal Lecter. - Write down a first of July, with trembling hands and a fine point
pen.
That was one thing that makes him nervous and that he obviously doesn't want to forget, the fact that he
likes being with Hannibal, even though it bothers him too.
Hannibal always has cold hands, he smells good, he has rough skin and dark eyes.
Hannibal wears the maroon suit, he likes the maroon suit, because maroon goes with everything Hannibal likes
and everything Hannibal likes, Will likes.
Not that Will likes opera, a repetitive symphony that made him nervous with its shrill reverberation, C note, D
note, C note too high, E note too low. No, Will doesn't like the opera, nor does he like expensive clothes, nor
does he like elegance, much less does he consider food something important.
But if Hannibal likes it, Will likes it. Because food now reminds him of Hannibal, so when he eats instant soup he
always thinks, what would Hannibal say? Will likes to imagine that he would make that disgusting face like when
something stinks, get upset and buy the most expensive cheese in the store just to balance the world by giving it
to him.
It annoys him about Hannibal, even though it loves Hannibal. - I love Hannibal.
High breathing, heaving chest, current in the stomach and nausea, that caused Hannibal and tickles, plus his
cold hands. Because when Hannibal grabs Will's waist and squeezes, tight organs, poor circulation,
unnecessary pain, Will can feel Hannibal's cold hands going through the fabric, as if he could directly touch his
skin. - Dad?
- You can go out, but no cigarettes.
- You smoke with Hannibal, he told me that...
Hannibal likes the cigar, the poppies as a centerpiece, he likes to drink expensive wine, he likes his shirt to
be tight, he likes to look at his appearance in every place where he finds a reflection, Hannibal is confident.
Will doesn't like confidence, because it has always been elusive to him.
But he likes that Hannibal is confident, even if he dislikes that he is so confident. - Attractive man. - Will tells him
now, just because Hannibal smiles, he likes Hannibal's smile, it makes him nervous.
Nervous not like in a fit, nervous in a good way. - Uhm, yes attractive man. - Repeat.
- I like that you call me that.
- I know, you are vain, look there is another place where you can see your reflection.
- Your eyes are enough for me.
Hannibal is vain, conceited and petulant, he takes advantage of every three sentences to make it clear that he
knows something that everyone else doesn't and makes an unnecessary comment, just to show that he is better
than everyone. But Will likes that, because Will learns from Hannibal and he likes everyone to be dazzled by him.
Will likes Hannibal and he puts it on the agenda because Will not only has ASD and it even seems that he is
demisexual, but he is also a hypochondriac and he is sure that one day he can forget everything, and he does
not want to forget everything that matters to him .
She doesn't want to forget Abigail's smile when they fish, Abigail's smile when Will gets her up at three in the
morning, she doesn't want to forget Abigail's first steps, her first fall, no
he must have laughed. She doesn't want to forget her daughter's freckles, the way she absorbs herself
in a book, she doesn't want to forget the steps of the only recipe she does well and that she likes to eat.
And that's why Will writes in his dirty little diary: Sausage Mac and Cheese, Step by Step.
Because if one day she forgets Abigail's smile, she'll be able to cook macaroni and then her daughter
will smile and remember that this woman is her little girl, the only person who thinks turning the lights on
and off several times before bedtime is funny, and that she dances when she does, just so she doesn't
make Will feel bad.
When he realizes that he likes Hannibal, he doesn't want to forget the way Hannibal smiles too and
the way he looks at him, like he's said something amazing, even if he just said, "Good morning, love." So
Will writes down, things that make Hannibal look at me just like Hannibal does.
And it's a long list, Hannibal likes, for example, that Will eats his food and praises it, he likes Will to swear
and say uncomfortable things, he likes Will to be wrong, to be imperfect. So at the bottom of the sheet,
Will writes, "Hannibal liked me the way I am and nothing more." And that saves so much space, because
you don't have to write much more about it, not much at least.
Because with Hannibal he doesn't have to make an effort, pretend to be someone correct, because
Hannibal listens very carefully when Will tells him about the photosynthesis process of a plant or the
stomach process of a dog, with the same curiosity as if he were talking about science and Pot.
Hannibal has cold hands.
Hannibal answers messages very quickly.
Hannibal is weird.
Hannibal is hiding something.
Hannibal is not available on Tuesday nights.
Hannibal has scars on his hands.
Hannibal smells like new clothes.
Will is Will with Hannibal, and it's so easy, that if Hannibal wanted to talk about opera, Will would
listen to him for years, no exaggeration, because Will also likes the things that Hannibal likes.
- Shit, I like it so much. - Hannibal also likes, continues on the next page, that Will notices the colors,
that he distinguishes them and does not get upset, nor sigh, nor roll his eyes, as everyone does, when
Will tells him for ten minutes the differences between white, cream and yellow.
Hannibal likes Will to kiss him, he likes to touch him and make him nervous. He likes Will to get out of
control and notices how Hannibal looks for any excuse to touch him, outside of schedule and context,
always without respecting space, when passing him a glass, putting on his coat, greeting him, saying
goodbye, even when Jack is in front of him. , Hannibal brushes his leg under the table, presses it and Will
shocks him, because it does... Well, process of an electron transferred to energy, or as Hannibal would
say, it excites him.
Things that excite Hannibal, he writes down on another sheet and Will looks sideways so that no one
sees him, because he shouldn't write those things or think about them but he doesn't want to forget it, if
he gets early Alzheimer's he wants to remember, if Will touches the back of his neck Hannibal looks at him
deeply, making him feel naked.
Hannibal likes Will to stretch his neck.
Hannibal likes to play it in front of others.
Hannibal likes to sharpen his knives.
Hannibal likes to be seen.
Hannibal likes his armchairs.
Hannibal is probably a murderer.
Hannibal likes it when Will curses.
It's a long list of things that Hannibal is turned on by Will, like the nape of his neck, biting his lips, wearing
the blue shirt, wearing only a T-shirt, skinny jeans, distinguishing colors, moaning and also, talking about
murder. - Things that excite Hannibal...
Price puts coffee on his table, tells him something about a new body, Will nods but doesn't really listen,
because that moment is to think about Hannibal and the things that turn him on, although talking about murder
turns him on, how complicated Hannibal is .
Uh, Hannibal arrived, Will puts his notebook away, because Hannibal is very curious and he's sure that he
asked him what he writes and Will doesn't know how to lie, he knows how to omit, so... uhm, he wears the
maroon suit. He likes the maroon suit, now everything will match Hannibal. - Hi Will. - Inappropriate environment
for that look sir!
- Hello Hannibal. - It's hard to concentrate in a meeting, when Hannibal is there, when everyone knows about
their relationship, but work is something that Will and Hannibal like, also and above all, he likes when they
play the tests and share ideas, the Hannibal's cold hands brush against him and Will wants to write down in
his notebook the way Hannibal's hand feels on his skin.
Cold, hard, rough and sure, as if you were taking the metal of a railing and so sure, that you could hold
on to it without asking where they were going, because for sure that the place they were going, it was
going to be fine, just because Hannibal converted all in something good, in something nice.
- I found mud on the soles of the feet, however they are not from the same place where we found the
body. - Beverly calls his attention, when they have the tests in order on the main table.
- It's not strange, the Ripper usually kills elsewhere, so he perfects the design, right? - He likes the tone of
Hannibal's voice, it's always low and foreign, with the clear intention of pronouncing English perfectly,
making him seem like a gentleman from the books that Will read as a child.
- However, the land is not from Baltimore, it is a type of fertilizer that is only planted in poppy gardens and in
Baltimore there are only two places where there are those plants. - Hannibal likes poppies, Will thinks
because he has seen them at home, in his little garden, Hannibal says that
brings from a gardening... Where is that gardening? Oh you forgot, it must be in your notebook.
He likes that Hannibal likes plants, he doesn't like them, but Hannibal always places them on the table as the
centerpiece and everything looks so elegant, so Hannibal.
- We have a lead. - Jack says, Hannibal seems a little tense and he knows it because he looks at Will, Will
likes when Hannibal gets angry or worried, because he retracts his forehead and he knows that he thinks of
scenarios, of possible reactions and he likes that Hannibal thinks so much .
- Two groups, Doctor Lecter will go with Beverly and Price, Will will go with me and Bryan, we will go after
lunch, as soon as they are in the place and they do not find anything, they call the other group to warn if they
should be alert, we can find a refuge, maybe we can find him himself... - Hannibal takes advantage of the
metal table of bodies to see his reflection, Will likes Hannibal to do that, so he wonders if Hannibal will have
brought food.
- Will, I brought a lunch for you, but I'm afraid I have to go-
- You will stay with me? Then you'll go out with Jack, you still have to stay, right? - Will likes how good
Hannibal smells and especially the maroon suit, so he stretches his neck because it's something Hannibal
wants him to do.
- Will, I would have to go-
- Stay, can we uhm, can we kiss?
He likes it when Hannibal darkens his gaze, when he forgets everything that's going on around him for a
simple promise of physical closeness. - I'll stay Will, I'll do what you want.
When Hannibal serves the food at his small table, Will is in the bathroom looking at his own blushing
reflection, he feels that he is forgetting something important, so he takes out his small notebook, just to
take advantage of the time and write down other things that he does not want to forget, such as For example.
Hannibal likes centerpieces.
Hannibal likes it when Will kisses him.
When he writes, he turns back the pages, just to remember what he can do to make Hannibal kiss him in
that way that looks like he's going to lose control.
Hannibal is turned on by Will wearing skinny jeans, that's not possible right now, Hannibal likes to be
possessive, Hannibal likes to watch Tattle Crime, Hannibal likes when Abigail calls him daddy, Hannibal likes
to buy his own meat, Hannibal likes to lie, Hannibal is turned on by Will taking his beard and running his tongue
over his lips, yes that will work.
- Fettuccini in pesto sauce and glazed pork with truffles.
Hannibal likes to cook but most of all he likes to cook for Will so Will does what rewards the attractive man
he dates, in search of physical contact, he licks his lips and takes his beard. - Damn, that looks delicious.
- Will I should go, I have a pending to solve and...
- I don't want to eat without you.
- Of course Will, I can stay a moment...

