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Hannibal stood still, framed in the entrance of the low wall surrounding the villa. Behind him it was evening, the sky a stretched pallet of pink fading into twilight. In front of him was the staircase, a grand thing the swept up to the villa's second level. And on it sat Will Graham.
"You came for me." Hannibal said, his voice barely above a whisper. Visions of violence danced through his mind. He had no weapon on his person, but there was an umbrella stand a few feet from his left hand. The door next to the staircase was heavy enough to shatter a skull if slammed. He always had his hands. And his teeth if it came to that.
Will was sitting hunched over, on the third stair from the bottom. He was staring at his clasped hands in front of him. At Hannibals words he raised his head slowly. "I had to." he said, his voice soft as Hannibal’s. "You didn't kill me. I didn't feel like waiting any longer, and I'm not about to do your work for you Dr. Lecter."
Oh. Hannibal took a step forward, then another, and another, until he was looming over Will. The dying light cast his shadow forward, it engulfed Will on the stairs. Will craned his neck up as Hannibal got closer, throat exposed in a beautiful line as Hannibal looked down at him. He realized that he was unconsciously reaching to stroke Will's cheek, he pulled his hand back. Instead he dropped to his knees one stair below Will’s seat. Will's gaze followed him. The stairs weren't so high that this put Hannibal at a disadvantage, he still looked down on Will. He reached now for Will's shirt, grasping the hem and lifting it up.
The scar tissue he exposed was a mountain range across Will's stomach. It was a jagged line, crossing a great divide. Hannibal reached out to touch it and couldn't, wouldn't stop himself this time from feeling Will’s flesh. The skin was warm to his touch. Will's breath was barely perceptible under his fingers as they explored this new topography of Will's body.
"A wound like this." Hannibal said, and why did his voice rasp so, like he'd been screaming. "It could kill, or merely cause great suffering." A knot of scar tissue under his ring finger, he pressed a bit harder, trying to understanding the protudence. "It was for fate to decide."
"Fate and I are not on speaking terms." Will said. The words should have reverberated through the scar Hannibal now palmed, but the flesh barely twitched. "I decided that it would have to be my responsibility to show it the right path."
Hannibal turned his eyes back to Will's. His betrayer. The one he hated above all, whom he had wanted so to give the world. Not since he was young had anyone hurt him like this, rejected him so thoroughly. He'd had dreams that Will would come back, standing outside the villa in the night. He'd come back and Hannibal would be forced to do what he should have done the night that had destroyed the perfect life almost in his hand. His hand reached forward to touch Will's face and he didn't pause this time. He cupped Will's cheek, a thumb flirting over the cheekbone.
"Hannibal". Will said softly. "Please, kill me."
This was still not his dream.
***
The villa Hannibal had rented was a beautiful old thing, resting on a west facing hill on the outskirts of Assisi. A home had stood on this plot of land for roughly 500 years, but the current building only 200 or so, and had been remodeled fairly often to stay current with the fashions of the day. It was two stories, the lower story had the kitchen, dining area, a small study, and an entrance meant for servants. The second story had multiple bedrooms, a larger study, and the bathrooms. Outside a low wall divided the garden from the hillside, although right now it was hard to tell the difference. The front yard was mostly dirt, bare ground being all the caretaker could maintain. The back was jumble of weeds, a few overgrown vegetable beds and olive tree’s along the wall. There was a cement patio, and trellis with climbing vines for shade. It was a large, beautiful house. When he had moved in it dwarfed him and his few belongings entirely. He had been making trips to nearby towns to furnish it near daily, planning as he went to remake it in his image of what an old villa could be. The inside was almost done, which made it a pity that he’d have to leave it so soon.
Hannibal was not often at a loss, but when he was he fell back onto good manners. They rarely steered him wrong. With as little thought as possible he'd helped Will upstairs and installed him in the guest room. There was a bathroom, towels in the cupboard, and a balcony overlooking the countryside, currently just a few pinpoints of light under the more numerous stars. Will followed him docily, and Hannibal left Will seated on the bed, taking off his shoes. He has no luggage, Hannibal found himself thinking, what can I offer him to sleep in?
The thought so foolish brought him back to the real task at hand.
