Chapter Text
The forests are thick where Hannibal lives, in the castle up the way. The path that he follows is long and winding, but he is not afraid, even when it becomes very dark beneath the trees. Hannibal knows, as his mother always told him, that as long as he doesn’t step off the trail, no matter what he sees or hears, he can’t be touched by the things that live there.
But the path splits wide at the edge of the woods and fans out into the tall grasses, nearly past the top of his head. They rustle and sway in the wind from the sea, and for a moment Hannibal imagines that they are bending towards the little count like the servants do. He hesitates, though, a furrow in his brow, and stops just where the grasses bow to survey the path as it spreads into the sand.
His mother always told him that as long as he stays on the trail, he can’t be touched, but what should he do when the trail ends? He hasn’t come this far before, not without attendants, not ever alone, but the sky is golden bright and the sand is brilliant white and he hums to himself. What could touch him here, so far from the shadows of the woods, and if the path spreads into the sand, then isn’t it all just a path?
Hannibal squints at the sun, reflecting in flashes of light from the great blue sea before him. It’s very close to where he stands, at the edge of the grasses now, just a little walk across the sun-hot sand to where the waves beckon against the shore.
He removes his shoes by the grass so they won’t be scuffed, and tucks his socks inside, rolling his pant legs up to his knobby knees. If he’s very careful, they’ll never know that he adventured so far today, and so he sets off across the beach to where the water curls salty sweet and slips back again.
“Much better,” the little count says to himself as he sinks his toes into the dark sand, cool and thick, and the water whitens around his ankles.
For a moment he stands, hands on his hips and surveying the ocean. They cannot own the ocean, his father had said, no one could. It came and went with the tides, a living creature all on its own.
Hannibal looks down to watch another wave bring sand with it in an easy sigh and retreat, leaving it over Hannibal’s feet like an offering, sinking him further where he stands. He wiggles his toes and frees himself again. Another wave and much the same, and Hannibal delights in watching himself sink, standing still for several waves at a time before pulling himself free, triumphant, as though he has fooled the ocean and held his own.
And then a wave brings with it a seashell, small enough to fit into Hannibal's hand, blue and swirling, round like a pebble but pointed at one end. He crouches, careful to hold it up and look, turn it over in his hand again and again. On the delicate lip, he finds a hole, small, the sun slipping through it to draw a circle on his palm, tiny, if he holds it up to play with the shadow. Hannibal grins before pushing himself to stand and moving to put the little shell into his pocket.
"That's not yours!" comes a voice, and Hannibal nearly trips in his panic. He looks around, behind himself into the tall grasses, before, into the blue, blue sea, and sees nothing. He hesitates before trying to pocket the shell again.
"It's not yours," the voice insists again, and this time Hannibal thinks he sees something behind one of the huge boulders that sits almost suspended in the sea.
"Who's there?"
But only silence again, the ocean keeping its secrets. Hannibal chews his lip, frowns.
"If you don't come to claim this, I claim it as my own,” he declares.
"That wouldn't be very fair.” The voice seems almost clearer now, and this time, when something moves above the boulder, Hannibal can see it. A head of shaggy, fluffy hair, curled wildly from the salt and sun, and eyes so blue they put the little shell to shame. A little boy.
"If no one comes to claim you, does that mean the ocean can?" the boy asks, tilting his head, arms folded on the rock as he rests against it.
It’s a good question, and Hannibal considers it for a moment before he nods, decided.
“Yes,” he calls back. “If the ocean can catch me, then it can claim me. But until then, I claim only myself.” The little count puffs a little, and lifts his chin just the way he’s seen his father do.
“Anyway,” Hannibal adds, “since I’ve found it just here on the shore, that must mean the ocean hasn’t claimed it any more.”
A silence, consideration from the other boy. Hannibal steps a little closer. The boulder sits farther in the water than he dare venture alone, but he stops directly across from it, now, so they can hold a conversation. The boy looks no older than he.
"You said if I didn't come to claim this you would take it," the boy points out, shrugging his shoulders and bringing a hand up to rub the side of his nose gently. "I am calling in my claim for it."
He sets both hands to the rock again and Hannibal can see that he’s holding himself up on it, not merely resting.
"On what grounds?"
The blue eyes narrow, confused.
"I was playing and it slipped from my neck," the boy says. “What held it on split and it was taken by the sea, but the shell washed up on shore. It's mine."
Hannibal hums, considering the boy’s words and the shell in his hand, hidden safe within his pocket.
“Prove your claim,” he declares, and the other boy’s eyes widen again. Hannibal shrugs, dark eyes glinting with how very clever he thinks himself to be. “You can’t simply say something is yours and then it is. There are laws and rules. Otherwise I could say that boulder belongs to my father and you have no right to sit on it.”