Will eats faster than usual, he is eager to touch Hannibal, even more so when Hannibal seems worried, because
Will knows that Hannibal has nothing to worry about, because everything is fine, because Will likes Hannibal too,
just the way he is. Without changing anything.
So he tries to get his attention and moans when the fifth bite is over and Hannibal isn't so worried anymore,
Hannibal looks in love, but sad but more in love, he's surely cold.
Will knows that he has to ask for what he wants, because Hannibal says that he has to do it since only then will
they advance, that his wishes can be actions if he concretizes them by speaking. That Hannibal could do whatever
Will wanted, that it wasn't wrong to ask, that nothing could be wrong if he consulted first, that this was what being
together was all about. - Uhm, Hannibal...
- I should go Will, I'll be back as quickly as possible, I assure you.
- But I want you to touch me from the waist down.
Then Will knows that he did something right because Hannibal is not worried at all, not distracted, not upset, he's
excited, looking at Will like he's going to eat him, so hungry that Will recedes a little at his table, while He still has
the cutlery in his hands. - Will, don't play with me. - Then Will shrinks a little more, he thinks that he should run,
that he feels as if he should, but he doesn't move, he stays, because he would rather stay than be consumed
than stop seeing Hannibal.
- I don't, uhm, I'm not being sarcastic, I like you and I want to do what you like, you like
touch me.
Will...
- Show me Hannibal, I want to know what it feels like.
- Will you let me touch you as I want Will?
Nod quickly.
He hasn't finished eating, but Will is hungry only for Hannibal and the sounds he makes when he wants
more and that day he'll give him more, because that's something he wants to know so he can write it down in
his notebook later, to always see it, because if Hannibal he wants him the way he is, Will wants to meet Hannibal
and give him everything he can, everything he wants, even if it's wrong, even if it feels weird at first, he wants, he
wants to.
- I'm going to kiss you Will.
- Alright.
When Hannibal kisses him, Will knows he has to open his mouth to forty degrees, upper lip up, then down,
Hannibal's saliva trailing over his skin and then tasting, and Hannibal tastes like Hannibal, like green olives and
martinis, like this. who opens his mouth and likes it, likes it, likes it.
Because the mouth is hot and Hannibal isn't patient, so they don't go through the anticipated light kiss that involves
moving their lips over Hannibal's hard lips, but instead involves Will opening his mouth wide, more than forty
degrees, almost fifty. degrees, rather sixty because Hannibal's thick tongue forces him to do it.
He can't breathe, he doesn't need to, although from time to time, Hannibal releases him just to kiss his beard, so
Will takes advantage of taking a breath, opening his eyes and noticing that the ceiling is big,
be white and he doesn't faint, because Hannibal has pushed him against the wall, cold and hard, while his body
has no room to move, but it's not important, he doesn't have to run away, he wants that, he wants Hannibal, he
wants to feel ...
Hannibal's penis is against his thigh, well, well, well, it's okay, Hannibal is not going to have sex, not because he said
he was going to wait, because he said they would only do what Will asked and what he asked was that they touched
it, but I also wanted to feel Hannibal's penis, it's big, eight inches, maybe, he doesn't know, uh Hannibal is rubbing
against my thigh, uh okay, the friction is masturbation, okay, everything's okay. He lets Hannibal masturbate against
him, because they're in a relationship and that's okay. Oh, it feels good.
- You are so delicious Will, you are so fucking...
- Touch me Hannibal.
But Hannibal doesn't do it immediately, but he kisses Will again while his hands run over Will's waist, belly, chest
and Will wonders what Hannibal is looking for, why does he take time, why doesn't he touch him, because he keeps
waiting, but the older man's mouth comes quickly to block his thoughts, he kisses him harder, almost bites him and
savors Hannibal's teeth, he tries to make his tongue have a place, because he likes the viscosity of Hannibal's tongue,
He then mimics what Hannibal does and sticks his tongue in as hard as he can, until he pushes Hannibal's tongue
out. - MMM. -Hannibal likes Will to imitate him, to be like him, he is learning to be.
- Please, touch me Hannibal.
- How do you want Will to do it?
Hannibal's gaze is inquisitive yet furious, strong and controlled. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know...
- Tell me your limits, Will.
- You will stop when I ask you to.
- I will do that.
- You can do it inside the pants.
- Delicious.
- Touch me Hannibal.
- Words Will, tell me what you are looking for.
- I want... I want to be like you, hard... uhm, I want to get hard.
- Will you do everything I ask?
- Yeah.
Hannibal's hands are cold, but they feel icy as he slowly moves down Will's belly and stops on the leash as he watches
Will, never looking down. - Look at me all the time, even when I stop looking at you, you're going to look at me.
- Yeah.
Hannibal licks his lips, looks at Will's mouth, and Will stops breathing, but he feels the slack of his belt, therefore the slack
of his pants and the button that comes undone and then the zipper, but he concentrates on looking at Hannibal, not wanting
to run, because he feels like he should. But it doesn't go away. - Oh, God, I'm scared, I'm scared.
Hannibal looks up again, his fingers now trailing over Will's underwear, over Will's bulge. - Do you trust my Will?
- Yeah.
- It will feel good, I promise you it will.
- Tell me you liked Hannibal.
- I like you Will, I like you so much.
- um. - Hand makes a line over his penis, his penis soft and guarded, long forgotten, never considered for pleasure, only
used for urination, for logical functions like procreation over and over again, to be functional, a normal person . But never for
pleasure, because Will does not know pleasure, he knows logical things and what is logical is the best thing he does, but
feel no, omit yes, lie neither and cold hands, cold hands, cold hands that touch him.
- Soft skin, smooth penis, you have a nice penis Will.
- Thank you, ah... Touch me yes, touch me.
Hannibal knocks, his hand is inside his underwear, Will is still pushed against the wall, holding on to Hannibal's
shoulder, looking now at his office door, locked and concentrating on the key. But then she remembers that she has to look
at Hannibal, that she likes him so much that she lets him try to teach her that she can feel pleasure, that his penis can be
used for more.
The hand first recognizes, it walks over his sleepy penis, slowly that he can easily pick it up in a fist. - Look at me, Will.
Will does, he looks at Hannibal and Hannibal bites his mouth, to then kiss again and touch a little more, now the testicles,
Will tenses, but continues the kiss, his tongue has returned to his mouth again, losing control. battle of who is thirstier,
because now the attractive man eats him, penetrates his mouth at will, because he eats Will and his hand, it begins to rise
and fall, although still soft, Will recognizes the electricity he felt that night in her belly.
Electricity, tickling, nerves, a current, hot and cold, in his lower part, which makes him tense. - Such a brilliant mind,
beautiful boy, fuckable, fuckable, do you know how much I would give to suck you?
I would suck you so good my boy.
- Uhm, uhm, no, God, the mouth is not for... Uhm, yes.
Hannibal is still watching him now, wet-mouthed and hungry, as he slowly moves up and down his still-soft
penis, though Will feels the current in his belly coming so slowly, he can barely remember where he is, hanging on every
thing and gesture he makes. do Hannibal. - A functional body, so perfect, that reacts to words, that obeys, so docile,
malleable.
- Yeah.
- You like to see me Will, you like this suit, you like that I feed you, that I cook for you, that I take care of you,
you like my hands, my smell, right?
- Yeah.
Will feels, as the current now skirts his penis and as the heat floods him, that he has to close his
eyes several times, hard and only forces himself to open them when Hannibal bites his chin, when
he licks over his lips and finally pulls his hand out, leaving his penis, so that with the same tongue
that licked it before, lick his hand. - Perfect flavor and balance, you taste good Will.
- Oh.
Wet hand on his cock and finally, a hard tug and Will, finally…he's hard. Hannibal, Hannibal...
- Brilliant mind, schedule boy, so beautiful, unpredictable, intelligent, I'll cook so much for you
Will, perfect body, perfect anatomy...
- I'm hard, I'm... Ah.
Hannibal's hand pulls two more times, until it reaches the trunk and then moves away, to imitate the
movement again, as he kisses again, short kisses, cheek bite. - Your nape, boy, let me kiss your
nape.
Hannibal licks it there too and Will looks at the ceiling, remembering that his penis has
Hannibal's saliva on it, while he is being masturbated, while the current is now in every part of
his body and burns cold, while his soul cools, accepting let the hand now hit his pubis, to pull
him. Hannibal tugs at him, twice, then touches his testicles and his other hand keeps Will steady
at the hip, then squeezes his buttocks. - Shit, shit.
- Do you know what I think Will? - Hannibal's penis masturbates on top of him. - How beautiful you
would look being fucked by my penis Will, your functional body under me.
- Uhm, no... oh, please, no...
- Not my boy, not now, but someday.
- Yeah.
Hannibal's hand is now faster and no longer follows the natural order of the pattern he had
been doing, while his push against Will is more clumsy, now Will feels like he could pee, but he
knows that it's not that, he knows that the pleasure is big that has to finish. - You're going to run
when I tell you, because it's okay for you to run, Will, because you deserve pleasure.
Just like the day Hannibal put Will to sleep, like when he stopped his thoughts when talking about
the green furniture, like when Hannibal decided to give an order, Will listened carefully, because
Hannibal's voice and orders work for when the Will's mind gets messy, when he needs someone to
calm him down.
- Running is fine.
Quick jerks, sounds that are long moans, Hannibal growling, the sheet of sweat on his forehead,
Will's leg pressed, being used and his hands holding tight to Hannibal, who is now pulling on his
cock fast, as he kisses him again and Will breathes so fast, opening his eyes to remember everything
with or without an agenda, unforgettable and letting his body get carried away by the hardness of
Hannibal's cold and rough hand. - Can Will run with you?
- Oh, oh, oh, yes, yes.
His hand follows the rhythm of Hannibal's hip against his thigh, fast now, perfectly timed, as the heat of an
imminent end fills him, that his mind is blank as he memorizes the sensation, as he lets himself be carried away by
the hand that makes a slamming sound over him, the pain of pleasure filling him and he has to moan, because he's
afraid if he doesn't, it won't happen, it won't come.
But he can almost get there, but he waits because Hannibal said he'll tell him when to do it. - Shit, ah, Hannibal, I
like it, I like it.
Will... Will...
-Hannibal...
Two more painful tugs, his leg fully pressed, Hannibal shoving him hard, and finally, a grunt. - Now Will, come with
me Will, run.
The orgasm completely blanks out his mind, as hot cum spills from him and onto Hannibal's hand, which he pushes
harder, until he feels totally fuckable really, fucked and bites his mouth, until the blood and pain and Cold, he tries
to contain everything he feels. - Oh... Hannibal.
The orgasm lasts one hundred and fifteen seconds but it feels like an eternity, when Hannibal kisses him again
and his heavy breathing tries to return to normal. But Will gives in and admits, it would be okay if he feels that way for
the rest of his life, if Hannibal will hold him like this, if he will always look at him like that. He wants lots of orgasms, he
wants Hannibal against his leg, he wants his penis in Hannibal's hand all the time.
Hannibal smiles, Hannibal likes my penis, he likes masturbating on me, he likes my orgasm. - What do you
think?
- In that you are stained and that I am too.
- Besides.
- I like orgasms.
- Delicious.
Hannibal smiles more as he smells it, rests his forehead on his forehead, he knows that in ten minutes they
will have to meet up with Jack, to separate briefly. But Will stands there, letting Hannibal smell him. - Attractive
man.
- My boy.
When Hannibal closes his eyes, Will knows that he loves him and that there is no return from where he is and he
knows that his notebook has truths that he has omitted. But there are other things that he prefers to remember, such
as Hannibal's kindness when he chooses to love him as he is, that's all that matters, at least at that moment, in that
last moment, when Hannibal is just Hannibal and not that, that think it is. That Hannibal will always love him, even
when Will himself is so dark, so strange too. - Hannibal I want to tell you...
The door rings, it's Jack announcing the departure to two different places.
[...]
The place smells of fresh poppies, fertilizer and refrigerant, as it also smells of lime and
preservatives, it is a place that was once a flower shop and proof of this are the pots that adorn it, empty
and dry, but perfectly ordered. In the middle there are saws, knives, pesticides and clothes from... former
victims, in the middle of the table, like a decoration center, is a deposit of pills, sleeping pills. Will walks
around, watches and absorbs the house of the killer he knows. - It can be here.
- There is no one here.
- The place is big.
- He's not here now, he couldn't, he is...
When he walks, he finds that the order is perfect, even to kill and also to be observed, because
every two meters, Will finds a reflection, a metal, a mirror, a glass, making Will feel accompanied and
therefore, making the Ripper sits when he kills, being able to see himself from every angle. - He likes to see
himself in his reflection. - In the middle of the place, a large hole full of mud with sharp stones on the edges
announces a well, for unclear purposes, but Will is careful to go around it, wondering how many people have
fallen there.
He nods and continues looking, he finds that everything is terribly aesthetic, like the chair in the middle,
ebony and not jet, accompanied by a molasses brown table and not clay and a remarkably new green
cabinet, through which he slides his hands slowly, recognizing its shape. its size, its texture. - They don't
answer, they don't call, I'll keep trying to call Will, don't go too far.
- Okay Jack.
The refrigerator is filled with an endless number of unidentified meats, divided into indistinct packages with
the name of each dish on it, pork meat, lamb meat, lumberjack meat, dentist meat, mechanic meat. Will walks
his hands, because of the cold he feels when he sees that the variety is a characteristic that he had not
mapped in the Ripper and that now, he valued because knowledge is always good, because Will always loves
to learn, because. - Noise, I think someone else is here, Graham.
Will has a gun on his waist, but he doesn't take it, because he doesn't remember, because obviously Will
forgets certain things, like that, just the ones that protect him. So just walk, through the small passageway, the
one that leads to the sound and when you see, with the naked eye on the floor, in the midst of a reassuring
silence, the same silence that makes you sleep when you have peace, the old chair of indecipherable color that
once inhabited Hannibal Lecter's waiting room.
The famous sad chair that was later replaced by the new green chair and now graced the gloomy
place, which Will watched quietly, touching his pocket just to remind himself that he shouldn't always forget
the details, that sometimes he omits too much, like the obvious. . - Uhm, no.
No.
The footsteps of two people, besides his, accompany his deafening silence, one is Jack and the other, it could
be the Ripper, hot, Will isn't cold, he's hot and he's afraid because he doesn't know
what to do, there is no book for that, there is no social norm, no warning and precedent, it does not exist.
So, Will doesn't run like he would otherwise, he moves and pushes the furniture angrily, just enough for it
to go into the mud pit, to make it disappear, so that the obvious isn't true and Jack doesn't see it. , so that
nobody knows and pushes, while the steps are faster and faster and instead of taking the weapon, he pushes
the chair harder, as if he could erase it, eliminate it.
A background shot, Jack too far away from where he is and instead someone else's light footsteps closer
and closer, Will worries that he will never be able to write anything down again, like things he now wants to
forget and even skip, like Abigail and he, perhaps they will never be able to fish again, because he is about
to sleep, to die. - Push, push, not furniture, not an armchair of horrible color, no, no, it's not here, if I dirty it,
it's not here, it won't be.
He pushes so hard, that now his foot is about to sink and slip, only to be about to fall and he thinks it's better
to die like this, than at the hands of... He thinks it's better to die than see, than exist, than exist. ...Hannibal
likes to sharpen his knives, Hannibal is probably a murderer, Hannibal is not around on Tuesdays, Hannibal likes
poppies, Hannibal had a knife in his car, Hannibal killed the man from the club, Hannibal... So Will missteps,
turns around and is about to fall, with the chair, against the stones.
But a cold, hard hand, as rough as a metal railing, supports him, it is cold as ice itself and can easily carry
him, behind his hand, a transparent suit, over the garnet suit. - Will.
- Hannibal likes order and to see his reflection.
- Will.
- Hannibal is the Ripper.
- Will, be quiet, please, Will... - Hannibal has a knife in his hand, cold in the other hand.
- I let the Ripper touch me.
He holds onto the hand, he doesn't know where it can take him anymore and lets himself be dragged
outside, then in the middle of the darkness and the destroyed furniture, Will takes his diary, trembling,
nervous and without taking his eyes off Hannibal, who it looks dark, which looks like an animal, circling him,
hunting. Hannibal likes to kill.
- Will, you're going to get out of here and you won't talk to anyone, do you understand?
- Yes. - That's why Will Graham forgets things, omits things and writes them down, because he doesn't want
to feel and because he prefers to think, but now he has to feel and think at the same time, about those things he
doesn't want, like shame, sorrow and pain.
know me i'm a killer
Author's recommendation: Listen to the song from the middle of the chapter onwards.
When Hannibal was a boy, winter was the worst time of the year, because you couldn't enjoy the cold
when you didn't have a coat, a roof, and food to keep you warm. Just a lot of newspapers, a staircase
under a restaurant where they won't kick him out and the hope that this was one day less for winter to end
and finally stop being cold.
The only thing that soothed his trembling hands, buried in his stomach in search of warmth, were the
dreams that his mind recreated when he fell asleep with his feet wet from the rain, waiting for the
pneumonia to finally kill him: Hannibal dreamed with the memory of his sister, sweet Misha and her endless
long, contagious, high-pitched laughs.
When Misha died, dreams were always filled with her, at least for the first three years when he wandered a
world that insisted on keeping him alive, even if he had no reason to. Unable to die, a sixteen-year-old
Hannibal began to kill only those who enjoyed the cold, as he never could.
Filthy rich men who kicked the paupers like him, frivolous women who overspent to maintain a privileged
image, the ungrateful son who spent his parents' money on gambling, people who should be cultured by
being vulgar. When his uncles adopted him and the money was good for him again, Hannibal still hated the
cold, sure that four years on the street had penetrated his soul enough to make him sick for life.
However, there were things that helped Hannibal to control the cold, such as the wines that he began
to study with determination, the good food that warmed his body, the fur coats, the recognition of people
and finally, an equipped home, to the worst days of winter
Yet despite all the food and wine and flattery, there was always that time of day when Hannibal shivered
with cold.
Then he would kill and the physical effort would briefly warm him up, to spend the rest of the night next to
the fireplace feeding the heat he so longed for with wood, so that when he slept, the memory of Misha would
come to him and thus bring the days to the present. before the cold made him sick. He hated the cold,
because nothing warmed him, nothing, until Will Graham.
Cold, cold, cold, you're like cold Hannibal.
Rude boy, can't you see that the cold is the worst thing there is? Why don't you run away from him?
Why do you insult me like that? Can't you see I'm sick? Can't you see it's contagious? - Cold Cold Cold.
- Insistent boy, do you love the cold? The cold is me, forever.
Then his mind, which considered itself terribly ill until the end of its days, certain that one day it would
freeze to death before its own soul, found itself loved by precisely what it hated most.
Now Hannibal is still cold in a perennial winter, but since then he has known how to shelter himself in
the best way, eating the best, drinking excellence, killing urgently and dreaming, with Misha or, like seven
months ago, with Will Graham. Dreams of laughter with his sister,
dreams of long talks with Will, who instead of cold is pure heat, burning like the desert, suffocating in his
control, pure summer.
Hannibal wasn't cold when he was with Will, and if he was without Will, he could dream of him, nestle in
his warm memory, until he saw him again. Will was heat to him, so when Will Graham learned the nature
of his cold, a murderer, Hannibal wondered if the day had finally come when hypothermia would rule his
joints and he would die, because Will, no longer would. wanted to.
The furniture lies in the large hole while Hannibal trembles with cold, fear and everything that
forgetfulness implies, as if he were not the one holding the knife before an unarmed Will Graham, but
rather the opposite, as if he were standing on the gallows, witnessing his irrevocable fate.
As if he was really the one who is sunk instead of the piece of furniture.
Will is nervous, but not confused, like he wants to find a foothold but can't bring himself to touch his arm. -
I gave you enough time.
- Will?
- I waited.
Will...
- And yet, you didn't tell me.
Hannibal calculates that in less than four minutes Jack will reach them, enough time to disappear forever
and even kill Will, of course. But leaving forever meant seeing Will no more, and killing Will meant his own
imminent death.
- Four minutes. - Ebony furniture, molasses armchair.
- Will?
- We have four minutes before Jack arrives.
Hannibal nods, watches carefully every movement of Will Graham, the same boy he had moaning in his
hands no less than two hours ago. Will has a notebook in his hands, which he looks at, looks up, and
looks again. - Will, tell me what to do.
- Three minutes.
- I will go.
- No.
Will takes a breath, looks into Hannibal's eyes, in a flickering flash, and knows that Will is adopting
his behavior using his empathy, he knows it when his gaze is cold and his breathing calms quickly. - Take
off the plastic suit and give me the knife, you will not do what you planned to do, you will not kill Jack.
- I need you to tell me what you're doing, Will.
- The suit disappears, you must have a place that is not easy to search at first hand, hide it there and give
me the knife.
- I need to go.
- Two minutes Hannibal, do what I tell you.
Hannibal gives the knife to Will even if it means being even more exposed, stripped to the hilt on a street in Lithuania,
ready to die, but he doesn't care anymore. Because Will now knows, because he sees, like a fool, that Will has his
life in his hands and he can't even fight to stop it, to recover.
He hides the suit, he knows there is a minute left, when Will raises the knife and Hanibal closes his eyes, but he
feels no pain. When she looks again, Will has cut his arm and leg, deep but not damaging cuts.
When they meet their gazes, Will is no longer Will, but someone else, Will is Hannibal Lecter, terminally ill from the
cold. - Ready?
Hannibal doesn't know what he's referring to, but he nods. Will cuts Hannibal in the stomach, superficially
and Hannibal feels no pain, from the adrenaline and surprise. - Oh.
Finally Will drops the knife, looks at Hannibal. - I waited for you and yet you let me find out like that.
Will...
- I always knew, Hannibal.
[...]
When Jack arrives, the scene is dramatic and Hannibal hopes to be as good an actor as Will, that same clumsy
and shy boy who is now on the floor holding his sore arm, although twenty seconds ago he wasn't complaining, he
didn't even notice the cuts made by him. itself. - What the fuck happened here?
- Jack attacked us, Hannibal arrived on time and I... Uhm, I couldn't stop him, Jack, it was him, Jack.
Hannibal holds the blood ejected from his body, stares at Will, and the memory of Bedelia's words resonates so
clearly now, like everything obvious, that he didn't see. Who was Will Graham then?
- You need to ask for reinforcements, Jack must be around. - Will speaks, Hannibal mistakes his astonishment for
silence.
We'll fence off the place and...
- Jack, you can still catch him.
When Jack disappears, Will stands up again, surveying the place, and the notebook returns to his pocket.
Hannibal holds his wound, feeling weak but too conscious to care. - We have enough time to get the meat out of
the refrigerator, I'll finish sinking the furniture.
- Are you protecting me Will?
- No, no, don't talk, I don't want to think, I need you to be cold, I need, I need, not to think, just...
- Being the Ripper.
- That's how it is.

Then Hannibal is seen, when he stops holding his wound and looks at Will, in a perfect and clear reflection
of himself. Beautiful and painful. There is nothing in the room but the presence of two dead hearts, frozen,
practical and intelligent, without soft stutters, nor tics, nor doubts. Just Hannibal and his reflection. - Ten
minutes.
Will denies. - Twelve, Jack will not give up so easily, he will surround the property, twelve minutes, almost thirteen.
Hannibal carries the meat in a bag, which is what he planned to do before Will Graham's smooth body
made him give in to his plan. Will instead uses whatever is at hand to push the cabinet further, hoping every
trace of Hannibal's will go into the dirt.
They don't talk when they are working, Hannibal can only feel in his own company, as if he had arrived in
time to dispose of the evidence on his own, but now there are two who can help. Will is very different from
the Will who was with Matthew Brown, but with the same drive, detached from his sweet personality,
focused on the murderer on duty.
Hannibal recognizes himself in every cold gesture, like in the way he moves and for the first time he
doesn't like his reflection, because he misses Will Graham but Will isn't there with him, not now, because
Will wouldn't help him, although he doesn't know exactly what will will do - Stop looking at me, don't think,
don't do it.
- It's okay Will.
When Jack returns, the meat is in Hannibal's car and the furniture is unrecognizable, Hannibal having
become fifty percent bled out from the exertion, so he is now genuinely resting, without having to pretend
he is actually hurt. But he's not only hurt, he's alone, he misses Will, he wants to see Will. The blood she's
shed is no more than her soul has lost when the boy is everything she hoped for, but doesn't seem to be
what she wanted. No trace of sweet Will, just Will, Will Lecter with no fight, no introspection. He misses him,
he needs him. Will, please...
Jack talks to Will, who remains cool and matter-of-fact, far out of his reach. - Did you get to see his face?
- He had a cap, he was tall and strong, strong jaw, Caucasian skin.
- Why didn't you shoot Will?
- I was paralyzed, I did not expect to see him.
Jack, I...
- Lecter needs an ambulance.
He wants to get Will back, giving himself up is a possibility, because Will expected something in return
if he always knew it, if he always knew him he expected something and Hannibal wanted to give it to
him, even if it meant the end of his freedom, a winter in its splendor. - Jack, me.
But Will looks at him, a warning that means silence, finally Hannibal passes out.
[...]
When he wakes up in the clinic, he is quickly released with a minor injury and the first thing he does is
handle Wolf Trap, but now the huge house looks different, as there is no dog smell, no dog, no Abigail, no
Will, no clothes, no nothing. The house is empty and a note lies on the table
from the kitchen: "Don't look for us"
Hannibal grabs his burning stomach, as the pain hits suddenly and immediately, plus the emptiness of fear chokes
him, to the point where he doesn't want to live and it hurts, so bad he has to kneel and hold on. Lithuania has
ceased to be Lithuania and has become the Baltimore winter, hopeless and icy.
- Will... no.
Then he wakes up, he is not in a clinic, he is in his own car, driven by the minor.
- You were dreaming. - Will's voice feels like a balm, Hannibal quickly stretches out his hand and when he touches
Will, only his arm just to know it's real, Hannibal calms down and can feel rationality return to his body. Will allows
himself to be touched, but his jaw is hard and tight and still, being Hannibal. - I dreamed that you were leaving.
- I didn't leave you at the clinic, I'm taking you to my house.
- Will, will you go?
- Why did your last victim end up having soil from your poppies?
- I've become careless.
- Clumsy, uhm, you're clumsy... you're not usually like that.
- I have been since I fell in love with you.
Will shakes his head, shakes his head, and goes back to being Hannibal, cold. - If I take you to a clinic they will
see that the cut was premeditated so as not to hurt, I will sew you up myself.
- Will you go?
Hannibal sleeps.
[...]
When she wakes up, Abigail's eyes are cold and serious, as she carries the tray of sterilized alcohol filled
with bloody gauze pads. His girl looks beautiful, but numb as blood, which Hannibal assumes to be his, adorns her
hands and forehead. - Shall we let him die?
- Don't know.
- We can say that he bled to death, dad.
- Can.
Abigail tilts her face, as Will does when considering the options, finally pulling out a knife, as Will continues to cut
into her belly, searching for the damaged artery, perhaps slowly killing her. - He deserves to die. Abigail sighed.
He stretches out his hand to touch her, feel her, ask for forgiveness, make her understand. But there is nothing to
touch, she is not real.
The air dissipates, in an illusion.