He wasn't certain how Will had found him. Du Maurier perhaps, after they had parted ways? It seemed unlikely. Had he shown up on some camera unwittingly, facial recognition software making a soft ping as it matched his face in a database? But then why Will, why only this shattered man and not the battalion a criminal of his stature deserved?
He had too many questions. Will would have answers, but being in the same space as him felt like a thumb pressing into a bruise. Instead he busied himself. Night shirt, he had extra. It would be a bit large on Will, but that was all right. What else could his guest need? A drink, some food? Hannibal stopped as he realized he was moving downstairs towards the kitchen. Feeding Will right now, in the dark, felt too intimate. A reminder of the late nights they had once spent. Tomorrow, breakfast he could face. Their first meal together had been breakfast his mind whispered. The first food he had prepared to pass Will’s lips, eating together, watching him across a table...
He turned back to the guest room, Will's room now, and found the door open. Will lay in the bed, eyes closed, body flat on top of the covers. He was wearing his undershirt and boxers, no need for the nightshirt Hannibal was now carrying uselessly in his hands.
Hannibal quietly closed the door with him outside it, and rested his forehead against the solid wood. His mind was a world of possibilities. He could kill Will now. He could draw it out over days, weeks, even years. He could run.
Eventually he straightened out, and went to his own bed to sleep. Tomorrow. He could decide tomorrow.
***
By the time Will had arisen breakfast had been done and waiting for two hours, Hannibal had served himself a small portion. He had anticipated this though, Will's sleep last night had spoken to exhaustion. Breakfast was therefore being kept in the warming drawer of the oven. An omelet casserole, with mushrooms and peppers.
Will looked as tired as he had the night before, but sat at the chair pulled out for him and sipped at the coffee offered while Hannibal prepared the food. Only when the plate was in front of him did he speak.
"Anyone I know?" Will asked, taking a forkful.
"It is meatless." Hannibal answered. They were past the facade then, no clever words circling meaning like hounds around a fox. "There is no meat in this house at the moment."
"You know that's not true, Dr. Lecter." Will's voice was teasing, cruel. "Your most recent delivery showed up last night. You just haven't had time to process it."
"I won't have time today, either." Hannibal said. Will looked disappointed at that.
"If you aren't cooking what are you up to out here?" Will asked.
Du Maurier had asked him the same thing. She'd listened to his answer, he rambled too much, he knew it, the answered it for him. You're mourning she'd said simply.
Instead of answering Hannibal gestured to the kitchen. "I am cooking. Man cannot live on meat alone, I see no reason not to expand my culinary horizons."
"This is very good, but that's what I expect from you, the best possible ." Will paused, finishing his plate. "Tell me, do you see potential in me to make a meal fine enough to grace your table?"
Hannibal got out of his seat. He walked back into the kitchen. He'd cleaned up while waiting for Will, his hand ran over the counter searching for a spot to clean.
"Is that a no Dr. Lecter?" Will asked. Hannibal could hear the scrape of the chair being pushed back, footsteps into the kitchen, the clink of a dish being gently placed in the sink. "Are you trying to let me down easy?" Will was just over his right shoulder. Hannibal look to his left.
"At the moment I find myself less interested in some aspects of my previous life." And suddenly there it was, his rage at being forced out. Tendrils stirred, he faced Will now. His anger at leaving such a perfect place returned him to himself. "The act of creation requires a sense of peace I no longer have." He stepped towards Will, slowly, like a stalking tiger.
Will looked at him blandly. "I hate to think my actions could have affected you so. Tell me," and he took a step forward, "what sacrifice is there left for me to make to redeem myself in your eyes?"
They were so close Hannibal could feels Will's breath warm the air between them. His anger retreated, leaving behind him the emptiness the kept him listless and quiet in this old rambling villa. "Is that what you came here to do?" he asked. "Beg my forgiveness?"
"I didn't plan on begging." Will replied. "But I am hoping to escape a life of looking over my shoulder, of every sound in the night being your footsteps. You don't seem the type to suffer fools, and the largest one in your court must be me." Will reached out and took Hannibals hands. He held them a moment, thumbs stroking Hannibals palms. Then he lifted them to his own throat. "I told you once I wanted to kill you with my hands. Perhaps I got some details wrong."
Will's throat under Hannibals fingers was scratchy with stubble. He could feel the heat of it being leached away into his own body. It was easy to find the pulse. It was steady, and it did not betray fear. Just the continuous drumline of life.