He comes closer, meandering across the hot sand, and stands beneath the rock to look up towards the boy, arm’s reach away. The boy frowns, and folds his arms to rest his chin on them and look down at Hannibal, blonde and regal beneath him.
“How can I?”
“Tell me something about the shell. If it’s yours, you must know it very well.”
It’s a funny sort of game, but Hannibal so rarely gets to play with anyone at all at the castle. There aren’t any other boys who live there, and there isn’t a town or another castle close at all.
Around the boulder, waves softly circle, curling beneath it as if intent on digging it free. Sometimes they reach just far enough to tickle Hannibal's toes, then retreat. Above him, the boy chews his lip.
"It has a little hole in it, just on the lip,” he tells him. “The string was woven through there, but it's split."
Hannibal frowns.
"The ocean could have made that."
"The ocean did not. But you asked for proof and I gave it to you, so give it back to me."
Hannibal shakes his head.
"It has to be something more. Something about it that no one else could know or assume."
A gentle shift of curls as the boy flops down onto his arms again. For a moment, they are both quiet, Hannibal curious and the boy thoughtful. Then he sits up, suddenly, leans further over the rock and grins, pointing.
"If you hold it to your ear and close your eyes, it will sing you the ocean's song,” He tells him. Hannibal looks skeptical.
"We are too near the ocean," he says, shaking his head. “If I put it to my ear I cannot be sure I don’t hear the real ocean instead."
The boy opens his mouth to argue, closes it, and then turns back as though hearing something Hannibal cannot. When he returns his eyes to him, he's smiling.
"Alright," he says, "a test of faith, then. Tonight, in your room, put it to your ear and listen. If I speak the truth and you can hear the ocean's song, you will return it to me tomorrow."
"And if you lie?"
"I cannot lie."
Hannibal opens his mouth to argue the improbability of this, but suddenly around the boulder comes a much larger wave and sweeps him from his feet, knocking him to sit in the water up to his shoulders until the wave slips back to the sea.
The boy’s laugh is like a bell, delighted and warm, and he looks at Hannibal, drenched and wide-eyed, before smiling wide and relenting.
"What's your name?"
"Hannibal Lecter, and it's very rude to laugh at people," the boy answers, raising his chin as though it were a proper introduction, rather than one in which he is drenched in seawater. He is careful not to say his title to this boy, as his father taught him. One never knows where there may be bandits waiting to kidnap little counts, and hold them up for ransom. "Who are you?"
"William," the dark-haired boy responds, eyes twinkling amusement as the sea floats calmly around Hannibal's ankles again.
"Where do you come from?"
"Near. You come from the castle on the hill, don't you?"
Hannibal blinks, surprised, and glances towards the woods. He can't see the castle from the beach, though he knows that in the distance it rises above the trees.
"Yes. I live in the castle." He tries not to think of how much trouble he'll find himself in when he returns, for getting his clothes all wet and sandy when he wasn't supposed to venture so far as the sea. "How will I find you tomorrow?"
Will looks towards the woods almost with longing, before grinning down at Hannibal again.
"Just come to the sea," he tells him, "and I'll find you."
Will watches Hannibal a moment more, before slipping from the rock and out of sight.
"Wait!"
Hannibal scrambles to stand, clothes heavy with water and sand, and runs as far around the rock as he dares, but he cannot see the boy there. He frowns, concerned, and turns only when he hears a whistle, shrill and short, from far further to sea than any little boy should go.
"Tomorrow!" Will calls, voice carrying with the waves. "Bring my shell to me, okay?"
"If you spoke truth!"
"I cannot lie!" The boy laughs again, lifts his hand to wave, and Hannibal finds himself smiling as he waves back. Then Will dives, vanishes beneath the water with a flicker of something turquoise and fleshy behind himself, like a tail. Then he's just gone.
Hannibal’s mother always told him that as long as he doesn’t step off the trail, no matter what he sees or hears, he can’t be touched by the things that live there. But what if the things that live there aren’t so bad after all, and there are other little boys who live among them that only want to play?
He steps up to the edge of the water, only realizing as it washes up past his ankles how near he’s come again. On his toes then, sinking into the sand to try to see another glimpse, tempted to walk in further after him, before he feels the shell sitting heavy in his pocket. He reaches down and clutches it, and holds it tight in his fist the entire walk home.
-=-
"Use your legs."
"I can't."
"They gotta be useful for something,"
"I can't, Will! I can't bend them like you bend your stupid tail." Hannibal treads water and huffs his displeasure. Will frowns at the insult but says nothing.
They're out past the cove today, in the quiet, warm pool with its own little beach where Will has been teaching Hannibal to swim. The boy has improved greatly, can now float on his own and use his hands to stay upright, but Will can't seem to be able to teach him how to use his legs.
He considers, himself upright in the water, tail working lazily beneath the clear surface to keep himself steady. The strong push and pull of unseen currents from it occasionally brushes against Hannibal's legs where they dangle uselessly in the water beneath him.