Then Hannibal wakes up, he's in the Wolf Trap.
He touches his stomach and it's stitched up, healed and clean, shirtless and on Will Graham's bed, standing and
facing him is Will watching, coldly. - Dreaming again.
- I don't like what I dream, it's not usually like that.
- Our dreams are the unconscious of what we think.
- In my dreams you leave or decide to kill me.
- So it's all about the thoughts of your subconscious, your materialized fears.
- Will, stop... I ask you to stop empathizing with me, if you'd be so kind.
Will narrows his eyes, considers it, and Abigail, awakens him with desire, with a cup of herbal tea and a
worried look, being the girl he had known. - You woke up Hannibal, take it, it's good to relax.
Her smile feels honest, her cheeks red again, the affection intact, Hannibal wondering if she already knows, if Will
has been honest with her. - I must confess that it is reassuring to know that my nurse is better than the last one I
had, thanks Abi.
- The Ripper injured you, presupposition that we will take care of you.
Hannibal looks at Will, Will is still standing cold. - Abigail, you need to buy more gauze, something for dinner and
the pills I sent you to your cell phone.
When Abigail disappears, Will continues to stand staring at him, arms folded and a serious look, Hannibal wonders
how long he has been watched, when Will will feel pain in his knees from waiting and above all, he wonders what
will happen to him. - Will, enough.
- How many people did you make me and Abigail eat?
- Enough, only the best.
- The best is not human flesh.
- You ate those who hurt you, only bad people, no innocent.
- Because you ate the innocents.
- Will, come back, Will I want it to be you.
- Who do you think you are to decide who is innocent and who is not?
- I'm the only one capable of doing it.
Then Will bends his leg a little, enough to feel pain and finally, he blinks, many times and goes back to being
who he always was, infected by Hannibal's sensitivity.
So Will is Will, green eyes again. Will blinks, until tears well up and Will cries. - You're the Ripper.
- No, don't cry, you don't have to cry, Will, listen to me, you're going to stop crying, you're going to...
- Don't give me orders again! Don't mess with my mind!

Silence, a deafening, painful and strange silence, one that is not enjoyed. Hannibal holds out his hand, not
reaching Will but asking to be touched. - Can I touch you?
- No, no, no, I don't want you to touch me, I don't want to feel your hand, because it's cold, because it's rough,
because you lied and you... and you, lied, lie, many times and you, you... you killed innocents, I... I wanted to
wait, so, uhm, pain, pain, pain, heat, heat, heat... So, you... You forced me to love you, you didn't leave me a
choice, I couldn't choose, because they never loved me, so you loved me, you made me love you, I couldn't
choose, I couldn't. You prevented me from seeing, I couldn't choose, because you were always the only option,
why? Are you bored of loneliness? You needed another reflection, uh, you lied.
Will walks many times, around the bed, Hannibal feels the frustration when the pain prevents him from moving,
when he can't stop WIll. So Will takes out his notebook, the one he read earlier and Will reads it. - Hannibal is
probably a murderer, I knew it, I knew it, here it is, I have a problem, I'm not, I'm not okay, this is not okay. - Will
tears the leaves, one by one and Hannibal wants to know what breaks, what is that, because it hurts, because it
looks bad. - Uhm, break, break, break, the cup is broken, I don't... Things I hate about Hannibal, things I hate,
what I hate, I hate... - A sheet falls on the bed, Things to do for Hannibal Don't go away: Tell him who I am.
- Is it so strange that I wanted to stay hidden just so that you stay by my side a little longer?
- Selfish.
- I never got bored of loneliness, Will... You were the one who left me without a choice when I met you, I only
knew the cold.
- Because I did not see you?
- Is it so strange that you wanted to stay by my side too, a little longer?
- I need... I need... - Will leaves the room, Hannibal can't help but fall asleep waiting for him.
[...]
When Hannibal wakes up, Will is lying next to him, not touching him, exactly four feet away, looking up at the
ceiling. - I'm going to lie to Jack, I'm going to cover you Hannibal.
- Because? Why do you take care of me Will?
- I love you Hannibal, I can't help but do it.
- Even knowing who I am?
- It doesn't matter who you are, it matters, uhm, it matters that you love me, that I love you.
Hannibal smiles, but when he looks at Will, Will is covered in blood, Will is dead next to him. The knife in Hannibal's
hand weighing, while the cold is now total, almost as if it were snowing, he has finally made the decision he should
have made, the inevitable end.
He must make up for time, he must find Abigail and finish what he has started, the pain is bearable when he
knows that everything is over, that winter has begun with no apparent end.
Will Graham is dead, he has killed him.
He reaches out quickly to search for the wound, but when he touches Will's body he feels nothing. It's not
there.
So, wake up, this time he's panting.
- You were dreaming.
Hannibal takes his forehead, looks around and Will is not lying next to him, but in a small peach-colored
armchair, he doesn't like that piece of furniture, not because it's totally ugly, but because now it means that
Will is far away, staring at him. - I'm tired of dreaming.
- I always dream, uhm, I always dream about the things I did that day, I repeat them in my mind, exactly as
they happen.
- Are they bad dreams?
- No, because I know what is going to happen, so I keep dreaming, I don't have to get up.
- A calming way to live with nature according to your unconsciousness.
- A way to understand what was going through my mind in those moments, I see them clearly and understand
them better, for example, I always dream about you and what we do when we are together.
- In a second version, what do you feel when you have clarity?
- That despite the fact that I constantly feel bad about you, nervous, I want to feel like that again when I wake
up.
- Do you still want that with me Will?
- I have human meat in my refrigerator Hannibal.
- And yet you haven't delivered Will to me.
- Because I don't know how to do it.
Silence, more uncomfortable silence, Hannibal takes the opportunity to sit down, reaches for the tea that
Abigail left a few hours ago and drinks, when he feels the cold touch him, the memory of Will's mouth invades
him, Hannibal wonders if he would do it again. - I'm supposed to kill you and Abigail if you found out.
- Coherent thought, a way of not worrying about two people who make you vulnerable and that you cannot
control, too much exposure.
- But I can not do it.
- Sentimental ties, process problems, you can't get rid of the ties.
- You can't either, right?
Will nods, looking pale and tired and somewhat different, as if knowing Hannibal is the Ripper doesn't scare
him, it just makes him more aware, clearer. - How do you choose them?
- Rude people, animals that do not deserve to live, available food, possibility of control.
- How many?
- Many Will, many more than you have investigated.
Will nods, has a new notebook, a black one, and writes. Hannibal doesn't know what he writes, he doesn't
ask about it. - Why do you like to do it?
- Because I know I can do it.
- Control, power and pride.
- Among other things.
- You are no longer a liar, did you finally get tired of lying or do you just want to be honest at last?
- I could never lie to you completely, you can't lie to those who see you so clearly.
- I don't think Abigail should have more therapy with you.
-Have you already decided to abandon me or have you already decided to give me up?
Will seems to think, while his clean shirt, a white one gives away what in their relationship it is, a small
bloodstain, perhaps from Will's cuts, perhaps from Hannibal's healing. She wants to hug Will, she wants to
recover her sweetness again, but they are so far away again, that now there is an abyss that separates them.
- I need to think about what's wrong with me.
- There's nothing wrong with falling in love with someone bad, it doesn't say more about us than it should.
What makes us feel good is just a product of what we go through, different personalities, qualities that come
together well.
- You seem to want to convince yourself.
- I want you to see further Will.
- You're not just a bad guy, Hannibal.
- You always knew who I was and still, you accepted me.
- That's what I need to think about.
- Don't take me away from Abigail.
- You're a cannibal, Hannibal.
Hannibal feels, he knows how that sounds. - I always thought you would accept me.
- Why are we so damaged that we were going to accept you as you are, for clinging to you?
- Because you can see beyond, because you don't need anyone.
Will shakes his head, writes again, writes more, and finally looks up. - You must go, I need space, my head
hurts and I have to sleep, I can't leave you alone with Abigail.
- I would never hurt Abigal.

- You said you almost killed us.
- Will.
- Hannibal go, don't bring me lunch tomorrow, just go and... Just go, have your medical appointments, don't let
Jack get suspicious...
- You still love me Will, there's not much to think about.
Will looks at him before leaving, notes one more thing, and finally sighs in pain. says. - Yes, I love you but I
don't want to touch you again.
Hannibal leaves Wolf Trap at eight in the morning, at nine he's home, cleaning his wound, while smoking a
cigarette he saved for such a moment. Three hours later he thinks that Will might be with the FBI right now,
preparing to catch him, Abigail might be leaving the country, Will might be planning to kill him.
However, he does nothing about it and just sighs, while silence fills his house, now Hannibal hates silence
and loneliness. Things I used to love.
He showers, tries not to think about Will, tries not to take his escape plan, makes coffee, drinks coffee, puts
his clothes in order, thinks about Will again, about his vulnerable body, about his moans, about his mouth, about
his eyes, He drinks more coffee, reads, showers again, thinks about Will for the rest of the afternoon.
When there is a knock on the door, he is sure it is Will or the FBI, also that it could be both. But it's Alana, with a
scared look on her face, she still doesn't know who Hannibal is, so Will hasn't said anything. - Hannibal I found out...
- Alana, I wasn't expecting you.
- What am I supposed to do if I know you've been hurt by the Ripper?
Hannibal doesn't want to see anyone but Will Graham, either to finish him off or to let himself be touched, but
Hannibal is so tired he can't act, he can't fight and he finally lets Alana in, because Alana can still distract him, still
he can make him believe that he is capable of lying, that someone believes him, that he is still Dr. Hannibal Lecter,
a renowned psychiatrist and Will Graham's boyfriend.
- Beer?
When Alana speaks, she crosses her legs and Hannibal wonders what else he has to do to make her understand
that there is no turning point from the idea of being attracted to her. - I can't believe Will isn't here with you.
- He was also injured, I am encouraged to know that he is recovering in the tranquility of his home.
- Sometimes Will can only think of himself, I'm not saying it's wrong, maybe I would do it myself, but I was
hoping that you...
Hannibal cleans the glass impeccably, even though the pain from Will's stitched wound is as vivid as his
request for space and he wants to throw the glass, like he threw the plate, because that glass won't be drunk by
Will, if not by Alana. - My relationship with Will has allowed me to understand that even far away, Will doesn't stop
thinking about me.
- However, I should be here, I couldn't get away from you if I had been about to lose you.
Hannibal sees the foam of the beer fill the glass more than it should, in another situation, it wouldn't have
served so badly. But he doesn't care. - Alana, I hope you don't keep feeding an illusion about us, I think that
even though you are a more than beautiful and intelligent woman, I lost my heart a long time ago in Will's arms.
Alana blushes, not like Will, no one blushes like Will. - I'm just making it clear that you can't expect
anything from Will, he's in a different world, sometimes there's only Abigail and him, other times, just him.
- I like your world as it is, having a space from time to time is enough.
Alana denies, drinks from the glass, Hannibal drinks his own glass of wine, even though the antibiotics are in
his body. - I told you that you shouldn't fall in love with Will.
- I thought it was about taking care of Will.
- Also to take care of you.
- Why would I have to take care of Will?
- Because... - Alana collects her hair behind her ear, if Hannibal wasn't very tired and waiting to know if he
has to live a life without Will, he would kill her. - I said, sometimes there is...only
It isthe
unstable,
same. Hannibal, as you
- What do you think Alana?
- In you, that is to say, in that you are well, this world... is not for you, you are not an FBI policeman.
- Neither you.
- I work for them more years than you collaborate.
- Explain to me why I'm still more inexperienced than you.
- Because even if you have all the knowledge in the world, Hannibal, you couldn't recognize a murderer,
even if you were in front of him.
Hannibal drinks the rest of his wine, officially dedicated to being miserable even though he had liked
Alana's company at the time, now he could only think of Will and not him, which was strange and novel, when
his freedom was in question. The liquor makes his body dizzy faster, due to weakness and lack of food, plus
the wound that bleeds again. - Alana I need to... rest.
- Oh my God, you are... bleeding, let me help you.
- There's no need.
- Hannibal, that's why I'm here.
[...]
When he wakes up, he's in a maze, so ready and aware of his latest nightmares, this time Hannibal is ready
for whatever he has to hurt him.
It's just a lie, he repeats himself and walks, in the passageways of his subconscious, almost on the defensive,
willing to deal with the new variant called: Someone knows who I am and that someone is not.
someone who can kill
When you reach the end of the hallway, a huge dining room made of wood and dark armchairs opens to show you a
beautiful place. It is a rustic but elegant house, with mostly handmade details, but full of modern artifacts that make it a
splendid place. Six dogs walk around him, there is wine on the table and food, a beautiful feast served for three. - Dad,
the food is going to get cold... I never thought the day would come when I would agree with you, but smoked salmon
with fine herbs has to be eaten quickly.
Abigail looks bigger, she is already a woman of almost twenty or twenty-two years old, with a calculating and cold look,
but keeping her kindness in the background. - Dad! Your husband is doing it again...
Will has two wines in his arms, he wears a dark suit and his hair is pulled back, he looks older but he is still young, he
has a cold smile and at the same time, like his daughter, he keeps his heart intact.
- Love, why do you insist on staring at the table every day?
Hannibal wants to say something, but the words are stuck in his throat. - If he continues like this, I won't take him to
my graduation.
- Your father would kill you if you don't wear it, uhm, I wish that was sarcasm.
Abigail smiles, raises her glass, and looks back at Hannibal. - For nothing in the world I will take away from London
the visit of the Ripper, I am excited that he goes more than you.
- Abigail, the annoying one.
Abigail rolls her eyes, serves the salmon, and Will… Will winks at her. - Lord stop being so weird, let's eat your
petulant food, there is a schedule to respect.
- Dad?
- I do not want to wake up.
Will tilts his face, Abigail stops drinking, and they stare at him. - You have nothing to fear, dad, I won't leave for a week.
- Uhm, attractive man, get your ass over here.
- Please, I don't want to wake up.
- Dad...
- Hannibal... - He gets close enough but when he wants to touch them, they vanish into nothingness.
- Please.
- Hannibal. Alana holds her face. - You were dreaming.
The cold that corrupts his body now is abysmal, he retreats between the sheets annoyed by the smell of rose perfume
that easily reaches his nose, plus the pressure on his chest from a beautiful dream, which is a nightmare because it is
not real. Alana is lying next to her, stroking her cheeks and letting her do it, because she doesn't have the strength to
wait any longer.
Hannibal knows that he has to look for Will at that moment, propose to him an absolute truth, that he is dealing with
himself as a murderer, he accepts it or not, if not, he leaves, if not, he stays. Likewise, he needs Will's words.
- Alana, I have to go, I need to change.
- You're recovering.
- I'm fine.
- I have let you rest so that you do not have shocks, tell me what you need, I will bring it for you.
- I need to see...
Alana strokes her hair again, her mouth close and her smile too. Alana isn't bad, she's just too quick for
minds she can't understand, dazzled by something Hannibal isn't.
But the insistent Alana, the same one who now touches him, doesn't give up, not when she wants something. - You
are my friend Hannibal, I love you, let me take care of you.
- I need to see it.
Smell of dogs, cheap perfume, wood and aftershave.
When Will opens the door, he looks better than he did that morning when they left, but the night always
does that with Will, helps him shine so much brighter, like blood in the moonlight, turning him from red to
black.
But the image of an annoying Will is better, almost poetry, because an annoying Will is the Will of the
bosses, with white knuckles, clenched teeth and contracted thighs. - Will. - Hannibal smiles, because he
does recognize that boy.
Gross mistake to rejoice. Will is not just angry, Will is wrong. - I thought you'd be alone.
- Alana just came...
- They're in a bed, uhm, privacy, closeness, that's only done by couples.
- Will, how did you leave Hannibal alone...
- Liar.
Hannibal is already on his feet when Will emerges from his room, heading down the stairs, about to reach
the door, wondering in the meantime when he got clumsy enough to let his victims give away his hiding
places or when he started leaving his house unscathed. key, as if no one was going to chase him. - Stop Will.
Will is red, Will is angry, Will Graham, Will Lecter, so many personalities, so much hot and cold, in one
person. Tears, pain and love. - I came to see if you were okay.
- I appreciate it, I'm not fine, now I'm fine, now that you're here.
Push without a kiss, but contact and another push, in a distant passageway, different from the other
pushes. - You're with Alana in your bed.
- Stupid Will Graham.
Will is surprised, opens his eyes, and pushes again. - No insults, no insults, you... you're rude, I'm not stupid.
- Do you think I could cheat on you with anyone? I didn't know you were so innocent Will, I didn't know that within your
own lies, you could believe one like that.
- I don't lie, uhm, no, I don't... I omit, I don't know how to lie. You were with Alana.
Hannibal is upset, he hasn't slept for twenty-four hours, he has a stomach wound, he's cold and he's hot, he needs an
answer, he needs to know what to do. - I haven't cheated on you, but I wouldn't mind killing you right now.
- Alana will listen to you.
- I don't mind.
- I don't want to go out with you anymore.
- Well, what will you do then when you only think of me?
Will shakes his head, lowers his head, and turns his face to one side. - I can forget you.
- I am not and have not been with Alana Bloom.
- Maybe she can live the lie that I couldn't.
Hannibal pulls Will so close to himself, lapels on his hands, Will shaking and there's no permission involved, just
uncontrollable and yes, meet me Will, I'm the Ripper. - I will have you or I will have no one.
- Let go.
- If I let you go, I won't come back to look for you.
Will denies, lowers his head and bites his mouth, looks at Hannibal's lips, the beautiful fight that he lives with is evident.
But the resolution is made, based on a lie. - Go with her, she's better, she doesn't omit, she is who she is, right? That's
why you prefer her, that's why you keep her close.
- I'll kill you Will, I'll kill you if you say something like that again.
- Do it.
Hannibal raises the lapels more, but it's not enough, so he takes the skin, Will is almost two inches above the floor,
Hannibal's hands no longer touch the fabric, but Will's neck, the same one he loved to smell and that now squeeze -
Pain, pain, cold, cold...
- I hate the cold, Will, the Ripper hates the cold.
Will tries to breathe in the attack, finally Will's hands work and the blow that lands on Hannibal's stomach leaves him
without air, until he forces him to drop the other. Will takes advantage of the second of carelessness, a blow to Hannibal's
head with a house ornament, the last thing Hannibal sees is Alana running towards him. - Ripper?
When did he get so sloppy that he can't fight as well anymore? That the night no longer covers it anymore? Or no
longer does, as well as Will.
[...]
When he wakes up, his house is full of brightness and warmth, as if the fireplace had been lit to
that radiates too much light and fire. For the first time, Hannibal isn't cold and that obviously scares him.
He looks around for the obvious clue that will tell him this time what the painful dream will be about and he finds
it, when Abigail is at home, in her own plastic suit, brushing the bloody floor.
He does it more or less well, not quite tidy and wants to talk to him, to teach him how to clean up the blood, but
his head aches as he regains consciousness from the heavy sleep.
Will from afar, drags a body, carries it on his back until it touches the carpet in his house and rolls it up,
with total affinity. - I'm sorry I brought up the fishing day without you.
- Dad, you did what you had to do, did you continue to drink tea?
- Yes, he has had tea all the time.
Hannibal wants to caress them but he knows that at the slightest contact, he will wake up from the beautiful
dream in which Will and Abigail hunt like him, so he just watches, barely breathing, memorizing each movement,
each step.
The back of Will's neck is red from the recent strangulation, he wants to apologize, but he doesn't speak.
Not waking up, he doesn't want to, because otherwise, the Lithuanian cold and loneliness returns. - I will miss
Aunt Alana, she was good, a little annoying, but good.
- He saw too much.
- The Ripper has gotten careless.
- Uhm, yeah. - Will touches the back of his neck, sore. - But you already know...
- Today we hunt, for tomorrow we won't be hunted.
- Yeah.
Abigail continues to clean, while Will has finished tidying up the body, when he's done, he kneels next to
Abigail to continue cleaning. - Will you give him another chance?
- Uhm, no... don't be nosy, although no.
Hannibal squirms, he doesn't really like that fantasy, because Will and Abigail kill, but Will doesn't want to be
with him. Wait a little longer to wake up. - We can't leave the body here, without mounting this time.
- We'll help him.
- So you love him, wouldn't it be easier to continue with him?
- He's a cannibal.
- It's just like us.
- But it's careless, he was with her, he was with her... Inappropriate topic for a teenager.
- I would never cheat on you.

