@personsuited, continued from here.
For a few long moments, he’s quiet, eyes tearing from Hannibal’s to scan the details of the Primavera as he thinks. The atmosphere is--- it’s not tense, surprisingly, but still a little stifling. And at the same time, it’s familiar, and it lets his muscles fall lax. But he’s still coiled tight enough to lash out if necessary.
( It won’t be necessary. Not now. )
The raised scar across his abdomen burns with fresh, new phantom pain. Like he could still feel the cold knife piercing his skin. Like he could still feel familiar arms enveloping him as he bled out and was so sure he would die then.
He meets Hannibal’s gaze again, almost flinches upon contact.
The physical wound has healed. The wound in his mind, in his heart is a different story entirely. He forgave him, forgave Hannibal---and yet, he still bleeds. At least he isn’t the only one. At least he can gain some satisfaction in knowing that it still haunts Hannibal in some way. They always seem connected like that. They blur, until Will isn’t sure where he ends and Hannibal begins.
And I don’t think I ever will. It hangs unsaid in the air between them, heavy.
“You wanted me to keep bleeding. You didn’t know you wouldn’t be able to stop your own.”