"Your legs are like two of my tails," Will finally decides, "so that will make you twice as powerful when you swim. But how…”
They have found, through much tumbling and laughing, that Hannibal cannot move like a shark does. Nor like a dolphin. And he cannot shift and turn as easily as Will can with his tail, though he is remarkably steady on land. Sometimes.
Will settles his eyes on the dark brown shell Hannibal wears around his neck, a shell Will had given him when Hannibal had returned Will’s own, and watches as the two straps of leather from the knot float just beneath it, carried by the waves. Ebb and flow, up and down, one rising when the other falls, and suddenly Will grins.
"You can alternate!" he exclaims. "Alternate which leg you use like you do when you walk!"
Hannibal’s eyes narrow a little, paddling harder when a gentle wave lifts him. “How can I?” he huffs, stubborn. “There’s no ground to push from.”
Will’s tail sweeps a current past Hannibal’s legs as he circles in front of him, hands against the top of the water.
“You push off the water, then, if there’s no ground. Like this!” He glides his hands through the clear blue water, one after the other, and Hannibal watches closely, dubious. “Just try it,” Will insists, and disappears beneath the surface to watch. His dark hair disappears from sight and unheard, Hannibal sighs towards the sky.
One foot, and then the other, kicking through the water until he feels himself begin to move through it. It takes a little while, and once or twice he feels a wave move past that pushes much too hard. Hands press against his feet to give him a ground, just long enough to recover, before the rhythm finds him and he swims a little ways towards the cove, laughing.
“Will!” he calls towards the water, pushing himself in a slow circle to look for the other boy. “Where have you gone?”
He startles as Will appears as if by magic behind him, grinning. “It worked!”
“It’s very slow,” Hannibal complains mildly, but he’s unable to keep from grinning in return, pushing his hair back from his face. “I wish I could have a tail, too.”
“You said it was stupid.” Will’s brows lift. “And if you did have one, you wouldn’t be able to get back to the castle.”
“I should like to have the choice,” Hannibal responds primly. “You must have a home, don’t you?”
Will nods, shrugs, grins, mirrors the gesture of pushing his hair back too. Hannibal has asked about Will before, his home, his family, if there were more like him. Will has never answered properly, never seen the need. But Hannibal, to his credit, has never once told another of Will's presence, of his existence here.
"It would be so strange having legs and a tail both, can you imagine?" he says instead, misdirecting, swimming around Hannibal in slow circles as the other makes it to shore and crawls to the sand. Will pushes himself to almost beach against it as well, tail flicking rainbow drops to the shore and splashing back into the shallows.
"But it would be wonderful to have wings. To soar over everything. The sky, the sea, the mountains all." Will curls his arms and rests his chin against them, eyes bright and smile wide.
His skin is pale, despite the sun that caresses it every day, morphing seamlessly to his tail, pale and dark and greying turquoise, shifting colors and strong muscle. His fins splay against the sand, now, warming with the sun, and Will allows himself to half float as he watches the other boy in his dark shorts and with his golden skin.
"It would be just as strange to have wings and a tail," Hannibal responds. "Although I suppose there are flying fish."
He watches entranced, as always, as Will lets his tail float in the shallow water, lazy flicks that send beads of water sparkling bright against his scales. He has wanted to tell a great many people about Will, and has stopped himself every time. Most would not believe him, and those who did would wish to see him, not as Hannibal's friend but as a curious creature, rarely encountered. It would be unseemly for them to gawk and stare at his friend, as adults always seem to when a rare thing is found, but he bites his lip as his own curiosity gets the better of him, again.
Hannibal leans forward onto his knees, splaying them against the sand as he sits on his heels.
"May I touch it?"
Will ducks his head against his arms and laughs. "Why?"
"Because I wish to," Hannibal responds, blinking wide.
"May I touch your legs?"
"You may." The blonde boy's eyes squint in amusement, and Will rolls onto his back, eyes closed against the sun that glistens brightly across him.
"It's only a tail."
"So then I may."
Will watches Hannibal, upside down where he's tilted his head back against the sand, and nods.
Hannibal scoots furrows into the sand with his knees, reaching to press his hand to the boy's tail. It is slick, as though still wet even as the sun warms it, smooth scales overlapping beneath his hand, pliant and soft as he glides his palm there, with strong muscles beneath. He is careful to only touch in the direction of the scales, down to one of the smaller fins at his side. Will spreads it for him, and Hannibal blinks in surprise before he slips his fingers beneath the gossamer webbing, such a thin and pale grey that he can see his hand through it.
"You feel like a very large fish," he decides, and grins.
The end of Will's tail flicks and sends a shower of droplets against Hannibal, making him laugh and wipe his face as Will grins at him, curls splayed in the sand yet - Hannibal has noticed - never truly sandy, as though sand cannot stay in it.