- He did it twice.
Silence.
- I didn't cheat on you Will, I love you.
They both stop their homework, Hannibal definitely wants to wake up, because now he has things clear, like the
fact that he's upset with Will and hates him, just like he loves him, for the power he has over him. For being so
stubborn, so unpredictable, so beautiful. He wants to wake up now, to tell him, to force him to look at him, to
accept who he is. - Is awake.
- No I'm not.
- Yes, he must have a concussion.
- If you're going to leave me, Will, I promise I won't come looking for you again. No more control, no more power. Either you
give me away or you have me, or you accept me or you lose me.
- Let's teach him how to be honest.
- I'm ready.
- Wake me now.
Then Will reaches out with his hand, which is warm and dried with Alana Bloom's blood, and touches her
forehead, and Hannibal feels it.
He feels it, it's real, he feels it, hot. - Hello Hannibal.
Hannibal looks at Abigail, her slender body falling to his side, touching him in her touch. - Hello.
Will sighs, his hand still on his forehead. - You're not dreaming Hannibal.
Abigail smiles, looking fearful and exposed, until she catches a glimpse of her true and unique personality.
Daddy's daughter and daddy hunting, fishing. - You're the Ripper.
- And we are, the new murderer.
Hannibal reaches out his hand, touches Abigail's face and touches Will's hand, the blood still smelling fresh and
the cold gone. He is a man cured and totally deluded. - I'm not dreaming.
- No.
[...]
Alana Bloom's death is in the national interest and Jack doesn't know whether to pin it on the Ripper or the new
killer.
It's been three days since the body was discovered, dumped in the Baltimore river, which Price says makes a
total of a week since she was killed, according to the decomposition, maximum two.
weeks.
Jack is normally very careful when it comes to treating Hannibal Lecter, because he holds him in a strange respect
and admiration, but even though he has found out about the end of the relationship between him and Will Graham,
he needs all the support in the case. So call them both, when they start the investigation.
The pressure from the FBI, the government and the press becomes ridiculous, when they begin to face both
murderers, without fear. According to the signs on the body, she fought, so fighting murder is encouraged, Alana
must have figured out the identity of one of them.
Alana Bloom was strangled, not to death, just enough to immobilize her and use a knife, probably a kitchen one,
which plunged into her neck and belly. Jack bets on the new killer, Lecter too.
Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are happily professionals, Jack thinks, when he sees them working in total harmony.
It supposes that the tragic feeling of a loss of friendship unites them. However, he notes such detachment in his
cordial words that he fears that it could affect the investigation.
However, he calms down when the day is over and Will Graham packs up to go home, as does Lecter. - Good
evening Doctor Lecter.
- Good evening, Mr. Graham. - Says each one respectively, coldly and then they go their separate ways.
The next day, there are six new victims in Baltimore and the spectacle of each fighting to outdo the other. Jack
has a headache.
[...]
- What does it mean? - Jack asks, when Will and Hannibal look at the six bodies together.
- Who is no longer afraid of hiding.
- It's hurt.
- Perhaps the competition worries you.
- The Ripper does not consider anyone a competition, he does not compete, he knows that he is the best at lying.
- However, the new murderer was not wrong like him, the Ripper has made mistakes.
- He doesn't plan to do it anymore.
- Jack, it's a competition.
- What does the new killer Will want? - Hannibal stares, no feeling can flow from him, more than professionalism.
It's almost him, again.
- Seek that they know him, Doctor Lecter, I can almost read his words: Know me, I am a murderer... better than you.
Jack thinks, he definitely doesn't see what the specialists see and tired, he sends everyone to sleep.
- Tomorrow, both of us, first thing in the morning.
- Sure, Jack.
- Good night, Jack.
As Will and Hannibal walk out to the parking lot, there are no words, not a single one, just a nod and a brief
goodbye. - Goodbye Will.
- Goodbye Hannibal.
And the cars move away, in the opposite direction, although Will always looks in the rearview mirror waiting for
the other car to turn, but it doesn't. It's cold in Wolf Trap, the doors are locked, Will misses Hannibal.
Maybe now it's up to him to be the one to get close. Or maybe it won't do anything. The schedule is still intact and
since Hannibal no longer calls at eleven or in the morning, Will makes another piece of furniture, one that he
knows he won't give, he only does it because thinking about Hannibal is all he wants.
Hannibal doesn't dream anymore, he throws away the tea that Will gave him and covers the green cabinet.
Next Chapter Name: I meet Will again, the killer.

