Chapter Text
The liquid in the tumbler in his hand glitters, the air from his lungs transforming into a frozen cloud right before his lips.
He probably shouldn’t sit outside on the veranda tonight. It’s already quite cold. But it’s fun to watch the dogs run around on the ground, see the black and silver sparkles flung into the air by their paws, the way the steam off their bodies seems to generate tiny clouds everywhere. Only Winston sits close to Will and leans into his scratching hand, his black nose nudging Will’s hand whenever he stops, making Will’s lips twitch in an indulgent smile, every time.
Winston is one of the better things that’s happened to me recently…
Will takes another sip, the glass reflecting the light, shattering it into fractures. He stares at the white glimmer, pursing his lips. How would it be to see everything in color?
He exhales, shaking the thought off with a small shrug, extending his legs with a sigh. Another nudge and he chuckles, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Winston’s forehead, scratching right behind the right ear, where he likes it best. Dogs only see a few colors as well, and they’re not complaining. Will frowns, swallowing down the lump in his throat and the irritation at himself.
Black and white are much easier to use to distinguish crime scenes after all, too. Higher contrast. And law enforcement have their colorimeters for everything else. No use whining after something he will never have anyways. Soulmates.
Will scoffs, draining the last of his whiskey. The bottle had been one of the ones he got as a farewell-gift from his colleagues at the force, his supervisor very helpfully informing him the bottle had been “one of the rare blue labels”.
Silence had fallen after this announcement, his colleagues embarrassed and annoyed at asshole Mick Tanner for putting Will on the spot once more. As if his empathy disorder and healing stab wound weren’t enough, the jab was aimed at him for being one of the few people still “monochromatically disabled”. Like it’s a fucking disease. Juliette, the secretary had come up as he left, smiling at him sadly, whispering. “Why don’t you just enter a few centers, Will? I’m sure you’d be able to find your soulmate then? It only took 4 visits for me?” He had smiled, a brittle, empty smile and turned around and left, his mind filled with static.
Centers… Huge convention centers where you would line up and start shaking hands all day, trying to force-find your soulmate. Rather distasteful. And disgusting. Will shudders now, his rejection innate. All that touching. He clicks his tongue. It’s just as hard as actually keeping eye-contact all the time. Winston nudges his hand again, shifting his thoughts back to the present. He should really get to bed.
There’s a meeting Jack wants him to attend just before his lecture after all.
********
It’s a good thing the world is black and white because Will’s thoughts are definitely in stark contrast as well, with sluggish black oozing resentment dominating the tapestry of his mind.
And white puffs of interest he cannot suppress; the psychiatrist Jack has paired him with for the case is definitely not the usual run-of-the-mill variety.
Will grimaces, unable to put his finger on it. There is something about the careful way everything about his appearance fit. Something about how the verbal sparring was so viciously kind and on point.
He should not have left Jack alone with this… Hannibal Lecter.
Will groans, rubbing his face, righting his glasses as he stomps into his lecture hall.
I just know I’ll regret this.
********
It’s all wrong. The white glare of the sun on the body, the black of the ravens, fluttering around.
Field Kabuki.
He just throws it all out, annoyed, unsettled. The killer left him a gift, it has already become a game. He turns, one of the officers commenting on the victim’s “creamy complexion, even in death”. Will grits his teeth, leaving black footprints in the striped grass.
********
It’s a good thing the breakfast is so good. And the coffee is a revelation. Will tries to swallow the feeling of being overrun with another bite of protein scramble, his mouth watering. Hannibal is more than a hobby cook. Will takes another sip. He watches the instinctual slight dilation of the pupils in the man across from him, possibilities unfolding, easily. He swallows them down with the coffee, his tone gruff. “Just keep it professional.”
The man, Hannibal, pauses, his tone gentle but firm. “Or we could socialize like adults, god forbid we become friendly.” Friendly, huh. Will’s answer is harsh. “I don’t find you that interesting.” There is an almost smile in the black shadows of Hannibal’s mouth and Will wants to wipe it off, immediately, frowning at the answer. “You will.”
It’s such a weird thing to respond with, it gives Will pause. He locks eyes with Hannibal, watching closely. No flitting away, dilated pupils openly displayed, the striped and freckled iris a firm stare. Maybe I will. Time to test him a bit.
He allows Hannibal to change tactics, to engage him more closely. It is easier than it should be, bordering on banter. When Hannibal leaves Will holds the door for him, carefully apart. Hannibal’s freckled eyes lock with his once more before he turns away, and Will’s gaze falls onto his colorimeter. No fucking way. He turns away to get dressed, suppressing the desire to know what hexadecimal color codes Hannibal’s eyes might possibly have.