"My turn," Will says, rolling back to his stomach and waiting patiently as Hannibal sits to stretch his legs in front of him so Will can touch.
He draws fingers cool over Hannibal’s thighs where the shorts end, lower to his knees, frowning, splaying his fingers against them, gently moving the knee cap as Hannibal twitches and laughs at the sensation. Lower still to his calf and then his ankle, moving to bend Hannibal's knee to examine his toes closely, with almost too much enthusiasm until Hannibal pulls free with a laugh.
"It tickles."
"You are like a very absurd crab," Will decides, catching Hannibal's hand as the other swipes at him at the slight.
They are one and the same in this, at least, as Hannibal turns his wrist in Will’s hand. Palm to palm they press, fingers interlacing in a gentle squeeze.
“I brought something for you,” Hannibal declares, and releases Will’s hand to turn and push up to his feet, stumbling a little in the sand before he catches his stride and dusts the grains from his palms as he goes. His clothes have been neatly folded, resting atop a dry rock for him to change into, a convincing enough cleanliness to make it through the castle and to the bath upon his return home.
He digs in the small bag set alongside them, and tugs out something carefully wrapped in cloth, carrying it back to the shore.
“There is a special occasion at the castle today,” Hannibal says. Dropping back into the sand, he folds his legs beneath him and sets the bundle down between them. A pluck of fabric, and the ornate knots fall away to reveal two little pies, and a scattering of nuts. “Strawberry tarts and sugared almonds,” he explains, watching Will more than the food. “I helped to make them, even though I’m not supposed to be in there. The cooks allow me, and since the kitchen is their domain, I think it’s their decision to make.”
Will regards the little offerings, utterly fascinating things to him, like little corals and pods. He doesn’t reach to touch yet, but he grins, lifts his face to look at Hannibal properly.
"They smell like nothing I have ever tried. How do I eat them?"
Hannibal laughs, pressing his hands together before reaching out to take an almond between his fingers and popping it into his mouth with a grin. In crunches, satisfying, between his teeth, and he chews as he watches Will follow his lead. He's careful, examining the almond before he gently presses his tongue to it, eyes widening in delight at the taste.
"It's so sweet,” he says, setting it between his teeth to bite and finding it a challenge.
"Try with the back ones," Hannibal advises, tongue seeking almond behind his own as he watches Will try, succeed, and happily chew the treat as he regards the others.
"How do we eat the red one?" He asks.
Hannibal sits up very straight, as though at the banquet table and not on the beach, and picks up one of the little pies to hold in his hands. “Normally with silverware,” he considers, and then blinks at Will. “A knife and fork. Ah,” he hesitates, and narrows his eyes in thought. “Tools you use to make this piece into smaller pieces. You stab the smaller pieces then, and lift them to your mouth.”
Will watches Hannibal, lips parted, perplexed, and Hannibal shakes his head.
“Nevermind it, I’ll bring them next time to show you,” he decides, and instead simply lifts the tart to his mouth to take a bite. Rich preserves, syrupy red with little black seeds throughout, clings with flaky crust against his lips and his eyes crinkle, pleased. He lifts a hand to his mouth as he speaks. “Like so.”
A pause, and Hannibal notes that Will’s arms are tucked beneath him, to keep him angled upward in the sand. He considers this a moment, and instead holds out his tart for Will to take a bite, declaring solemnly, “We shall share them.”
Will blinks, eyes wide, before licking his lips and leaning forward to take a bite carefully, not to catch Hannibal's fingers between his teeth, and not to rudely eat the whole thing.
It crumbles against his tongue, warm and sweet and flakey all at once. He makes a sound, brings fingers to his lips as Hannibal had and chews until he can swallow and speak properly.
"That's delicious,” he tells him, honest, eyes up to regard Hannibal in a whole new way - as a creator of something so magnificent and delicious that Will still can only barely fathom it. "You made this?"
"I helped," Hannibal smiles, takes the last of the pie into his mouth and flicks the crumbs to the sand from his fingers. His cheeks warm at Will’s scrutiny, and only when he’s finished chewing does he hold the second tart to Will to take the first bite.
Will has brought him such magnificent things from the sea. Shells and starfish, live fish in his cupped hands for Hannibal to see. He has brought him branches of coral and intricately dried seaweed. And every single token Hannibal has kept, has stored in his room that grows daily almost as a shrine to the sea, filled with gifts from his friend.
"What's the occasion?" Will asks suddenly, licking his lips and smiling when Hannibal comes back from his thoughts.
He swallows the bite of tart and offers Will the last of it, laying back and stretching his arms above his head, knees drawn up and feet sunk into the sand.
“Do you have any siblings?”
Will shakes his head, cheek against his folded arms as he chews, and Hannibal draws a deep breath.