I know Will, again
"So no one is after me?"
Hannibal narrows his eyes, answering a question like that, so lightly, should be forbidden, because we were
all running away from something in some way. For example, he was fleeing from the past, bad taste and Will
Graham, just like the man in front of him, he had to flee from his own ills as well.
— Nobody chases you Mike, I assure you that everything is the product of your imagination, an avid but
disorderly imagination.
But it feels real.
"Have you been taking the medicine?"
Mike shakes his head, looks down, and then his fingers curl up over his pants. Mike is an average man,
in classic pants and simple shirts, tidy but easy to forget, the type of person who lives to go unnoticed.
Accountant, single and neurotic, the typical patient of Hannibal Lecter. — I am afraid to take the medicine.
"More scared than the thought of someone chasing you?"
"It's stupid, I know, it seems like I'm self-sabotaging my recovery, I'm so stupid, such an idiot, shit I'm..." Mike
shakes his head.
It's five in the afternoon in his office, Mike is his comfort date, the one he always accepts at any time. Just
because Hannibal pretends the fearful boy doesn't remind him a bit of cuteness and because besides, it's
always comforting to see fear so naturally, something to savor without even trying. — You are not stupid,
you take care of yourself, distrust medicine or me, it may be rational. The point is to be logically suspicious.
Do you think I could hurt you?
Mike seems to think so, then smiles and holds his head in embarrassment. — You would never, you would
not.
"Will you take the medicine Mike?"
“Yes, Dr. Lecter.
As Mike is about to leave, Hannibal schedules his next appointment for next Thursday as the boy always
asks, certain that the appointment will be brought forward, because Mike always wants to ask to see him
earlier, renewed sure that he is indeed being persecuted. Hannibal once thought about ending the torture of a
sad life of anxiety, but he never could have, he liked Mike.
He reminded her of Will, of what she thought Will was. —Mike.
- Yeah?
— Take the medicine or I'll stop seeing you, even though I'm terribly sorry, I would have to refer you to another
psychiatrist that does work for you.
Fear, anxiety and sadness. Mike will take the medicine, he will take it even when leaving the office because the
boy can evade reality and his logical situations, but he does not want to disappoint Hannibal, he depends on
Hannibal, just like a lighthouse on an abandoned island. Like many, clinging to the only solid thing that he has
been allowed to know.
Not that there's any kindness in holding the respective patient, maybe a little, just enough for Hannibal
to get something out of him: pure, predictable Normality.
When he's alone, he sorts his books, which don't need to be sorted. He brushes the suit, which doesn't
need to be brushed, sorts his papers, which doesn't need to be sorted. Just because he can, just because he
loves being in control again.
It's Wednesday at six in the evening, the green chair is covered by a leaden sheet and Hannibal feels fine, with
the heating at its maximum point, not cold and with no one else to attend to. You can leave early and still be
who you are, Hannibal Lecter, the most enigmatic man in Baltimore and owner of the most expensive dates,
too.
When his office is utterly perfect, Hannibal cranes his face and tilts his chin to sniff the air, and when he
finds the scent of refreshing pine in a perfect blend with his own perfume, the lopsided, toothless smile that's
just a grimace, fades. sample. Just him and his codependent patients and no one else.
But just like Mike, his pursuers are relentless and sometimes he has to deal with a bit of mud when walking,
or a bit of Graham, to be specific. What interrupts a perfect day, a great place.
As usual for the last three weeks since he lost his six o'clock client, the phone rings at seven, not a minute
more and not a minute less, Hannibal doesn't answer for the first two calls. The third time, he gives up, as he
has been doing for the last few times. “I thought it was established that you would not call Abigail again.
- I miss you. — The low voice always reveals the same thing, Abigail secretly calling from her house, surely
behind a closet or in the laundry room, murmuring, fleeing from her own captors, who aren't her dogs or her
father, if not, your own wishes.
Another father, one to complement what Will couldn't give him, even if he wanted to: Control. Hannibal isn't
looking to be misunderstood, Will Graham was an excellent father, more than enough in a selfish world, but Will
was Abigail's equal and Abigail had enough with herself.
Abigail needed a friend and Hannibal really wanted to be. A daughter and a friend, in which to reflect, discuss
philosophy, get lost until she realizes that she was better, that finally someone surpassed him. He really
wanted it.
Hannibal pats the phone in his hands, lengthens the cord, and closes his eyes, running away from long,
tedious thoughts, settling into simplicity. Getting used to it.
Despite slight moments like that, sentimentality has been good to him, settling into the darkness
of a corner in his palace benevolently, which is why he doesn't throw everything he's built in a month away
from the Grahams and listen. to Abigail, calmly.
For this reason, he breathes with the clear tranquility that he can live like this, far away, ignoring what the
girl says. — How is everything at home?
— Dad still doesn't talk much, but he's eaten again and he's on his second chair, the first one looks
horrible.
What color was the first?
— I think it's red or cherry, it's dark, but the paint was ruined because it didn't dry evenly, there was a whole
crisis about it, he finally broke it, a whole day breaking, you know: Break, break, break, pain, pain, pain.
- I can imagine. — Will annoyed, disappointed in a flawed job, one Hannibal wouldn't like, the wrong
material. - Garnet.
- What's that?
— The color Will chose.
Abigail sighs, sounding tired. "Only you could guess."
— Your father can be predictable when it comes to colors, he and I share that.
- Misses you.
“Abigail, no.
— It does. - Breath, sigh and lower voice. "We haven't fished again, not since the last...
- I don't need to know.
He looks at his office one more time, the pleasant memory that he has a full schedule of predictable
appointments the next day and only one hour of visiting time at the FBI, comforts him. — It is supposed that you
would be glad to know who we are.
— Your father rejected my nature, even at the cost of his own, and you accompanied him.
— It is not easy to know that we are not alone.
- You must stop calling, my girl.
— But, I don't want to, it's not fair, what do I have to do with you? I'm not to blame for anything.
Hannibal admires the vestiges of a first-time manipulation, admires it even though it's easy to destroy at first
touch. "You've lied as much as your father, Abigail, you don't have to keep doing it.
— You can't teach me everything and then leave, that is, he can't either.
"Don't talk about Will anymore.
— He says you don't matter, he says he doesn't miss you but he always looks at the phone.
— Please Abigail, you are better than this.
- It's alright, it's alright. Abigail falls silent, then sighs. - Do you still smoke?
— Only once a week, when I think of you.
- Me too.
— Smoke it tomorrow if you haven't already, eight at night, I'll do the same and then we'll be together, without
being together.
I love you Hannibal.
- Don't call anymore if you do.
"Okay, bye dad.
- Goodbye Abby.
Hannibal hangs up the phone, allows himself to let out a small wail, closes his eyes for three seconds and quickly,
control returns to his body.
Totally at peace, with the peace of mind of not having to think about anything, he takes out his briefcase and puts in
his notebook, cell phone and keys. He walks to the office door, pulls the sheet that covers the green chair, tidies it up
until it looks smooth, without a drop of green peeking out, and turns off the light. There is nothing to think, nothing to
feel.
Driving feels good, there are no cars and you can buy meat with peace of mind, a good price, tender meat. When
he gets home, he is greeted by the same neat smell he left behind in the morning, he undresses as soon as he
walks in the door, in his bedroom he places his dirty clothes in the basket, delicately folded. Then he sorts out the
next day's clothes, a gunmetal suit and a navy blue shirt, hung up and ironed.
The shower feels good, hot and fresh, washing away the day's dirt and unwanted odours.
The tidy kitchen gives even more peace to the perfect day she's had, the pan slips into her hands, the knives too and
the butter smells amazing, while the white apron is so white, perfectly fitted to her waist.
It's not about someone seeing Hannibal being perfect, it's about Hannibal remembering that he is, proving himself what
he was eight months ago.
When the food is ready, he first pokes his nose into the glass, even knowing that it is a Saugvinon macerated for
twenty years, he trains his nose by recognizing the grapes brought from the end of the world, in a pristine conclusion
that they were stored not only for such an amount of time, if not with the accuracy of guessing that it was under the
humidity of a warehouse, in a temperate climate and that the acidity is the product of a good hand.
He takes a long sip of wine, which warms his stomach and he is ready to eat. Each bite is better than the next,
until he finishes and finds himself hungrier. He pours what's left over on the tray, then washes everything down, finally
having an organized hour of reading Balzac.
At the first yawn, he closes the book, goes up to his bedroom, he loves his clean sheets, covers himself until not a drop
of his body is exposed, closes his eyes and walks around Florence before going to sleep, in Florence it's always
summer and that's what he likes. like.
He wanders through museums, until the first gust of sleep messes up his thoughts, he is about to happily lose
consciousness and embraces the empty dream. — I like, I like, I like Hannibal a lot.
He shakes his head, a look of disgust seeping into his face, opening his eyes in the dark and taking a breath, four
times. He returns to Florence, this time he goes directly to his old house, where he lived for many years. The smell of
fresh bread and pâté make him smile, sleep comes to him again. — Uhm, yes, more Hannibal, I like it, I like it, I like it.
Hannibal hits the sheets, becomes uncomfortable until his eyes are lost in the darkness becoming clearer.
She reproaches herself for such a level of idiocy, so she reaches out her hand and takes two sleeping pills
from her nightstand.
He thinks of Mike and the accurate theory that they are always being chased, until they stop the chase
themselves. When the pills take effect, Hannibal sleeps peacefully, he doesn't think about anything else.
It's all settled, see Mike? Take your medicine.
[...]
Nothing new has been heard from the Ripper for the last two weeks and regarding the new murderer,
there are two Jacks, for three weeks. The slight hiatus has allowed the FBI team to sort their minds better, which
means they have the exhaustive detail of each body and the background of their past lives, if possible, more
evidence and still, no hint of clarity at all. regard.
— This has stopped being funny, to start being sad.
— When was Brian funny? Seriously, you say every stupid thing...
— I'm just trying to brighten up the atmosphere, you know it was funny, not funny but interesting, the two were
facing each other, poom, the novel of the century, the modern version of Freddie vs. Jason.
— The confrontation of two serial killers is not funny, seriously, Brian shuts up.
— Who had the idea to bet?
Price tilts his face, bulging eyes downcast. — I was low on funds.
— You didn't have to clap when you won the bet of who would kill first than the other.
"You know, you should respect your elders.
A silent Jack is lost in his thoughts, Beverly pours the fourth or fifth cup of coffee for everyone, Will in the right
corner of the laboratory sitting on a bench slowly pulls a thread from his shirt, Hannibal listens to the
conversation, while his back is watching the great mural with the faces of the victims. — You're not as old as me,
not like my grandfather, maybe like my father.
"Oh you didn't say that, you can't call me your father."
— Not my father, like my father.
Hannibal notes how incredible it is how four people, Price, Brian, Beverly and Jack, can be in such harmony
despite their basic existence. Which makes him remember his youth, when he himself lamented not being able
to be so basic as to be part of a group, although many years later, he is happily the guy in the right corner
looking at a mural, as far away as he can get. maybe the other guy who thinks that a thread on his shirt is the
most interesting thing in the world. "Then you see me as your father."
— Checkmate, I didn't have a dad, because he took off, so I don't see you as my father, idiot, because I don't
know what parents are like.
— Worse still, if you don't have one, you look for one and that's why, boom idiot, I'm your daddy, not your father.
— You should have had me at fifteen and you know that, at fifteen you didn't have a dick, because they only gave you
one at twenty.
— Oh sure, now you're going to talk about my genitals, I could show you so that once and for all you can
confirm that they didn't put them on me, I already had them.
— The same did not say the doctor.
"Oh sure, sure, do you know who did say that?" When your father saw them, he told me when he abandoned
you.
Brian smiles, making hand guns. — Ah, I knew, you are my father's friend, poom, you are his age.
"Can you shut the fuck up?" — Jack's voice is not really the voice of an annoying guy, he just sounds exhausted and
by exhausted he means frustrated.
Beverly, for her part, has been used to it for three long years, so in the midst of her two companions, she is
hardly surprised by what they say. "You talk so much about dicks that I'm beginning to think you want to see your
damn dicks."
Brian and Jimmy make a disgusted face, then they pretend to do something other than stay silent looking at
nothing, Brian is arranging the photos and Jimmy is messing them up. "Get your damn hand off, you mess up what I
do."
— They are placed by date, idiot.
— For murder, so I order.
Will continues to stare at the thread, which is now longer in his hands, while his shirt looks sadly ripped from
the disunity. — They are attracted to each other, however, it is not an appropriate environment to develop it.
Hannibal pretends to continue looking at the mural, not turning or showing any sign of Will's participation in the
discussion. Instead, Beverly clinks her cup with the one closest to her. — Will, I love that you have ASD.
Will looks up, the observation does not seem logical to him, however social norms dictate that it has been a compliment.
Thank you, I was born like this.
— Hey TEA, I'm not attracted to this guy and also I'm not gay. Brian is blushing. — Besides, that is, Price could be my
grandfather.
Jimmy spins on his feet, until he can almost be doubled over with outrage. I thought it was your father.
— Now if you want to be my father?
That sounded gayer than the rainbow itself.
— My name is not TEA, my name is Will.
Beverly is on her fifth spoonful of sugar, when she nods seriously. — I definitely studied for this, I don't regret
anything.
“I'm not surprised we haven't caught anyone. Jack accepts the cup of coffee that Beverly hands him.
Brian places his hands on his waist, Price is still by his side, perhaps to continue arguing or just used to being
around Brian. — Maybe we didn't catch anyone because Price insists on ordering by date.
— Or because you mess up everything I touch.
Will speaks quietly. "It's not influential, actually, there should be no order, so they're arguing for no reason, if it
helps, they're both idiots and uhm, Price couldn't be your father, he's only eight years older than you, eight years
isn't an age to beget, since physically...
- Here we go.
— Physically it is not possible, its reproductive evolution...
— The TEA called us idiots.
— Ah, excuse me, sir, he only comes without bathing, to look, I make a dramatic scene and I already know who
the murderer is.
— My name is Will and if I bathe, three times a week, minimum two.
- If he takes a bath? The biggest discovery of the week.
— Doctor Lecter, we are not always like this, I promise you.
It's all Jimmy's fault.
— Or from the TEA.
— Jack, do we have a human resources area?
— If you find her, tell her I quit.
- Alright.
— Doctor Lecter, save yourself if you can.
Hannibal turns slowly, with a lopsided smile, as he adjusts the last three buttons on his suit. — Please, it's
always nice to hear them, they bring joy to my visit.
The silence after his response lasts about thirty seconds, which is a record for Jimmy and Brian not to say
anything, Hannibal attributes the lack of jokes to his known situation with Will, making him smile even wider.
Of course, to make it clear that everything is normal, he needs more than a smile to make it very clear that he
is fine, that he has his schedule in order, that he is a type of Mike's appointments, that he drives calmly, that he
sleeps very well . So after directing his attention to the small group of four FBI onlookers, he looks at Will, giving
one last well-aimed smile. — The TEA is right, you would make a nice couple.
They all laugh and the noise returns to the room, even Jack is smiling but Will is staring at him. He doesn't
say anything, until Will narrows his eyes and Hannibal can smell the competition in the air. Alright, we're
fighting. — Encouraging a personal relationship in
a professional environment? Because it does not surprise me?
Beverly whistles, Brian and Jimmy are so close together and so open-mouthed, they could be holding hands and
not know it, Jack however, looks bitterly amused. The Hannibal of a month ago would be apologizing on his knees,
punished for the annoyance of Will, but the controlled Hannibal, no. Not the Hannibal who had begged for acceptance,
when properly duped, under the same accusation, no. — I'm afraid Will, that I find myself vulnerable and encouraged
by the relative ease of supporting personal relationships, when I see that they are reciprocated.
Brian leans against Price, mutters, but everyone listens. — This guy insults you and you don't even notice, you
even thank him.
Beverly nudges Brian, meanwhile Will continues his attention on Hannibal. — Uhm, the opera is horrible.
— I don't know why, but I feel like that must have hurt.
- You shut up.
Hannibal nods, still looking amused, however, when the last button on his suit is lined up, he looks at Jack, after a bow
that ends an argument he doesn't intend to continue. — Dear Jack, if my participation for today is no longer necessary,
I must retire, I have patients to attend and an opera tonight, to attend.
— Of course Doctor Lecter, I hope the environment doesn't prevent you from coming back.
Hannibal holds out his hand to Jack, a smile to everyone, including Will, and finally shakes his head before starting
to walk towards the door. — Missing the birth of a relationship? Or Mr. Price's congenital revelation about Mr.
Zeller? Impossible.
Everyone laughs again, except Will.
[...]
After officially a full month without speaking to Will other than merely greetings and short goodbyes, added
to small and frivolous updates on his status thanks to Abigail and her calls at six o'clock, that exchange of words,
has been the most that Hannibal has talked to or thought about Will Graham, until now.
So he hurries to his car, letting his long legs close the distance between the early-autumn Baltimore air that is too
cold for his liking, certain that in the comfort of his warm, expensive car, all it will return to normal.
Surely, the eleven o'clock appointment and later the two o'clock appointment will accompany a splendid lunch
in an expensive restaurant, to receive the other three appointments, which will allow him to return home, to continue
being accepted by him.
But like the unpredictable, sometimes nice, sometimes nasty, Will Graham isn't about to let Hannibal be Hannibal, but
desperate and annoying, stubborn and nervous, he tugs at Hannibal's arm until he can make him stop. just before
leaving.
The touch is quick, yet it burns and Hannibal is taking two steps back, until he regains his composure. — Can I help
you with something Will?
"I could start by stopping bothering me at work, Doctor Lecter."
Hannibal nods. — Don't we call each other anymore, Will?
— Due to the circumstances, I have preferred to treat it only professionally.
— From pro to pro, your sternum cuts leave a lot to be desired.
Will shakes his head, looks to the sides, moves his hands nervously, Hannibal is so
immersed in his tranquility that he forgets how innocent Will Graham can seem, if you weren't
careful, if you let yourself be carried away by his messy tangled hair and his incessant green eyes.
“Quiet, no, uhm, don't talk about it.
— You must be more clear about what professional aspect you mean.
Will is five feet away, Hannibal feels it stuck in his ribs, Will too. — Uhm, FBI and nothing else.
"Then the Ripper and the new killer is still a topic we can talk about, Mr. Graham."
Will denies again. “Sarcasm, stop doing it.
— Clarity Mr. Graham, it is already known that I don't know anything about you, you must be more clear with what
you want.
Will bites his lips, three minutes of conversation and no look, Hannibal has almost forgotten the
color of his eyes, who is he lying to? It has them printed on the retina. But he thinks it wouldn't hurt to
remember them. — Just stop... Being close to me, you know what you cause in me.
Hannibal looks around. — It is not me who has sought me alone.
"No, no, no, I don't...
“Mr. Graham, I'm afraid you're the unprofessional one.
Will looks up, only for two seconds before blushing. He looks like the Will Graham of a long time
ago. Why do you pretend that nothing happened?
— A colleague recently taught me that omission is not punished as much as lying, so I omit, but I don't
forget.
Will stands still, while Hannibal continues on the way to his car. "Hannibal..."
He stops the footsteps, even when his door is already open. "Mr. Graham?"
- We need to talk.
Hannibal gets into his car, when the engine starts, thank God it's smooth and predictable, like
everything Hannibal can control. That helps not to get out of the car, to not continue playing with Will,
however, he rolls down the window and advances far enough to be at Will's level. — I'm afraid I have
lunch at one o'clock, not a minute more, not a minute less.
The road becomes difficult for the first fifty meters, when Will continues to watch his game in the
rearview mirror. After that, Hannibal lists his afternoon patients and finally the rudder control resembles
its current state, firm and hard, like his rebuilt cold heart.
Of course, the new road to the main avenue is under construction, which makes the trip less full, full of potholes and
detours. He ends up thinking about Will and Li which really bothers him.
What is bothering Hannibal?
It bothers him that Will has punished him for a lie and that it is a similar lie, which has involved the other. Yes, that
bothers you.
Don't lie, it bothers you not only that you have been deceived, that Will Graham has omitted, but not lied, but that
he has turned out to be a murderer of the same ilk, worse still, has turned out to be everything you expected and more.
Pothole two, pothole three, disorder within the order, unsuspecting avenues and that was not in Hannibal Lecter's
schedule, unpredictable changes in his resumed routine, traffic and change of arrival time.
Chaos, space to let in, what he didn't want.
And what she didn't want was to remember Will and his volatile body, in her hands, his hard penis, wet with pre-
cum, dripping with each thrust of his hand. — Terrible traffic.
Will and his neurotic sweetness, now bathed in blood and never ever, have loved more. He had never wanted so
much to wallow in a mind, to taste the taste of a body.
The boy killed Alana Bloom, out of jealousy perhaps, to protect his identity, too.
She loves him so much that she needs to relocate to the universe, to see Will as she always should have seen him, as
a worthy rival, an equal, a partner, someone she no longer loved, but needed. There is no turning back, there is no
reversal on that path.
Not only does he need Will, but the possibility of someone else existing is nil, there is no detour, there is no bump in
that road. He has become infatuated, although the concept glimpses a desire, but not the real reason: there is and will
not be anyone like Will.
Will Graham is the beginning and the end, just as Jean Paul Sartre said, because he loves Sartre, "I know. I know
that I will never find anything or anyone that inspires my passion again. You know that loving someone is a feat. It
takes energy, generosity, blindness... There is even a moment, at the very beginning, when you have to jump over a
cliff; if you reflect, you don't. I know I'll never jump again."
So if he's going to love Will, he needs Will to love him like he does, because wanting for Hannibal is wanting to die,
blindly jumping off a cliff, if the other wanted it. Bathed in blood in the moonlight, knowing that death is only the beginning
of his life, without them. Ah Sartre, you were born for Will and Will was born for him.
And if Will didn't taste the same, if Will didn't jump with him, Hannibal wouldn't put his heart on the line.
Love or die, there was no other way.
I wait for you Will, on the edge of the abyss.
Lincoln Avenue opens up at kilometer 55 so when there is no more traffic, Hannibal can breathe easy and Will
Graham leaves his mind.
Now he is in control, now he must wait, be the one to define the colors and wait to find out if Will understands what
game they are playing now, if he can guess what it is.
[...]
— He has gone crazy, I swear, you have to call the doctor, the psychologist, the psychiatrist, I mean, not you, the
FBI, I don't know...
“Abigail, what did we say about the calls?
The sound of a tug of air betrays that the girl is smoking, just like Hannibal, sharing the warm
smoke of a cold night in the distance. — It's not a friendly call, it's an emergency.
— I'm afraid that your father may even be normal even though he seems crazy, I would dare to say
that the weirder he seems, the more I could assure, that he is better than fine. Phenomenal.
"Hannibal..."
Another cigarette seems pertinent, plus his living room is already contaminated, which means he'll spend
an hour polishing the floor with pine, trying to keep the minty smell from lingering until morning.
"What about Will?"
— He is on his fifth chair, all of them terrible, the paint dries badly, the color is not perfect or
he just doesn't like it.
— A perfectionist.
— Then she breaks them, destroys them and finally, she breaks, breaks, breaks and she bought a cookbook, the
worst thing that happened to me.
— A promising chef.
— The dogs are tasting, he says, each one tries a plate... dogs usually eat everything we give them.
— A chef with an audience.
"Hannibal..."
- Yes my Girl?
— Winston hides under the bed at mealtimes, the others just don't know how to say no, but they suffer,
I know, I know them.
— Rude.
— Myself, I can't eat another soufflé, it's horrible.
— Abigail the rude.
— Seriously... then he changed the schedule and in your place, he took away thinking about Hannibal,
because of how to bother Hannibal.
— Tidy and promising boy, so far he is doing very well.

"Do you know what time to tease Hannibal means?"
— Enlighten me.
— Make a long, long list of trifles!
I would kill for that list.
- I know.
Silence, brief silence and another drag on her cigarette, Abigail isn't looking for Hannibal to really do
something, it's just an excuse, to lure him back to Wolf Trap. For making him miss Will and his quirks.
"However, Abigail, I'm not going to do anything about it.
— Dogs could die.
— I need to know that you will not punish me like this again.
— Being a murderer is very different from loving a murderer.
— Very scared with what they are?
— Very scared to know that there is someone like us, in hell there is no place for the like.
— Reading Dante?
— Dante is always good, through thick and thin.
- That is my girl.
Abigail smiles, she knows it even being so far away. — So, do you punish dad?
— A little, enough to know if he needs me like I need him.
"You should be careful not to break his heart, he could do the same to you."
"No more than it already has."
- Not literally.
— Threats sound very sweet on your lips.
Abigail laughs. — Hannibal, can I tell you a secret about it? The fact why should you be careful?
Hannibal raises his glass of wine, and thinks that no secret is bad at any time hugging a glass. He
wonders what Abigail is trying to lure him back into his sweet dependency, pure manipulation. —
Secrets are only the door to other secrets, to which I am always ready to fall.
— Mom, grandma and the boy you used to go out with dad, did you look for them right?
- Yeah.
— They were my first catch.