Hands still on the man’s throat Hannibal said "You presume too much." He left his hands there a moment longer, marveling at the calmness they felt. He then pulled away and walked out of the room.
He left the house soon after. He needed to go to the market, having another person to feed was going to exhaust his larder quickly. Plus there was no bread oven in the villa, it was pointless to even try to bake without the proper tools. He wondered if he'd catch Will stalking him, or come home to the FBI lying in wait, but when he returned home it was too Will digging a ditch along the backyard wall.
Hannibal placed his shopping down on the kitchen counter and went outside. There was a few steps from the back patio to the garden and he paused on the last step, unwilling to get mud on his shoes. Will stopped his labors when he noticed Hannibal standing, watching him. He straightened up and leaned on the upright shovel. "I don't know if you wanted a garden this year, but the drainage system is far too neglected to work. I cleared it out a bit, it'll take a few more hours though before I'd be comfortable saying it's ready."
"I was going to have a landscaper in, at the very least I need an herb garden." Hannibal said, smoothly lying. The ditch was straight, it ran at the end of the slope of his property and would channel water into the street. There must have been one there before, he could remember a shallow channel choked with weeds. “I normally have a simple lunch. Some bread, cheese, seasonal fresh vegetables. If you’d care to join I’ll have it ready in an hour.”
Will shook his head. “I’d have to shower first. I’m barely fit to be inside a house, much less at your table.”
Hannibal took a long look at Will, the sweat on his brow and soaking his shirt. “If you’d prefer we can eat on the patio. It is a beautiful day after all.”
It was, the air was warm but not hot. There was a slight breeze the brought the smell of hay being harvested in a neighboring farm. Birds were singing in the olive trees. And Will smiled at him and said “I’d like that. I’ll get a bit more done before we eat.”
Over lunch Will did not ask to be killed and eaten. He did ask Hannibal what he wanted to plant in the garden. Hannibal realized he hadn’t put much thought into this, he had decorated the inside mostly out of habitat; he was planning on abandoning the villa within the season and moving onwards to a more populated area where he could hide among the crowds. However under Will’s curious inquiries he spun grand plans for a garden. Herbs near the back door, so their scent could waft in when he opened the windows to catch the evening air. Peppers, tomatoes, snap peas, food that you could truly appreciate when eaten in one smooth motion as you plucked it. And an oven, he added as they broke open fresh bread baked that morning. A forno wood burning oven, made of brick, right there; and he waved to a neglected corner. Will nodded and listened, chewing slowly, reaching for a bit more cheese, sitting back in his chair as he finished eating and Hannibal kept describing a garden he’d never spent a thought on before that moment.
When Will did rise he stretched his arms above his head and gave a little moan. “Well, I can’t get that completed today. But I’ll finish the ditch, start getting some of the beds ready.” With that he walked back into the yard. Hannibal sat a moment longer, then gathered up the dishes. He needed to get started on the gnocchi for dinner.
***
They soon fell into a pattern. Hannibal woke up early and made breakfast. Will wandered downstairs just as breakfast was being plated. They ate sitting across the table from each other. Will wouldn’t ask to be killed and eaten. After breakfast they both went about their days, Hannibal doing his shopping, or working in his office. He was enjoying maintaining a persona of an academic publishing articles about disturbed minds in psychiatric journals. It was such soothing writing. They would have a light lunch on the patio, Will sweat and dirt streaked, Hannibal in a linen shirt with no tie. During lunch Will would describe how the garden was coming, and Hannibal would talk about the journal he’d be submitting to. Will wouldn’t talk about his death. The afternoon continued the same, although Will often took naps under the olive trees when it got too hot. Hannibal drank sparkling mineral water while he worked in the kitchen and would leave a pitcher in the shade for Will. Dinner was more formal. They had it late, after the sun has set. Will showered first, when he came to the table he smelt of clear water reflecting a blue sky. They would drink a bottle of wine, and Hannibal explained the dinner, the ingredients, why he chose the vegetable or a particular sauce. Will asked questions in a way that revealed he found Hannibal’s devotion to the dishes amusing, but he still listened and learned. He did not ask why they weren’t eating meat. After dinner they both often sat and read, Will nodding off in his chair. Eventually he would get up and retire to his bedroom; Hannibal watching him walk through the door, up the dark staircase. Will never bothered to turn on the light.