“I didn’t either until today,” he says, rolling onto his stomach and folding his arms as Will has his, elbows near together. “A baby sister. Her name is Mischa. It sounded terrible,” he admits. “A great deal of screaming and wailing, and then I heard her cry, a very small, high sound. Piercing,” he frowns, and then shakes his head. “I saw her only briefly. She is very tiny, little hands and feet. Very pink.”
Hannibal slips a foot over to press it against Will’s tail, sliding absently against it.
“It’s a very important thing for our family, so the castle is very busy today. I doubt anyone has noticed that I’ve left.”
Will blinks, shifts his tail just enough for Hannibal to slip his feet beneath if he so wishes, regards him through his messy fringe.
"Are you happy you have a sister?" he asks, genuinely curious, and Hannibal frowns in thought.
"I'm not unhappy. I don’t know why they wanted another child, my tutors complain I am more than enough for them."
Will laughs, warm and pleased, eyes narrowed.
"Think of it this way," Will considers. “She brings sweet gifts with her now, as she grows she will bring more."
“So you hope,” Hannibal grins in return, and it settles into an easy smile. There is a sense to his words - there usually is, Hannibal has found - and he rests a foot beneath his tail to curl his toes against the cool scales. He’s surprised at how heavy it is, and buries his cheek deeper against his arms.
“Perhaps when she is not so loud and small, I can bring her to meet you,” he adds. “You can teach her to swim as well.” He pauses and glances towards the sun, still high enough above the horizon. “Shall we go again? I could come with you to find a shell today, if you’ll guide me.” Hannibal grins, “And I’ll leave the rest of the almonds here with you.”
Will grins, delighted with the promise of treats, with the promise of guiding Hannibal to the clean white sand to seek out shells. Hannibal holds his breath for long enough to impress Will, he thinks once he learns to swim he will be a formidable partner for swimming and racing together.
"Come on," he says, pushes himself to slip back to the water, shaking his hair free from his face with a laugh.
"Hold your breath. Use your hands and sink with me."
And with that he winks and submerges himself without another word.
Hannibal takes another almond before pushing his fingers through the sand and standing to follow. He squints a little at the ease with which Will moves, but supposes it only fair, really. Will on land is hardly more graceful than Hannibal beneath the water, but each makes do with what they have.
He restrains a shiver and wades into the sea again, kicking this time to reach Will faster, following him out to the edge of the cove.
“Very clever,” he murmurs, chin just above the water and feet keeping steady time beneath him.
Will grins and his eyes widen. “Ready?”
“You won’t let me drown,” Hannibal asks, as he has countless times before, met by the same easy laugh.
“If I wanted you to drown it would be much easier than this,” snorts Will, laughing still as he turns towards the water, and with a single firm flick of his tail, becomes but a dark, sleek shadow beneath the surface.
Hannibal pushes his hair back from his face, though he knows the lank blonde strands will find their way back soon enough, and draws a deep breath. Quick hands, strengthening shoulders still narrow with youth, part the water beneath him and he kicks himself around to point headfirst instead. It is rather graceless, feet splashing above the surface, and it takes him two tries, but on the third, and after a single swear, he dips down beneath.
Blinking blurry through the water, he catches the glint of bright scales, the glow of pale skin, and reaches for him.
Hands clasp, palm to palm, and Will pulls Hannibal deeper, down through the crystal clear water to the bottom, the white sand. The shells they usually dig up, fingers gentle to dislodge the sand from them before bringing them up and free to take away.
Beneath them, the shells are green and aqua, further buried than usual, washed up new from the deeper water.
Their hands remain warm together, holding tight, and Will guides Hannibal before him, turning to press his hand against the sand, shifting with a strong kick of his tail to float above Hannibal, to hold him gently down with the weight above him.
They linger only long enough to gather the shells they can carry, sorting them on shore later. Then Hannibal turns to Will, smiling wide, and presses the shells to his chest before kicking from the sea floor and up, up to the sun they can see trembling above the water.
He breaks the water first, flicks his head to get his hair from his eyes and kicks, fast and powerful, now, with practice, towards the shore. Behind himself he hears Will break the water also, beat the surface with his tail before he hears nothing at all. Hannibal grins, bubbles pooling at the corners of his mouth as he kicks harder, works his arms to propel himself through the water faster.
It's just a feeling, barely warmth, barely heat, but Hannibal dives, slings his arms around Will’s shoulders and holds on, feels another powerful kick of the tail, a strong twist within Hannibal's arms and Will breaks free, speeds ahead, and this time breaks the water first.
He hears Will laugh from above the water, or from below - it’s hard to tell, when in an instant Hannibal is disoriented by the swirl of water around him, the bubbles that blow towards him and rise blinding to the surface. Surging into the current from Will’s tail, Hannibal beats the water with strong legs and throws a hand out, nearly catching Will by the fin before it jerks free, and this time Will’s laugh does ring from beneath the water, echoing ethereal and strange.