Hannibal can feel his heart melt under the word and the concept of perfection, acknowledging
his futile search, before passionate hunters who collected what was stolen from them.— I have to
conclude two things before your confession, that hunters are avid with their prey Willing but clever
hunters with the perfect victims.
"Do you still love me?" Nevertheless?
— Yes, perhaps one cannot love the sun more, even though it does so much damage.
— A romantic.
[...]
Time: 11:10 PM
Dear Dr. Hannibal Lecter,
I am looking for a professional in psychiatry, specialized in the analysis of neurodivergent disorder with
a specialty in the prediction of criminal minds.
I have learned first-hand that you are a good reference in the area, with a pleasant but sad
recommendation from who you were in life, the talented Doctor Bloom, as an intelligent man capable of
deciphering enigmatic scenarios based on brief evidence.
My name is Will Graham, Professor of Criminal Investigation 1, 2, and 3 and Psychopathology of Evil
Minds Level 6 at Columbus University, FBI profiler, and father of a slightly upset teen.
You will see that the explanation of a second opinion in my professional and private life is never
unnecessary.
I know that your schedule must always be busy, but I trust that you are interested in accompanying me
in the analysis of the respective cases that I have to analyze, how to treat my own Empathy disorder
and ASD, in the same way.
I would like you to give me therapy, with the clear intention of improving my abilities.
Sincerely, Will Graham
Time: 11:30 PM
Dear Mr. Graham,
I am very pleased to meet you, although I must confess that I have known you for a long time,
you are famous in the most educated circles of the forensic world. I would find myself unable to
reject it, certain that finally, in the most honest way possible, it will be the sunset of my knowledge.
I am very grateful for the decision to take therapy at my right hand, however, I am sure that at
some point I will be involved in its own influence.
The cost of therapy is $150 an hour, but since you are with the FBI, the cost is $50.
I have a free schedule on Wednesdays at six in the afternoon, feel free to let me know if you
have availability.
Your already friend, Hannibal Lecter.
Time: 11:32 PM
Payment made, the appointment is ok.
I like to read Fish and Game in waiting rooms, in case you need to know.
Time: 11:45 PM
I have a green chair that can wait for you.
Time: 11:48 PM
Will it also have an ebony chair?
Time: 11:55 PM
I don't even know him and he's already dazzling me.
Time: 11:57 PM
See you Wednesday Doctor Lecter.
Time: 11:59 PM
Good night Will.
It goes without saying that Mike loses his privilege and is no longer a priority for Hannibal, since he has a new and
peculiar patient. Mike stops taking the pills when he finds himself sidelined by his psychiatrist, Hannibal has heard from
somewhere that he still believes he's being persecuted. Hannibal unfortunately feels the same way.
She doesn't see Mike again, but she waits for Will, the empathetic and very ASD professor of Psychopathology,
who she wanted to meet so much. Hunting and Fishing, volume two.
I know optimism, blood and love
There are two glasses of wine on the table and although Hannibal Lecter knows that he is being very
optimistic, inclined to more news, he prefers to let himself be carried away more by hope than by the
crude feeling of nothingness. A whole new thing in him.
Not the fact of waiting for Will, because that's what he always did, but the fact of being optimistic.
He was never a pessimist or an optimist, quite the contrary to Will, who was a staunch pessimist
because, as they said, to be a pessimist one had to have been an optimist at one time and Will had
been an optimist without permission, he still was, as he noticed in every fearful step on the path he took,
when disappointment hit him.
Because the boy could take everything literally, even chance.
A mixture of pessimism and optimism misdirected to Hannibal's perception, because if Will was told the
sky was going to fall, Will could spend hours looking up hoping he would fall, as if they were telling him
that life was hard but well, he was hoping it was too. The same as if Will said he was cold, it was because
he really felt it. He didn't see lying as a possibility, nor exaggeration either, certain that the facts were
simple: They happen or
they do not pass.
For someone with ASD it was easier to believe, supported by science and the opinion that others had
about the subjectivities of life, ready to understand things that he did not understand. For example, Abigail
once told Will, as told by Abigail herself, that she was dying for a pizza. And Will drove all night for one,
sure Abigail would die without the pizza. As Abigail had also told him that love was possible, so Will
accepted that he loved Hannibal with only five crises involved.
However so much believe in literal truths came to realize that Abigail was not really going to die and that
love really was not always easy, even when you accepted it. A pessimist born of optimism, ASD and quite
literally, annoyed with people who could always correct him on what to say and when to say it, but never
being honest about chance and chance.
hopes.
Quite the contrary, Hannibal had never expected anything, he had taken everything he wanted, so more
than chance and good luck, he also qualifies as a destiny maker, unable to believe that something would
happen just because he expected it or did not expect it from the all.
He wanted a good life, he made his life good. He wanted to demonstrate his superiority, he
demonstrated it. He wanted to be the best psychiatrist in town, he killed the other psychiatrist for
competition, he wanted a better doctor, he killed the mediocre doctor, manipulating another doctor to take
his place. He wanted the best meat, he didn't expect the butcher to get it, he killed the butcher and hunted
the meat himself. He did, he did not expect.
But with Will, chance had been tested, and then yes, Hannibal was an optimist about Will, because
if he didn't expect anything, it would be hard to stand on his feet and believe that he could take it all
and get nothing. Because actions with Will were not enough and when there was already
Once everything was praiseworthy, it was left to hope and even pray, mentally in some chapel in Italy, that
it would work.
Hot and cold, a believer and a doer, a pessimist and an optimist, Will and Hannibal, Hannibal and Will.
It was five in the afternoon and despite making a fool of himself, he checked every corner of the office
meter by meter, thinking or trying to think what would bring Will's mind back to that place.
What would you play first? At what point would he lose his gaze? What will be trifle and what would
be important in his eyes? Will Graham in therapy with Hannibal Lecter, an exquisite dish to try, hot or cold.
When he opened the door, he held his breath and had to witness what he had seen in the last few months,
totally exposed, raw, as if Will had nothing to prevent or think about. The Will sitting in his green chair, with his
straight chin and tense posture, was not an optimist at that moment, he was a doer and the Hannibal who
answered the door was a believer. Changed from end to end, in a mixture that is difficult to discern now.
Killer boy, my new killer, my fisherman.
Maroon silk fitted shirt, black fitted pants, hair pulled back, cropped, a light layer of well-groomed beard
molded into a padlock, a silver watch, probably from his family, new perfume... Ah, sourness and sweetness ,
black leather shoes, a dark coat, perhaps leaden, hanging from one arm and the dark shine of a look that does
not need to hide.
A neurodivergent Will Graham, full of patterns, empathic, empirical and totally literal. “Good evening, Mr.
Graham.
- Good evening Doctor Lecter.
Two strangers, one who expected everything and the other expected nothing, one who didn't know he could
take and the other who wanted to take everything. Two murderers without a mask, without hiding places,
without latex gloves, without a plastic suit, without weapons involved, more than their exposed truths. Two
destiny makers, two Gods who take and leave, who kill to live and to live, to feel, to understand, what made
their full life exist. — Uhm, fresh pine, you cleaned your office.
— I have always believed that the neatness of the work environment is important in psychiatry, a scenario
that is not very neutral for the other, so that nothing distracts you from your own core and you can express
yourself easily.
Will has his hands inside his pants as he walks to the center of the office and Hannibal closes the
door, the hands inside hiding his knuckles and long fingers, but drawing the fabric in, fitting just right into the
round curve... "But they don't finish." distracted by the smell or by the books, not even by the art statues you
have in here, but by something else.
"Don't you think this is a white place between them and me?"
— I think it is the perfect setting, so that they focus their attention only on you, from the ebony to the
wooden floor.
Hannibal is sitting in his own chair, still watching Will stand looking at everything but him, perhaps showing off
his new found freedom, flaunting it. Her Will, the one with the post office, the greasy pizza, the dogs, Abigail's
dad, the nervous boy, is controlled. — The insinuation is not
more than a mediocre tool for what we don't say openly, are you insinuating that I want my patients to only
notice me or do you really want your pernicious comment to be taken as innocent?
"He didn't mean it, I assure you."
— Very rude of you to make such an assertion, to be our first date. — Hannibal does not want to have fun, but
he does not avoid participating in the scene in which they are involved when nothing now stops them.
Will turns slightly, his sharp-edged face and upturned nose peeking out in amusement. - I'm wrong?
— The fact that you are right does not make you less arrogant.
Will raises his eyebrows, smug and amused. — I got it right, that's the important thing, Doctor Lecter.
Hannibal watches as the control slips from his fingers, like the sand itself, unable to hold its grains. But
Hannibal now knows him, so he can try and use his month and a half away to show his own weapons. — To
your surprise, Will, you classify as one of those who focused on the man and not the why.
Will continues walking, it's just Will walking around, it's just Will looking down at his feet as he walks and
finally Will, sitting on his desk, as if there were no important papers under him, no trifles calling his attention.
Will sliding his body over her, playing with a pencil. — The trap of attraction to you has been perfected, just
as I'm not the only one who will end your therapy, with your influence more than mine, I can assure you that I
have done the same.
- What do you mean?
— That in your office you are the center of everything, but my own stage is not reduced to four walls.
- So?
— Inside here you are the one who rules, because you have been like that for a long time, even me.
Hannibal crosses his legs, pretending that time will take his side at Will's opening. — Yes Will, outside of here
everything revolves around you, I would even dare to say that you are the sun and I am Icaro, even right now,
willingly burning with every aspect of your life.
— I wouldn't take it to be the center, perhaps only you want to see it that way, because that's how you want it,
you have called me the sun, literally and you have called yourself Icaro, when we are only two people in a room
coexisting in the presence of the another, dealing with our truths.
— And despite the tendentious comparison, you have understood me.
I don't like subjectivity.
"Do you want the truth literally?"
Will looks into the library, continues to sit on the table, then looks directly at Hannibal.
— You are the doctor, what do you recommend?
— Whatever you want them to be with you, reciprocity is always a priority element to trigger a possible succession
of events that are within our power.
Will smacks his lips, nods. - Good. He cocks his neck, buries his hands further into his pockets, despite his
newfound strength, there is the nervous boy, exposed like a nerve to the heat, uncomfortable with feelings. — I
want to start my therapy by saying that I am a murderer and my daughter is too.
The word murderer sounds good in Will's mouth, the truth even more so. — You take the life of the other,
circumventing your own need for control.
“That is not reciprocity, Doctor Lecter.
“I'm not the one in therapy, Will.
Will smiles, buries his hands again, looks down at the floor, plays with his feet in the air, just the display of one
more pattern when faced with the truth, expectation and optimism, stubbornness. "Do you enjoy making me ask
you to be honest?"
— I enjoy many things about you.
Will's feet hang in the air for a moment, maybe two seconds, until he composes himself. — Lying to me may be
one of them.
— No less than you, you have to admit.
— It is very rude of you to share the prime time of your function, focusing attention only on me.
— Very difficult to avoid besides, you have arranged yourself physically for me, it is almost impossible to say that
something could focus on me, if you look the way you do.
Will nervous, the pattern boy, blushing. Oh and Hannibal wants to be a doer, he wants to open his shirt button by
button just to touch the hot skin, feel Will's sweaty hands, now that he knows that with those same hands he has
killed, he has touched the blood. “Uhm, shit, I just want him to be honest and you try, you try to distract me.
— Telling you that you look beautiful today can't be more than something literal, impossible to misinterpret,
don't you like the literal, Will?
— To say that I am the sun and that you are Icarus is not something literal.
“I can't fight comparing you to the art itself.
— I told you that I am a murderer and you cannot assume the same, when you have already done so.
Hannibal stretches his neck towards the two glasses of wine served, without freezing, without concoctions in between.
Hannibal likes wine clean of influences, not like his office that he wants to be filled with them, but the glasses look
abandoned, as much as his nose is full of alterations, danger throbs in the air. Maybe he had been too optimistic about
Will, because inside the physique and his cold words, there was deception again. — You want the truth from my lips.
"Nothing I haven't said before.
Hannibal takes his own drink, a sip dries his throat and then heat floods his
stomach, whetting her mental and physical appetite for the haughty and charming Will Graham,
believing she can fool him, again. - I'm just a psychiatrist trying to help my patient, my dear patient
who needs control so much that he kills.
"Hannibal..."
The older one stands up, faster than he wants to, and the steps towards Will are accurate, until only a
meter separates them. — I don't like them to sit at my table, I work there.
- I like the truth.
— Would you like to hear that I only think about kissing you? That I want to bury my hand in your pants
again so you can tell me how much you like me to do it?
- No, no, n-no, not that.
— Maybe the truth is that yes, I am a manipulative psychiatrist and an unqualified one, what do
you like to call him? Unprofessional, yes.
"The truth, the other... uhm, closeness, you're getting close, I-I'm a patient."
Hannibal is totally close to Will now, Will no longer moves his feet in the air, his hands hard as fists in his
pockets, until Hannibal leans over him and shares the scent of wine on his lips, his face on Will, as a
hand slides down his back and finally ends at his waist, touching, feeling every inch of the small body,
while Will only has his eyes open, his mouth parted, waiting for her to kiss him, almost stretching for it.
But Hannibal stops just inches from doing so when his hand reaches from behind, just level with Will's
tailbone. — Did you get so beautiful just to give me pleasure or so that I wouldn't realize that you're
recording me?
Jaw clenched, Will holding the gaze, Hannibal's hand finishing closing on the recording machine
tucked into Will's hip, until Hannibal tugs a little on Will's shirt, still smiling until he pulls out the device.
- Both.
Hannibal pulls on the machine until it slowly slides from Will's waist and Hannibal stops looking at the
boy's mouth, only to look at the equipment. — Another thing for which you will have to apologize on
your long list, Mr. Graham, I do not like to have my therapies recorded.
"It's just... it's just...
"What did you intend to do, Will?"
- The truth.
"The truth for Jack Crawford or for you?"
I don't know, I don't know what I want.
— You twist in your own evil, but upon discovering mine, you pretend that we cannot coexist at all, do
you consider that your way of selecting them is better than mine? Or should we both appear before the
FBI so you can sleep easy?
— The murderers should be in jail.
- Very literal.
— People should not be killed Hannibal.
Hannibal opens the recorder, slowly ripping out the tape and destroying it, pulling every inch of the recording,
then gracefully rolling it up, until the artifact rests on the table right next to WIll's legs. "I'm afraid I'll ask you to
leave.
- I do not want to go.
— Do you intend to continue manipulating me just to obtain the truth of what I am or do you only rejoice in the
pain of seeing me give in to you?
“You are a murderer, murderers must be caught, brought to justice, stopped.
- If it's what you want for yourself.
- Included me.
And Abigail.
Hannibal now returns to be a meter away from Will, with his hand on the glass, drinking a little more, while trying
to understand what Will Graham is trying to record him, in his beautiful struggle to understand why he must be
governed by good and evil, optimism and pessimism, when he was as docile as Hannibal when it came to
darkness. — I don't want to leave, Abigail is mad at me for taking us away from you.
"I'm not going to excuse you so easily and so quickly, not anymore, Will."
— What do I have to do to find out why you do it? Why do you murder?
— Illuminate me with your light, blind me with your truth, allow me to drink from you, if you want me to do
the same for you.
Will shakes his head, finally takes his hand out of his pockets and grabs his beard, messes it up, a little more
Will of the bosses, less Will the manipulator. "You're... you're being abstract, I need action."
- So literal.
"I want to know what to do, I can't, um, I can't just hope for the best."
"So you intend to hand us both over?"
- Yeah.
"If you'd only asked, I'd be on my knees in front of Jack Crawford handing myself over, if that's what you need
to know I'm going to wait for you."
"I have ruined Abigail, you will only plunge us further into the darkness."
"Then you can wait for me for eternity, although I'm afraid I don't want to fall before you again."
The darkness, your darkness...
— What do we understand by darkness? Dante said that hell is just one more station of the soul, can not the
earth be one more station where we are going?
- Abstract.
- Optimistic.
You are not an optimist.
— And you are not abstract.
Will takes his face again, the little distance between them burns between them, Hannibal knows that it is a
matter of seconds before he gives in to what Will Graham wants. Her mouth may be the first reason, the
second is the rest of her physique, so attractive and sensitive to her hands, recalling the day in the small
office.
Will Graham wants to turn it in? Do you want to deliver to everyone? Do you want to see them
immersed in an investigation? Do you want to betray him over and over again? Test your devotion? Modify
every chair and schedule you can?
Hannibal savors their lips, Will squirms in his place, they recover their personalities from the
beginning, it's them but in freedom, a mixture of emotions difficult to channel. When Will cranes his neck for
Hannibal to sniff, the older one takes it as permission to give in a little more. — If I touch your skin, Will, I
won't let you leave until I do it right.
"You said you wouldn't excuse me so easily.
Hannibal takes Will's hair in his hands, messing up the curls, opening space around his neck and the boy
stops breathing when he exposes himself, as if ready to receive the bite, exhausted.
“I'm afraid our hour is up, Will.
- I will not leave.
- Good.
As soon as he lets go of Will's hair, the boy looks so abandoned and so heartbroken by his actions that
Hannibal wants to step back and take what he's finally been offered. But isn't betrayal a clear sign that the
future depends on oneself? That is to say, isn't the past leaving a teaching so that what happens next is
within our hands? "Hannibal, what do I have to do to make you apologize?"
“You could live here and I couldn't say no to you, just like I can't tell you to leave, because I can't say no to
anything.
"And if I want you to stay?"
"Except that, you have betrayed me Will.
"So can I stay?"
— You could live here and I wouldn't be interested, you could wait for me forever, but I'm afraid, Will, that
your betrayals precede you.
Will nods, says nothing more as he lets the air out of his body, perhaps taking in the information as much as
the abandonment. Hannibal clearly expects Will to leave, how proud he leaves the office to never see him
again. He imagines Abigail at home waiting for him, the dogs waiting, perhaps more fishing and more killing.
But Will is already fully stretched out at his table. - Can
wait.
— How long would you wait for this attraction of yours and me, which you don't even dare to see as such?
“You said that I could wait for all eternity.
The throbbing cold the tape recorder left on his hands is enough to make Hannibal want to leave, to
walk away again, to return to the quiet of his home, to the carefree days before Will.
However, Will does not prove ready, not committed to sacrificing his life like Hannibal with him, he takes
his handbag, packs his belongings. She politely waits five minutes for Will to leave, but he doesn't.
— You can leave at any time you want, remember to lock it, there is one in my first drawer.
- Alright.
When he closes the office door, Hannibal looks once more at the boy sitting on his desk, the other returns
his gaze. After a nod, the older man closes his door, sure that this time Will will leave, but he can't stop
himself, even though he wants to. Pessimistic.
Driving home makes him uneasy, so he goes out to dinner at a crowded place, when it strikes ten at
night, he calls Abigail. The girl confirms that her father has not come home. Hannibal buys takeout and
drops it off at Wolf Trap. "He said he would get you back.
He tried to record me.
— He did not say that he would recover you, nor how.
- Eat Abigail.
It's Thursday morning when Hannibal showers, makes coffee and reads the paper, calls Abigail again, and
she confirms that Will hasn't been home all night. Bring Wolf Trap breakfast, drop Abigail off at school.
-What is happening?
— I would like to answer you clearly, but it eludes me.
When the FBI calls, he cancels morning appointments at his office, he drives in a hurry to see Will even
from afar, but the boy doesn't come to Jack's call. - Do you know where the hell it is?
Graham?
— I assure you Jack, I would like to know the same.
There's a killer working in compost, harvesting his victims with insulin inducing them into a diabetic coma,
Hannibal can imagine Will talking about how particles connect man to the earth, how victims harvest just
to get closer to them But Will He is not there, Hannibal intends to be useful as well as a distraction for his
mind.
When she calls Abigail in the afternoon, Will still doesn't show up. He picks up Abigail from school,
they buy takeout from Wolf Trap, he cancels their afternoon appointments, he walks the dogs with the
girl, worry building.
When he buys meat from the usual butcher, he is uncomfortable and calls Will Graham, but like everyone,
Will does not answer and not only does he not answer, but his phone is turned off. "Where have you
been, troublesome boy?"
He walks the beach when it's dark looking for him, without any news, visits the mall, the carpentry, calls
Jack, calls Abigail again and the emptiness in Hannibal's stomach deepens. Being terribly optimistic, he
hopes Will is still alive, being a doer, he keeps looking for him. It's already midnight by the time he's
genuinely tired, getting home isn't pleasant, or smoking two or three cigarettes. "You better show up.
When the next morning's coffee is drunk, when he picks up Abigail for the school day, Carrot Friday,
it's been more than twenty-four hours without hearing from Will. Hannibal is already searching, ready to
cancel all his appointments for the day, when a compelling thought hits his face.
- Boy... Literally.
He drives so fast that his feet don't recognize the brakes, that his heart beats with gratitude for existing in a
reality that he wasn't supposed to live at almost fifty years of age. When he opens the door to his office, Will
is stretched out on his desk, his coat acting as a pillow, while he writhes in his own body as a coat, it's ten
in the morning on a Friday.
Will looks tired, he looks haggard, and yet Hannibal knows he looks beautiful just the same. The sound
of the door does not wake him up, in the same clothes as his date on Wednesday, disheveled and with
a now prominent beard. — Will.
The boy opens his eyes, swallows and looks around, two messy books accompany him. "You didn't say I
couldn't read, but I wanted to read."
"Were you here the whole time?"
"You said to wait for you.
— I said that I would leave and I was not interested in seeing you.
— You didn't say that, you said to wait for you and that I could live here, you said uhm, uhm pain, pain,
stomach ache, you said you'd come back.
Will...
Will twists around clutching his stomach. - I was waiting for you.
"You haven't eaten anything for twenty-four hours?"
"Twenty-seven hours, twenty minutes, uh, fifteen seconds, sixteen, seventeen...
"Get up, Will.
The boy stands up, the humor of his sweat, the lack of a bathroom only making Hannibal sniff his
scent. “Abigail was worried about you.
— You take care of her, did you take care of her?
— He has attended school normally, he has eaten.
- I knew you would do it.
Hannibal slides a hand down Will Graham's cheek, though he tenses with what little energy he has left.
"What am I supposed to do with you if you don't want to run away with me but you insist on staying here?"
- Don't know.
"You're going to get up and go home with me.
Will does so, picking up the two books from his shelf to return them, walking slowly, giving away his
weakness, until he stumbles a bit and Hannibal catches him before he falls. — Weakness due to prolonged
lack of nutrient absorption.
"Why didn't you go away?"
— You said to wait for you for eternity, that concerns the time I had left to live, an average of four days...
I'm thirsty.
- Sweet boy.
Hannibal buys water when he stops the car at the gas station, buys cigarettes and when he gets to the car,
Will is asleep, he touches the back of his neck and the heartbeat is there. When they arrive at the fancy
house in Baltimore, Will finishes the two bottles of water he bought, says nothing when they carry him home,
says nothing when they let him sleep on the kitchen table, when Hannibal cooks and prepares meat. baked,
French fries, rice and sautéed vegetables. - Time to eat.
"Are you giving me human meat?"
— Beef, it's just beef.
"I could eat whatever you want.
“That's good to know, but for now, it's just beef.
"Will you touch me again?"
— Eat Will, you will eat everything I give you.
— You said to wait for you, why did you take so long?
- I can be an idiot.
- You may be.
- Will you eat Will?
- I am very hungry.
When Will eats, he does it messily, potatoes, rice and meat all at the same time, he doesn't stop except
to see that Hannibal is looking at him, when he discovers that this is the case, he thanks, eats again,
dirtying his hands and mouth He doesn't stop to talk, he just looks at Hannibal, until the older one places
more meat on his plate, Will eats again. — I'm already full, but I can continue eating if you want.
— You don't have to eat because I say so, you have to eat because you need to.
Will nods, within his thoughts the logic fits as resolved, until he yawns. Hannibal proposes that he sleep at
his house, Will talks about Abigail, Hannibal tells him that he will take care of her.
— She calls you dad, right?
— It does.
"If I get caught, would you take care of her?"

