And that smile does its work, suspending him in a world where nothing exists but them. Will has to catch himself before the flow of time slows too much and he’s taken along with it. That he has any control of this experience at all now serves to dig his grave more deeply, burying him in comforts long-denied. He’s Hannibal, of course; Hannibal is there, so always will there be a part of him that takes that shape. But the rest of him is very much Will, and it’s so hard for him not to tremble with joy in that knowing.
His heart skips a beat, like a damned teenager. It’s actually difficult, watching him do this, admiring him like some long-lost work of art. It’s fascinating, always, and downright baffling. Will would even venture to say narcissistic, but doesn’t on the grounds that he’s never had it to begin with. The sentiment is short-lived when something cooler creeps, seeping like ocean air through his clothes and into his bones. It settles there, unshakable, and so Will makes no attempt to fight it. Besides, Lector had used the very word which described this. His chest tightens painfully.
“Seems like you were able to survive our separation after all,” he mutters thoughtfully, focusing on the warmth between their fingers, “But living and living well aren’t the same thing, and you like to live well.” he’ll allow the closeness for now, finding himself particularly hungry for it as if just as much time had passed for him. There’s a vague crack of a smile that vanishes as quickly as it comes, as if he found his own joke to be very funny. He’ll just bask for now, in this.
‘Seems we were fools of fortune after all,’ he thinks in curiousity; whether they had died or not was no longer relevant. Will lets a few moments pass beyond Hannibal’s last question, as if giving it careful consideration. He breaks the silence with what nearly resembled good-humored snickering.
“When have you ever known me to be okay?”
Seems like you were able to survive our separation after all.
Survive? Yes, but that seemed.. out of the question. He’d survived Will rejecting him, though he hadn’t escaped unscathed. Likewise, Hannibal had also survived solitude in Hive City -- both this time and during his first stay, which had been far longer. It hadn’t been easy. He’d simply kept living, and it seemed to be in his nature to continue doing so. Even while he’d found many things to entertain himself with -- from hunting to enjoying life’s niceties -- it hadn’t quite been the same without Will.
One had to question how fortunate he was to have such resilience. Will seemed to understand that well enough, as stated by his following comment. Hannibal simply gazed at him calmly, noting his hint of a smile, brief as it had been.
His question, however, drew a glimmer of amusement to the doctor’s visage.
“I had to ask.”
Still holding the empath’s hand, his gaze remained focused on Will’s own, reflecting his interest. “I have a house in sector four. Perhaps you could come over.” His thumb gently smoothed over Will’s hand, partly testing their physical grounds. He had yet to fully discover what he could and couldn’t do. “I could treat your wounds.”
It seemed.. strange; it had been some time since they’d last seen each other, and yet it felt as though no time had passed at all. Hannibal supposed that spoke for the entirety of their relationship. “You could stay with me.. if it would please you.”