Now Hannibal surfaces, the trail lost and his friend spun into the shadows beneath the waves. He shoves his hair back from his face with both hands, chest heaving, and closes his eyes towards the night sky with a sigh.
A grin parts his lips without even needing to open his eyes, as he feels warm hands press against his stomach, his back, his chest, followed by the sleek glide of a tail twining around his legs, fin spiralling softly over his feet as Will surrounds him.
“I should have pulled you back down again,” he laughs, and Hannibal watches rueful as Will curves away from him, arms listing lazily across the surface.
“My lungs do not work the same as yours,” Hannibal reminds him, still a bit breathless despite being a far more powerful swimmer than nearly anyone else.
Anyone else besides Will, of course.
He adds, “If you wished to drag me off into the sea and devour me, you might have done it eight years ago and saved us both the time.”
"Had you not returned the shell, I might have," Will responds, grinning, pressing just a little closer before unwinding from around Hannibal and floating beside him. It's a warm night, the sky filled with stars and the barest line of the moon. Will draws a warm palm against Hannibal's back as the young man moves to float beside him, quietly letting the waves carry them both.
"You're getting better," he murmurs, turning his head to grin at Hannibal. “Any day now you will beat me to shore."
So long now they have swum together, catching hands and spinning in the water, laughing and talking of everything and nothing at all. Will had helped Hannibal build a boat, a small wooden thing, to help carry his things - sometimes him, if their journey was long - when they swam to the little islands Will knew of and no one else had seen.
Hannibal had brought him food of every delicious variety, made by his hand, as the years progressed. More and more elaborate, and always delicious.
"Must you go?" he asks.
The question forces Hannibal to suppress a look of displeasure as it twists inside of him. There is no sound but the movement of the wave against the shore for a long time, until finally he turns counter to how Will circles him.
“I must,” Hannibal answers, slowly spinning to meet Will’s wide blue eyes again and again, and swallowing down the pressure he feels in those words, pressing outward. “It’s what they wish for me.”
“But what do you wish?”
Perplexed, Hannibal blinks, for a moment unsure of what to say before he steels his jaw again, and brings his tone lighter. “I wish to become a doctor,” he answers, in truth. “An alchemist. To learn new skills unfathomed by those around me.”
A pause, and a slight smile appears as he slows his spinning, a little dizzy.
“I have rather an enjoyment of rare things,” he adds.
Will grins, slips to circle Hannibal once more and finds his hand snared. When he presses close this time, winding his tail around Hannibal’s legs once more, they press from hips to chest and Will’s lips are parted in surprise. He turns his hand gently in Hannibal’s grip and turns to press them palm to palm again.
"What will you do?" Hannibal asks, and Will allows a smile.
"What have I done in the time you've been away?" he asks. "I shall live and wait until you come and see me again."
"Would you come with me?"
Will laughs, but the sound is not wholly pleased.
"I cannot swim on land, Hannibal," he says softly. "You go to study in a place that sees no rivers and no seas."
“The mountains,” Hannibal responds direly. His jaw works for a moment, watching their fingers interlaced, shining silvery in the thin moonlight, and he slips his hand into Will’s other hand as well. Warm palms and warmer bodies pressed close, but for the slippery sensation of Will’s tail curled around him.
Hannibal presses his forehead to Will’s, joined near enough there he can smell the salt sweet like sea-spray on Will’s breath, feel their noses touch. “That is what I would wish for,” he decides. “That if I must go, you could come with me.”
His eyes open wider, dark as the shell that hangs on a longer lanyard now around his neck, and he watches the boundless blue ocean of Will’s eyes so close to his own.
“I will come back,” he insists. “And it isn’t forever, it’s only for a time.”
In his ardency, a dusky rose colors Hannibal’s cheeks when he realizes how closely entwined they are. It matters not - Will is his dearest friend, his only friend besides his sister - and it matters a great deal in every other way. Hannibal forces himself to breathe, and not draw away as he would have on any other night before.
"A time," Will agrees, eyes just as surely on Hannibal's, cheeks barely flushed from their proximity. He swallows, finally, closes his eyes and lifts his chin, his lips catching Hannibal's in a gentle kiss.
It's short, breathless, and Will tilts his head to bring their lips together again, deeper, hotter, letting go of one of Hannibal's hands to press it to his face.
They are close enough in the shallows that Hannibal can stand, Will wrapped around him, and he presses closer now even still, stealing his breath, his voice, keeping his eyes resolutely closed to everything but the sensation, the softness, the touch between them.
"I will wait," he breathes, when they break. "I will wait and you will come back to me."
“Yes.”
Hannibal works a hand through Will’s hair, curls his fingers against the back of his neck to keep him close. He feels the soft shoreline sand beneath his feet and steps just enough off of his toes that he can stand, still up to his shoulders in the gentle rise and fall of water around them. An arm wraps around Will’s middle, then, fingers spread against the soft place beneath Will’s ribs where his skin becomes scales, holding his friend easily against him in the waves, larger and stronger than he ever was before.