— Hunting and fishing would continue to be one.
It's nice to know that she has someone to take care of her.
— Do you know that before they catch you, I would kill whoever tries to do it?
— The Ripper, I'm not recording.
“Yes, Will the Ripper.
Hannibal leaves Will in his bedroom, says nothing as they carefully lift him back onto her, as he
handles the Wolf Trap he thinks of the foolish optimism he had when he poured the wine glasses, thinking
he could plunge Will back into a tretra without being involved in one of the boy's own.
Outside of Wolf Trap, he realizes that yes, inside his office the center is always about him, but outside the
four walls, it will always be about Will. And she loves him, she loves him so much that the manipulation
has taken effect. He takes care of his daughter, he takes care of his dogs, he depends on Will, as Will
does the same with him.
[...]
Will is asleep when he gets home after two hours, his bed looking too big for the skinny frame in a tiny
corner, curled up in a little ball, looking so fragile and unreachable that Hannibal doesn't do anything else.
to look at it for five minutes.
Standing, unable to move, seeing that nothing has been touched and yet everything smells like Will's
new perfume and more Will, not showering, just his scent hitting the bed, the walls, making another room
his own.
He knows that he has to walk, that he finally has to rest, that at eleven o'clock at night he should have
had dinner, he should be reading and drinking some wine, perhaps thinking about who would be his next
victim. Or better yet, trying to kill Will and the danger he represented, able to try again to record it, but most
of all, he should be away from there, when Will's body is so accessible, so distended. — Six minutes, almost
seven minutes.
Hannibal sucks in a long breath, fooled again. - Are you awake.
— Since you opened the bedroom door.
- You let me look at you.
- I like that you do it.
"Do you want to go to Wolf Trap?" I haven't changed yet, I could leave you there.
- I want to stay.
— I'll sleep in the other room, anything you want you can look for me.
Will hasn't opened his eyes, just stretched half his spine, breathing easy. - I can take a shower?
— Please, feel free to do it, to do whatever you want.
Okay, now Hannibal grab his nightwear before he goes out, check the room before he goes out, Will
now she looks at him, until she closes the door.
Sleeping is uncomfortable when Will is less than thirty feet away, plus the sound of messy water hitting the floor.
Hannibal, however, tries, he knows that the day after is an important day, the day to find out what Will is up to, his
next move, his next move on the chess table, betray him or not, kill him or not, continue pretending that they are not
such. for whom, tolerating the fact of having each other in their lives, whether they want to or not, forced to coexist in
a reality in which it is better to see each other and not touch each other, than not to see each other at all.
He rotates his body two or three times, attracting memories of Lithuania, Italy, France, Morocco, but nothing
works. As the sound of the shower stops, Will's soft footsteps moving across his room, Hannibal wonders if the boy
is questioning whether to put his dirty clothes back on or take Hannibal's clothes, but that's why Hannibal said,
literally, you can do whatever you want and he really hopes Will wants to dig through his drawers, to get something
from him.
The thought does not help him sleep better, but now it bothers him, because as a good doer, he would have
risen to take what he wants, if he wants Will, he would take Will, either to kill him or to finally bite his mouth, to
see if he dares to betray him again, to play with him. But that's not the Hannibal under Will's influence, the
Hannibal who loves Will is a pessimist, hoping for another betrayal, almost yearning, because at least it's
something.
He does not take Will, because the boy trembles at his touch, nor does he take it, because he is afraid of discovering
that Will sees him as just another murderer and because rejection is painful. He turns in bed again, Will's footsteps
have stopped, Hannibal thinks again that the boy must once again be a little ball in his bed. Until they knock on the
door. "Hannibal?"
"Yes Will?"
The small open crack of the door in the dark, shows Will's naked torso and white belly, plus all, but all of his
nakedness below his waist, which is darkness first and then the clear image of his private parts open to the viewer.
— Can I take some of your clothes?
Hannibal doesn't intend to stare at the nudity, but he does, when Will's thighs, full of open pores and hair
standing on end from the cold, show themselves. I said you could do what you wanted.
"People don't set limits when they say that, I thought your clothes would be a limit."
— And you come naked to my room, isn't that the limit?
Will looks at himself, then a hand closes over his penis. - I did not consider it.
Hannibal closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, the memory of Will standing naked six feet from his bed hitting him.
— In the second drawer of the main shelf you can find pajamas, shirts and pants, try on the ones you want, until you
feel comfortable with one.
- Uhm, thanks.
"You're welcome Will.
The boy slams the door, Hannibal turns furiously on the bed, his body's reaction is adolescent when the heat of
possession rules it, because the haughty boy has all the nerve to walk around his house naked with the peace of
mind that Hannibal he won't do anything about it, as if not less than a month ago, he hadn't made him and himself
cum, talking about the
physical and everything you would like to do to him.
Hannibal is upset, no, he won't be able to sleep. He gets up, when he goes through his door the sound of his
drawers echoes in the house. He passes by in pain, until he reaches his living room, pours himself a glass of
cognac, dries it until his stomach burns, betraying his lack of dinner. After ten minutes looking out the window and
when there is no more sound from Will, she returns to her room. Not long ago she lay down with the memory of
Mike and their postponed appointments, when the door rang again. "Hannibal?"
— Will.
Will is now wearing a Hannibal shirt, white and too big for his size, which shows his neck and part of his chest,
however, he is still naked from below, it is only a long shirt that covers his lower part. — Can I smell your clothes?
Hannibal's eyes widen even more, taking in the delicate image of a Will Graham in his clothes, smelling of his
shampoo, with damp hair, looking twenty years younger, wide awake and barefoot. I said you could do what
you wanted.
- Unlimited?
"Will, you could kill me and I seriously hope you take it literally."
— It bothers you that I come to wake you up.
— No, although I would like you to leave, that's not what bothers me, what bothers me...
Will slams the door shut, Hannibal sighs, he shouldn't have brought up the fact that he'd like him to leave. — Will.
— The closed door is the only thing that separates them. "I didn't say you were going.
"You said you would like it."
— You didn't let me finish, come in please.
Will peeks out again, the light from the passage filters the transparency of the white color a little and
Hannibal pretends to look stoically from the bed, when he is being so vulnerable due to the presence of the
other. I can't sleep, it's just that.
— Would you rather have a glass of wine? I can be company for you Will.
"Can you sleep with me?" Uhm, it's your room and the bed is big, our bodies can fit together, no problem.
"Why do you want me to sleep with you?"
Will seems to think so, the clear scent of mystery reaching Hannibal, which alerts him, believing that another lie
is coming. But it's just Will, with the peculiar scent of sarcasm. — I'm afraid, there may be a murderer in the house.
Hannibal smiles. — There may be up to two.
Will raises his eyebrows, smiles back in perfect imitation.
Hannibal follows Will through the passageway, Will's legs are long and he remains barefoot, until they reach the
bedroom and Will lies down on the sheets to one side. — Did you not want to wear any pants or do you just
enjoy showing me part of your skin?
— None of them stayed, they all fell off.
- I apologize.
— Why do you apologize if your clothes should be your size and not mine?
— I apologize to myself, if I had known that you would spend a night with me, I would have made sure I had
clothes in your size.
- Why would you?
Hannibal approaching the bed and letting himself fall on the opposite side, breathes looking at the ceiling,
feeling Will's weight on the other side, a side that is usually not full, but empty. "Because I wouldn't have to
stand looking at you."
"Don't you like to see me?"
"Not if I can't touch you."
Will seems to nod and is calm with the answer, Hannibal throws his torso to one side, turning his back on
him, sleeping now seems like a titanic activity compared to when he was on the other side.
So he doesn't pretend to sleep, but rather to memorize the sound of Will's breathing, who is to one side,
seeming to be able to do it normally. Hannibal, of course, is not interested in the fact that soon, when dawn
comes, he will have to see him go, he will have to discover what new trick Mr. Graham is playing. But for now
it's just them, being vulnerable, trusting each other, wanting to believe the other can't kill them, while they sleep.
Nine months ago, Will did not pretend to be involved in two truths that he could not tolerate, but surely,
being too optimistic, he wanted to believe that his normality, that of murdering, was so normal that it could
intersect with another. Too optimistic, to later be too pessimistic.
Twenty minutes later thinking, Hannibal is now another optimist, because he expects Will to fall so asleep that
his body relaxes so much, that he finally approaches the middle of the bed, that at some point in the night the
bodies get confused and end up. intertwined, that finally the morning never comes.
The memory of Will's private part is the last thing he needs, short hairs that shadow his sleeping length, the
same one that he had in his hands, small and pink, retracted testicles, a short pubis, the smallest v, thick thighs
and Hannibal really knows, he knows that he will never sleep anymore, because he will have to live with that
memory.
An hour has passed since she went to sleep with Will, it must be one in the morning by then, the sound of the
night is pure silence, only the slight tapping of a branch on her window, echoes and the distant ringing of
some car in a hurry on the street. Until Will's breathing grows stronger.
A nightmare maybe?
Hannibal does not turn, he pretends to breathe calmly a little higher, to show that he is sleeping.
Another breath, a long one and the slight brush of Will's skin, plus the brush of moving clothing. A
bad nightmare, perhaps.
What kind of torture is this that he involved himself in having Will so close and not being able to wake him?
Breathe, seek control, wait for the bad dream to end and with it, morning never comes, never again.
and they die there, one with the other of natural causes, as if they had not been able to escape from the
other, more than in a bed, revealing that they are one for another.
Small V curve, small hairs, pink penis. Hannibal the doer dies, Hannibal the pessimist is reborn.
Will's breathing gets harder, Hannibal wonders if there's some broken boundary if he wakes him up once
and for all, sure Will will thank him, then he'll be able to see him in his long nightgown one more time and
later he'll be able to draw it, to keep it that way to himself, because he is selfish, because he wants to retain the
memory.
Heavier breathing, skin rubbing and finally. - Oh. — The moan of long pleasure.
Hannibal opens his eyes, he doesn't move and the heat abounds him, Will isn't asleep.
The following movement is nothing more than him, moving a leg slightly, to signal that he can be awakened,
alerting his sensitivity. Will's sounds stop, as Hannibal takes one more breath, mimicking sleep. No sign of
Will for five minutes. But the time out is slight, for Will to accidentally breathe again. - Uhm, huh.
Will Graham, is touching himself, while Hannibal sleeps.
“Will, I'm awake.
"You said that I could do what I wanted.
- Are you masturbating?
— Yes. — Short voice, muffled, too tired.
Hannibal takes a breath, deep, and then considers his options, whether to fuck Will right now, against his will
and slow to physical acquaintance, or to leave immediately at the prospect of that rejected idea, to go back to
pretending to sleep to listen to Will masturbate. and do the same later or finally, face WIll's torture — Can I
watch you do it?
"And if I don't do it right?"
Hannibal now hates the wall in front of him, sure that the egg white color he chose was once the best, next
to cherry, because he doesn't want to see the wall, he wants to break the wall, he wants to kill, he wants to
eat, he wants to see. "Can I teach you how to do it right?"
Will considers, stops the rubbing of the sound of skin. — Yes, I want you to teach me.
When Hannibal turns, he has to stop and stare, as the now messy sheets allow him the freedom to drag his
own pajamas along, still half a meter away from a shirt-up Will, naked from the belly button down, oh the navel
tucked in and small as always, rosy cheeks, bitten lips, gaze at the ceiling. — What made you decide to touch
yourself?
— I like your clothes and I wanted to feel like that day at the office, as if you were doing it.
— How can you be so peaceful and at the same time so treacherous?
— I wonder the same, uhm, you are so respectful to me here and the other time, you were drowning
me, tomorrow you could be killing.
"You could be killing me."