“I will come back to you,” Hannibal swears again to Will that watches him now, shining quicksilver bright in the moonlight. “Work through my studies and return to this beach and call to you, Will, and you will come.”
He sighs aching into another kiss, clumsy and soft, deepening with desire rather than experience. Hoisting Will higher against him, arm sliding beneath his tail instead to hold the weight of him, Hannibal lifts him as though to take him from the water but stumbles through the soft sand and topples slowly back into the water, settling against the sand, the waves lapping across his chest where Will’s fingers now gather in the first soft twists of hair appearing there.
“I will learn many new things,” insists Hannibal. “How to breathe underwater, perhaps. How to bring you on to land with me.”
Will’s lips, parted and lovely, silence him without a word, and firm arms squeezing tight, Hannibal takes another soft kiss from him, to simply feel his mouth glide against that of another. Of Will, his Will, that after so long finally sits across his lap, and allows Hannibal to kiss his neck, his collarbone, reverent and slow.
It's a consummation of patience, of softness. Play fights and learning, discovering each other as the creatures they both are, foreign to each other, new, exciting, and as the men they are beneath that, their souls, their thoughts and understanding of the world around them.
Will smiles, makes a soft sound and ducks his head to watch Hannibal beneath him, hair longer, now, and damp against his forehead, stuck to the skin there for Will to gently sweep aside.
How many things they have discussed, how many things they have attempted; trying to get Hannibal to breathe as Will does, trying to educate Will’s tail to shift as legs would do, to simulate walking. All long hours and days wiled away together in the shallows, then races to the depths, for beautiful shells and coral and pearls.
They have grown strong together, watched each other falter and flail, listened to each other's woes - Hannibal’s tedious lessons when he would rather be swimming with Will, Will’s need and desire for secrecy when Hannibal is not there.
Around them, the waves roll in slow and gentle, warmed still from the day's sun, calm now as it settles into sleep, no moon to roughen it. Will kisses Hannibal again, sighs against him.
"Trust me."
He feels his answer, does not need to hear it, and with another breath kisses Hannibal once more and settles them both under water in the shallows, sharing breath and life between them, staying still there and Will exhales through his nose, draws in more oxygen from the water and feeds it to Hannibal. An imperfect loop but it sends them from the water laughing, soft.
"It appears," sputters Hannibal, a rich laugh caught beneath his hand as he pushes up from the sand again, "that breathing beneath the water has been learnt already."
Hannibal stretches his fingers, hands, arms through the warm shifting waters and wraps his arms around Will's waist, bringing them together, chest to chest, to feel the other's heart beat against their own. Curling the backs of his fingers to stroke gently down Will's cheek, Hannibal kisses him, and then again, and then again.
He will ask himself a thousand times or more why they waited so long for this, when their hearts raced and their bodies warmed and their mouths explored in slow progress as they did with their entire beings, year after year.
But for now, satisfied that Will is here, and Will shall remain here, Hannibal throws a grin back towards Will and stands, still young but so much taller, stronger, faster, braver now - the man in him more visible than the boy.
"So then all that's left to resolve is taking you to land with me," he considers, and catches Will beneath his arms before he can race back to the sea, laughing.
"Hannibal," Will warns, a strong sweep of his tail - twice as long as the rest of him - nearly knocking Hannibal's legs out beneath him, narrowly dodged. "Hannibal, no."
"Will, yes," he answers, grinning. “Trust me.”
With a quiet hum of focus, he lifts Will from the water and fills with warmth to hear his laughter ringing brightly against his ear, arms around his broadened shoulders. Hannibal scoops an arm beneath Will's heavy tail, bending soft over his elbow, and with tail tip dragging across the sand, Hannibal carries him from the sea.
"You know I can get to land myself," Will mumbles, chagrined. "I was on land when you first stole from me."
"Stole?" laughs Hannibal, shifting Will higher against him, secure in his arms. “I returned it to you.”
"Fair. You only tried to steal it," Will grins, blinking at the sand beneath him as Hannibal takes him further and further from the sea. Towards the tall grasses, towards the woods. Towards the path that winds to the castle up the way.
“I will take you only to the edge of the forest,” Hannibal tells him, and the reluctance - the annoyance, that this is the length of it - is thick in his voice. “So that you can look up through the leaves to see the stars, surrounded by the trees.”
He reaches the edge of the beach, where he can see the scattered path overgrown in time, and makes his way slowly through the sand.
"If you wished to go, I would find a way,” insists Hannibal, holding Will tighter against him and resting his cheek against his damp, dark curls of hair. He watches, oddly solemn as Will extends his fingers through the grasses.
He has never been out this far, the expanse of sand he would have had to crawl through would not be impossible but never much worth the effort in Will’s mind, so he had never tried. Now he runs his fingers through the grasses he had seen so many times for so many years and finds them sharp to the touch, not as smooth as the sea.
Will smiles, splays his fingers through it and lets the sharp little points kiss his fingers like a stinging anemone would. It is beautiful here, an entirely foreign world. He closes his eyes and nuzzles closer to Hannibal, lets the hissing and beating sound he is so used to lull him into comfort.
He can hear the forest from the sea, a wild and crashing thing of changing moods and nuances, but this is different somehow, he can feel it in his bones here, he does not just hear it with his ears and he realizes, in a moment that sends his heart pounding, that he can hear the sea! That he hears the sea as Hannibal does, from the outside, and it sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Look up," Hannibal whispers, chasing his request with a soft kiss to Will’s temple, his cheek, the corner of his eye, and so Will does.
The sky does not waver here, it is stoic as when Will regards it from land. But the sound around it, the deep breathing of the sea, the soft murmuring of the forest, Hannibal’s heart beating against his own, is almost overwhelming. For a moment it does swim. Then Will ducks his head to kiss Hannibal once more, a deep, warm, almost desperate thing.
Hannibal resists the urge to lay back against the tree beside them, to snare Will fully into his arms, against his chest, and kiss him until the sun rises. He would not lower him to the soft forest soil, it would be out of place, strange, unwelcome to see him there like that, but in Hannibal’s arms he seems as home as in the sea, suspended wondrous and lovely, curls of hair drying against his cheek, his neck, each kissed in turn down to Will’s shoulders as the other boy wraps his arms tighter around Hannibal’s shoulders, sighs breathless in the new sensation of being kissed and held this way.
New for both of them, new and lovely as when Hannibal first found himself floating in the ocean, weightless and infinite. The trees shudder above them, a sound much like the sea itself, gusts of wind through their high branches that shift them like crashing waves against the shore of sky star-bright above.
“I will,” Hannibal swears as they part enough to breathe, his lungs have never been as strong as Will’s, and he is flushed from trying to keep himself submerged in the boundless depths of his friend’s kisses. “I will find you again. I will not forget you, Will.”
He swallows hard, eyes closed in the darkness that surrounds them like the depths of ocean that Will knows well and that Hannibal can only just imagine.
“Will you forget me?”
Will smiles, holds Hannibal’s face in his hands and rests their foreheads together. He thinks of all the years they have talked and played and discovered, of all the times Hannibal had asked him if he were lying when something he said was too unbelievable to understand, thinks of how he had always answered him,
"I can't."
And now it seals something between then, a promise both can feel against their skin and deeper still, to their hearts that beat in time.
A while longer they linger, Hannibal pointing out the trees around them, explaining what they do, how they can be useful medicinally, ecologically, and Will listens, wraps his tail - heavy, here, useless - cold around Hannibal’s legs and turns his eyes where Hannibal directs them. It's comfortable, warm, and he wonders why they had waited so long to do this, too, together.
Then they return, Hannibal’s arms tired from holding his friend, his heart tired of thinking of his trip the next morning, and they float in the shallows of their cove, this time Will supporting Hannibal against him, stroking strong fingers through his hair as he tells him of the stars and the myths behind them.
"I will miss the sound of the sea," Hannibal admits, quiet, eyes closed and head back against Will’s chest as they float. “It is as familiar now as the heartbeat of a friend."
Will considers, tail shifting lazily in the water to keep them both buoyant, then reaches back to undo the strap holding his shell against his throat, settles it alongside Hannibal’s where it rests on his chest.
"You can return it when you get back,” he tells him.
Hannibal tilts his head backwards, hair fanned silvery against the surface of the water, and watches Will as he ties the shell around his neck. He settles it with a careful hand, joined by the other, and presses them slowly down Hannibal’s chest as he leans down to kiss him.
Weightless here, between the infinite darkness of the water and the sky, with nothing else but Will, wrapped around him, Hannibal feels his heart so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t weigh him to the depths.
Hannibal turns, breaking the kiss only with a grin as their noses brush, and slips his leg around Will’s hip. His tail works a little harder to balance them both, and careful fingers slip loose the warm brown shell that Hannibal has worn without exception since it was given to him, when they were both so small.
“Keep mine, then,” he tells Will, reaching to slip it around his neck, a bittersweet pleasure in watching Will reach up to touch it, resting against his pale chest. “So you can hear the trees in it, and think of me.”
“And then you’ll return,” Will says.
“Always.”
They kiss, again and again, they kiss and they press and they promise, as though one were somehow insufficient, though both their hearts sing with insistence, as though more soft words between them will carry them further, sustain them in their distance. From the sea to the sand, sand to the trees, from the trees to the castle and onward still.
Hannibal reaches down to the shell and clutches it, holding it tight in his fist the entire walk home.