- You could do the same.
— Put a hand on your penis again Will.
Will does, he's erect, and the little pink tip of a decent-sized, seven to six-inch penis sticks up through the
little hairs in his hand. Will takes his erection hard, too hard from the middle. “It doesn't feel good, uhm, it
doesn't feel like you did it.
"However, you said you didn't want me to touch you again."
— That is what is correct, not to touch assassins, not to let them touch me, I have never left it.
— From the base Will, you can't do it from the middle, take the base for me, imagine that I do it.
- Oh.
Will takes the base of his dick, glued to his small entrance, Hannibal has to move his leg to keep from
putting too much pressure on his own erection, not when Will is on his bed, taking his dick in front of him,
asking to be shown, literally, how to masturbate “Too much pressure, halves the force, very good.
- Better.
— Now, without pressing again, take your skin Will drag it up.
Will does it, too fast, a wince filling his face. - It is uncomfortable.
— Nobody said you had to do it fast.
— My body encourages a speed, I don't know why, but it's impatient, I want to feel the sensation of the
last time, that you look at me makes me more upset, I don't understand, I don't know what to do, I don't
know... — The hand he abandons his erection, it softens quickly as Will closes his eyes. — You are a
murderer, I am a murderer, but I like it, I like it, why?
— You wander through life wondering why, isn't it easier just to feel?
- Without asking?
- What's the worst that could happen?
They might think I'm not normal.
"Do you really want to be normal Will?"
- So they don't abandon me.
- How are those who abandoned you?
— Normal.
— Will take your pleasure again, allow yourself to free yourself, let me... let me help you.
— I need you to be... I need to understand you, more, uhm literal.
— Take your penis Will, from the base, pressure to forty percent, slowly, stretch your foreskin
to the tip, do it. Will complies, closing his eyes, his erection returning slightly. — Now that you have
reached the tip, close your fist over the crown, with your whole palm, enclose the tip, get wet from the
precum that sprouts, do you see how well you do it?
— Ah, precum, sign of pleasure.
— Now that your palm is more humid let's return to the base, no. Hannibal gulps, his hands
wrapping around the sheet as he stares at Will's penis. — Do not skip the path, go back again, you
are going to go back from above, until you reach the base, but this time, you are not only going to
arrive, but you are going to hit your pubis very softly, the sound of the crash will be what Tell me if
you do it right.
"Slowly, I must...
- Hit, right there Will.
- Oh, um.
— Very well, now I want you to repeat the movement, but this time you are not going to go back in
a straight line, I want you to turn your hand against your entire penis when going up. - Will tries, a grunt
encourages to say that he has made himself hurt again. I said slowly.
— I don't understand how to curve my hand.
Hannibal sighs, the pain in his belly relentless. - It's very simple Will.
- Teach me how to do it.
"I'll explain it to you again.
- No, with you, you have a boner, I want to uhm, I want to see it, I want to see you curve your
hand with yourself.
- You want to see me?
— I want, uhm, I like your body, I want you to teach me how to do it.
Hannibal looks Will in the eye, to his bad luck he only finds honesty, although he has felt it before
and it was nothing close to her. However, Will finds himself so needy, so literally willing to receive
whatever he needs. to get their mind away from there, to really forget who they are.
Hannibal nods, rises to his knees, Will still placidly lying on the bed, one hand on his hardened
penis, while Hannibal is afraid Will will run from the privacy of a body that isn't his own. — If you feel
uncomfortable you can go, I won't bother with you.
- Alright.
Hannibal slides the fabric of his pants, the underwear adjusting his own erection, but he does not see
himself, he looks at Will, who only observes his lower part, he has stopped breathing, however his
hand is still there, his navel , his chest, his mouth ajar, sighing. — Well, although there are certain
differences between you and me, the movement is the same, Will look at me, so you understand.
“Uh, yes, I see your penis. — Hannibal slides the underwear off, until his own stretch is released
Upward, much thicker than Will's and at least two inches larger, Will's cold and gaze feel everywhere, until he
places his hand on it. As he looks down, Will's eyes fill with curiosity, because Will is very curious, even here.
— It's big, it's fine, it's big, it's nice.
- Do you like it?
— Uhm, if it's bigger than mine, do you like mine even though it's smaller?
- Yours is perfect.
— Ah, uhm, ah current of pleasure here Hannibal, here. Will points to her belly, then they turn to look at each
other.
— Then I take the base. — Hannibal resents the first touch, while Will looks at him, looks at his penis, looks at
his eyes, looks at himself again. — Lightly, God, I take the base shot up.
- Your head is thick.
— Yes, I take the head, wet my hand, down and hit. — Hannibal in his pornographic class, he does not intend
to get anything more for himself than for Will, which means teaching, just teaching, but he is selfish and the
cloudy idea that they masturbate at the same time inundates him. “I pound, I pleasure, and then I curve up, like
this, Will.
— I curve my hand, I go up in a curve.
- Come up with me.
— Oh, oh, yes.
“Very good, Will.
Will bites his mouth, closes his eyes, bright eyes, looks nervous, upset and excited. — Why, why do I like to
see you do it?
- Because you like me.
-But why?
“Put your hand down, keep doing it as we speak.
— Why does your voice make it better? Why haven't I felt this way before? Ah, I'm wetter.
— Hit last, always hit. — Hannibal places a fist on the bed, it is close to Will's legs, enough to pretend that
it is on him. — Because that's what attraction is about, not the body and its reactions, but the mind, who
understands us.
— I go up slowly, go up with me Hannibal.
“I'm coming up with you, Will.
If Hannibal didn't recognize his own orgasm, he would be sure that without lack of control and after more
strokes he would be cumming like a pubescent, but he knows control, when it comes to greater reward and
again it's not about him, it's about Will ruling another place, centering everything on himself, on his naive
innocence, on his grotesque world where he somehow ends up being a lovable murderer, nervous teacher,
dangerous psychopath, loving father and almost
a boy scout, in the hands of a predator. - What else do Hannibal?
So Hannibal, the maker, thinks that it's not always about suffering, that if he has to live with Will but without
Will, fleeing from an inevitable end, three more chapters, he has to take something. - Open your legs.
- Shall I open my legs?
— You wanted me to teach you, you must teach me too.
- Alright. — The coming and going of their hands is still slow, but Will knows that there is something that has
changed in the environment, when the fact of opening does not seem to add to his satisfaction, but to Hannibal's.
-So?
Will's white thighs hide his small entrance, tight and small. - Open a little more, raise your hand a little faster,
not so fast, just a little and open, Will, open your legs.
- You want to see?
- I can see?
"Uhm, yeah, ah... I like it."
—I like it too, I like how pretty and pink your entrance is.
“Uhm, sure, if you like it, that's fine.
"Lick your hand Will, just like I do."
Hannibal licks his hand, does not look into Will's eyes, just remains attentive to the small entrance, puckered and
virgin, hot and clear that hides behind even smaller hairs, the idea of fucking him now is no longer a desire, if not
a need. — Now we return the hand to your penis.
— Why do we lick? Will touches himself, looks wide-eyed at Hannibal. “Ah, improved friction, wet, um.
— Does it improve humidity, right?
— Shall I open my legs more, Hannibal?
- Please. Will does, thighs flexed now, as he struggles to show whatever Hannibal wants to see. - I want you so
much.
— Shall I go up faster, can I go up faster?
- You can Will. — Hannibal looks closely at Will's completely reddened penis, his pubis also hit and his hip
now giving the encounter, while his entrance is pushed up. — You can wet your hand again, you can.
Hannibal, yes...
— Will, I love you so much, I serve you Will, I'll do what you want Will...
— Look Hannibal, you can look, I like that you do.
— I'll do what you want, raise your hand, sit down, can I get between your legs?
- Yes Yes Yes.
The two masturbations hit the vibe at the same rate, agitated Will making sure to do it just like Hannibal, not taking his
eyes off, until he has to close his eyes from time to time, only to meet Hannibal again. — You don't know how beautiful
you look touching me, do you know how beautiful you look touching yourself?
"No, um, no one has told me that."
— I will always tell you, until you hand me over.
"No, no, don't talk about it.
— I'll do what you want, Will, you just have to give me an order, go up, go down, go up, go down.
"Hannibal?"
"Yes Will, yes...
— I'll do what you want too, it doesn't matter anymore, not anymore... Tell me what else to do, tell me how to
always feel like this.
- What I want?
- Yeah.
— I want to have you in my mouth.
— Ah, no, no, the mouth is not for that.
"You said you would do what I want."
— But, I keep going up, but inappropriate behavior, you're looking at me, but I want to do what you want.
"You said you wanted me to apologize.
— Manipulation in my mind, ah, ah. Will's hand curves in perfect apprenticeship. "Okay, will you give yourself up for me?"
— If you want it that way, it will be the first thing I'll do in the morning.
“You can, um, you can do it then.
Hannibal leans in until he can smell Will. — Take your hand away, my mouth will be like your hand, I promise.
— Hannibal, but... please, if you don't like it?
— I promise I'll like it, I like everything about you.
Hannibal is waiting for one more impediment until Will stirs, covers his eyes, nods back, and Hannibal gobbles down
Will's penis, for the first time and maybe the last time as well and well, well worth it. Because Will is hot, he feels big
in her mouth, because he's swollen, because he's getting harder. "Hannibal!"
Hannibal licks, his tongue flicks as if he's kissing, Will squirms, tries to get away, Hannibal holds
his hips, releases his erection. — Quiet, if you don't want me to bother, if you want me to give
myself up, you have to obey, fulfill your part of the deal.+
- It's very strong!
- Stay, I said.
Will nods, covers his eyes again, perhaps trying to cope with the sensations, Hannibal smells
the musk, the soap in his bath, and the salty taste of Will's liquid, as the boy breathes heavily,
as he curses, and Hannibal now, leaning against the body, makes its own friction in its own
flesh against Will's thigh. — Hot mouth, your mouth is hot, you are, you are... Hannibal,
Hannibal...
His fingers dig into Will's hip, so soft that it turns red quickly, the older man ensures that Will's
penis touches his throat, the blow he receives is enough to make him contract, to absorb and Will
Graham trembles . Will's hands touch the unseen, finally reaching Hannibal's head.
Hannibal mutters about Will's penis, which is everything he imagined it to be and more, the hot
idea that he's making the love of his life tremble, that he's briefly in control, that he's allowed to
adore, makes him desperate, Will She's shaking for him, Will now grabs her hair, without asking
for permission, whatever he wants, raising his hips.
Hannibal's fingers cup his testicles, Will whimpers, sinking deeper into the bed, the light from the
nightstand making his skin glow more. — It hurts, it hurts, like the other time.
Hannibal nods, catches his own erection, licks Will's penis, locks himself in his own head, lowers,
until it's all inside again. — No, no, no, it's a lot, it's a lot.
— For me, open your legs, for me Will, you can.
- Uhm yes, yes, continue.
Hannibal now choking, prompts Will's hands to push him away. — Take what you want, my mouth
is your hand, remember?
Will nods, looking lost, suffocated, innocent. - Take, take, yes.
Until finally Hannibal finds himself used by Will Graham, as in life itself, when the younger one
pushes Hannibal's mouth up and down, fast, brutal, without stopping. "Shit, shit, shit."
Hannibal cums, feeling his hand wet with his own cum, until his mouth replaces in surprise and
the delicious taste of a hot thickness hits, Will Graham's cum filling him, salty, sweeter than last
time, choking him and his body shakes. "Hannibal...Hannibal." The boy repeats his name, several
times, until he's shaking once more and Hannibal is licking as much as he can, even though the
penis is soft.
Will breathes heavily, continues to blush, even more so when Hannibal searches his eyes
for disapproval, anguish but everything is white, Will Graham in a brief moment of clarity. - That
felt good.
— Anything else to say?

"That's not what the mouth is supposed to be for."
— The mouth is for pleasure.
- To eat.
- I have eaten you.
Will shakes his head, smiles, and finally, his limp body stretches out, wet and undone. - Sleep with me.
— It was established that we would do it.
Will denies. - Sleep with me, close.
Hannibal washes his hands, Will now walks him to the bathroom, they look at themselves in the mirror, they
don't say anything else. When they get to the bed, it's hard to find the right position, with Will trying to fit in, until
Hannibal tugs on his waist, close to him, it's raining outside, Hannibal thinks it's a perfect last night on the loose,
when Will takes a breath and sticks more to him, like a ball but in his arms.
They sleep quickly.
In front of the FBI, when Hannibal and Will look at each other, Will takes his hand. Hannibal doesn't feel like he's
losing his freedom, he even feels in a good mood, free to hide more and even less heavy, he feels like an
optimist, when there's nothing to believe, and nothing to hope for.
It's a good way to end his story, the story of the boy who came and locked him up, who captured him, but
not before letting him taste heaven. Jack Crawford is in his office, reading papers, Hannibal wonders if the
agent will finally be happy when he finds out that the Ripper is in his hands, he can savor the triumph of the
three present: Jack triumphing, Will locking up the bad guy he's always been after and the , sure that love is
the price to pay, with freedom.
— Good morning, Graham, nice to see you back. Do you plan to work today?
— It seems that the freest forensic room is on Saturdays, we wanted to talk with you about the Ripper and
something else.
- I hear. — Jack stretches, Hannibal feels that the memory of his mind is enough, the battle lost just a
different triumph, he is literally happy, surrendered and on his knees, like Will, spreading his legs, melting in
his mouth. He loves him, he will love him even when locked up, he will wait for him, he will be able to read
about him in the newspapers, the doer lost, the optimist won.
— Jack I am.-
Will takes her hand. — We have resumed our relationship, as FBI workers we want an official relationship file, we
do not want Freddie Lounds to treat this as a novel, we need the file and your signature making the term official.
Jack raises his eyebrows, he hates signing those chips, even though he's done it before, but Hannibal, who sees
his hand intertwined with Will's, now looks at the boy. — So they came back, I can't say that he misses me and
what. — Cough. — There was no group bet on it.
Hannibal smiles, he doesn't know what to expect, or what to do, or what chance or game Will is thinking
about now, but he nods. — If I had been included in the bet, I would have lost because I did not expect this
ending, I confess.
Will looks at Hannibal, smiles, as Jack spreads out the papers. — How curious that Doctor Lecter is pessimistic, Will
was the one with the idea, he bet yes.
Lying boy, murderous boy, again playing with me.
"Sorry, um, that's true.
They sign the papers, Jack makes two jokes about it, they spend an hour looking at the evidence of the compost
and crop killer, when the hour is up on Saturday, Will wants to collect his things from his office, Hannibal goes with
him, when the door closes, Hannibal throws at Will and the door takes the hit, while Will grunts from the pain in his
head. — It seems that you never get tired of apologizing, Will.
— Need, pressure, pressure, pressure, I needed to show you that I can play the same as you.
Well, you've made your point clear. He licks Will's throat, no matter how tense Will is, no matter how much he
fights to escape his grasp. — Now you are mine, officially and I will teach you, more, much more.
Will nods, looks up, the twinkle in his eye, perfect patterns and honesty alive, no secrets again, just them. I am
yours and you are mine.
"Will you take care of my Will Graham?"
— I will take care of you, even if my life and that of my daughter depend on it.
Hannibal nods, grabs Will's neck again, hits him against the door again, this time harder. Will grumbles, but smiles.
"Would you give yourself up for me, Will? As I was willing to do for you?"
Will closes his eyes, considers, and finally opens them again. - You just have to ask.
"Do it, give yourself up for me, right now, with Jack Crawford, I bet you wouldn't."
Seconds are scant, Will breaks free of the hold by ducking, proving he could always break free, opens the door and
is running, Hannibal stares at his stupid good luck, to have a relationship with such a literal boy/man, incapable of
tolerate a joke Until he realizes that the seconds are short.
What follows is a chase by the FBI, with Will running and Hannibal chasing him, until he catches him, because Will
is fast and his youth precedes him, but Hannibal is smart and catches him in a shortcut, until he knocks him down,
together they fall to the ground. — Will. — The two bodies on the floor, the people around, Will looking at him,
attentively. - I didn't mean it.
— I love you Hannibal.
- I love you Will.
When they get home, to Wolf Trap's, Will always looks at him, with a smile, never stopping to ask if he really
likes the taste of it, if they can do it again, if he wants him to touch it every night or how long he has to wait. Of
course, as good lovers, friends and parents, they can always wait for pleasure, because when they have a daughter
in the middle, a smoker and rebellious, pleasure can
wait.
Abigail has been acting up lately, as any intrepid teenager has broken the rules,
although she hasn't gone out with a boy or a girl, nor has she thrown a party, but she is standing in the
middle of the room, covered in blood and a knife, in a definitely pitiful staging. Oh, they got back together.
— He says with a smile that could make anyone forget that they have a body at their feet, of a boy his age.
— I... I thought it would take a while, uhm, I'm so happy.
— You fished without me, without my permission.
"Abigail, what did you do?"
— The boy from school, he was so annoying.
Hannibal looks at Will, unable not to feel proud, even though they know that's not what this moment is about and
Will can almost say goodbye to the pleasure of the night, because now they have extra work to do. "Abigail, you
shouldn't have done that.
— But they came back, that's good, that's the important thing.
— You are irresponsible, you do not have permission.
“Abigail, that wasn't smart of you.
"So, aren't we going to talk about them coming back?"
Will denies, removes the knife from his hand, looks around, until he finds Hannibal, in search of stability.
"Love, what are we going to do about it?"
Hannibal tries not to be moved by the word resurfacing, his mind clouding over possible solutions, which
include lots of cleaning, disinfectant, and latex gloves. — Protect Abigail.
— I'm so glad they came back, I think I could cook...
Hannibal looks seriously at the girl, killing is not bad, killing without premeditation yes, without permission
too. — You are going to go up to your room right now, you will put your clothes in a bag, you will shower, you
will disinfect the shower, then you will go down to help clean. He says sternly.
elderly.
- But...
Will nods, touching the back of the boy's neck on the floor and looking up, disapproving of Abigail.
- Listen to your father.
Abigail for the first time is silent, she is not the Annoying One, nor the Nosy One, nor the Excluded One, she is
the daughter of two murderers, so she nods. When he disappears, Hannibal stretches out the body, Will helps
him and in the middle of his charge, while the blood stains his hands, they smile at each other.
They are both optimists and doers when it comes to Abigail. "Time of death, Mr. Graham?"
- Twelve hours.
- Killer?
- My daughter.
- Design?
— Terrible design, fury, conceit, lack of control.
"Have I already told you, Mr. Graham, that I love you and your daughter?"
— Irrelevant to the case, unprofessional and latent conflict of interest.
Hannibal dumps the body when they get to the bag, looks at his stained hands and then
looks at Will, Will looks back at him. The steps are shortened, ending in a short kiss, until a
nervous Will smiles. And now, we're in this together, love.
"I couldn't be anywhere else, my love.
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Will Graham's Insightful Profile of Hannibal Lecter

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Will Graham's Insightful Profile of Hannibal Lecter

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The Sweet World of Will Graham

The Sweet World of Will Graham

Warning: Will Graham in this story is a man diagnosed with Asperger's

Undoubtedly, of an overwhelming and accurate darkness, an absorber of emotions par excellence.

Sad the world in which he had to live, unable to distinguish colors.

— Good afternoon Dr. Lecter.

Hannibal was just curious.

— Ebony. the man whispered.

"You still have one."

— Asperger or High-functioning Autism, late.

- Not official yet.

— But already a used term.

- You do not like that.

— Have I passed the test?

There you are.

"Not quite good?"

— She's a teenager Will, give me a little credit.

Nerves, twitching, how exhausted it must be to live like Will. - TRUE.

"Six in the evening sounds great, okay?"

A sigh, tiredness, too much stress. - Yeah?

What the hell happened?

Good evening Will,

How many minutes before should we arrive?

It is not necessary to make a return, good night, I have to sleep.

We will arrive ten minutes early.

“Good afternoon, Abigail, Will.

Was the teenager Abigail or Hannibal?

He decided not to sink so low.

"Does that bother you?"

— What annoys you is having had to pay so much to be here.

I'm sorry I was a reason for discussion.

— Invest in your mental health?

But he chose you.

— What is it like to deal with someone with ASD?

— He's just scared, he doesn't like changes.

— And you try to make it as easy as possible.

- I try! Abigail straightened up and smiled. - But it is not working.

- What do you think it's due to?

— Normal life can be boring.

- Just take care of yourself.

— Sometimes I think he only takes care of him, everything he can control.

— He is a peculiar psychiatrist. — The girl resolved quickly, Hannibal loved that.

— He told me about milkshake Fridays.

Abigail brightened with the opinion. — Yes, although I am one of them.

— Differentiating ourselves is not bad.

“However, I still want to go out with them.

— Or just go out, right?

finished for today.

Will grunted a good night, hurrying out of the office.

Good evening Will,

Best regards, Hannibal Lecter.

I do not accept the return, but thank you very much.

Dear Will, it's not a question, it's a decision.

Sincerely, Hannibal Lecter

He doesn't drink milkshakes, he smokes.

He arrives smelling of cigarettes, always.

I have never smoked, it is bad for the lungs.

I would be incapable of such infidelity, I can keep the secret Will.

I know the cigarette

Hannibal was comforted by the idea.

What was Abigail Graham trying to fill so urgently? He asked himself.

"Oh come on Graham! Don't be boring!