***
Two weeks after he arrived Will said to Hannibal over breakfast “I need to buy some bricks.”
“Bricks?”
“For the oven.”
Hannibal remembered his hazily sketched garden blueprint, spoken over in the warm afternoon. “There is a handyman I see in the market, would you like me to speak with him about acquiring some?”
Will shook his head. “I’d better go with you, make sure he has what I’ll need.”
Will, it turned out, did not speak more than a smattering of italian. The bricklayer seemed amused as Will tried to describe what he needed, waving his arms, making shapes with his hands. Hannibal translated as necessary, and together an order for bricks was made, to be delivered the next morning. The man also offered his labor, but Will negotiated it down to merely renting some tools. Once that was done Will stayed with Hannibal, following him through the open air market. It was truly a lovely thing, Hannibal saw it as as what every farmers market in America should aspired to. A mix of small stalls occupied based on seasonally available foods around specialty shops proud to showcase the best and not daring to sell sub par products.They went in and out of the little shops together, Will smiling weakly and trying to respond to the exuberant greetings of the shop owners everywhere they went. Hannibal found himself having longer conversations than usual with most clerks as they asked about Will, curious about the man they’d known was staying with him. They pressed food upon WIll, little bits of cheese and fruit. Will smiled a bit more as the day went on and tried everything, complimenting them in halting Italian the grew more confident by the time they began the trek up the hill back home.
As the stepped into the villa Will followed Hannibal into the kitchen, to help him put away the morning’s purchese. They moved around each other, familiar with the space and their places in it. Will’s back was to Hannibal as he placed the bread into the bread box, the tomatoes onto their spot on the counter. For no reason at all Hannibal found himself asking “How is Abigail?”
Will stopped moving. Hannibal could read nothing in the line of his shoulders.
“She’s recovering. It’s unlikely she’ll be able to speak again.”
“And Jack?”
“He was in a coma when Bella died. He came out of it two days after her funeral.”
The final question burned in his throat. “Alana?”
Will turned to look at him. “You know this already, Hannibal. Freddie hasn’t skimped on her coverage.”
He did. He knew that Alana might, might, recovery some movement in her limbs with enough therapy. He’d known that Jack, upon waking up in a world without his Bella, had very nearly died. And Abigail, neck sliced open a second time, deeper than before. Her voice had been lost. Freddie had published a photo of her sitting by Alana’s bedside. She was holding Alana’s hand but he could see the tenderness in Alana’s face, he knew who was caring for whom.
“Yes, I know.” Hannibal pulled a cutting board down and walked to the counter next to Will. He took one of the loaves Will had so carefully put away from the breadbox and began to cut thick slices.
“Do you feel anything at all when you think about then?” There was no judgement in Will’s voice, only curiosity.
“Yes.” Hannibal answered.
“I find that interesting.” Will said, then paused, the only sound the knife moving through bread. Hannibal finished cutting, and they stood in silence. Finally Will said. “I’m going to start clearing the area for the oven, call me when lunch is ready?”
Hannibal nodded. Will left him alone in the kitchen, knife still in his hand.
***
The bricks arrived the next day while Hannibal was at market, he came home in early afternoon to find Will mixing the mortar, bricks arranged in neat stacks. Will looked up when he saw Hannibal on the stairs. “Had a quick lunch while you were out, I need to work fast while the mortar is wet.”
“Can I assist?” Hannibal asked. He’d down some bricklaying in the past, although not for reasons he cared to share with Will right now.
“If you’d like.” Will looked him up and down. “And if you change.”
For a wild second Hannibal wondered where his plastic suit was, before closing that door firmly in his mind. When he next arrived at Will’s side he was wearing an undershirt he had no fondness for and slacks that were a shade lighter than he’d thought they’d be when he’d selected the fabric. Will looked him up and down, then grinned.
“Can you pass me the bricks?” Will turned and knelt on the ground. “I need the ones from the third pile, we’re going to start with the base.”
Hannibal was no stranger to physical excursions, but it had been years since he’d worked closely with another. They fell into a rhythm quickly, after a few repetitions Hannibal learned to watch for what Will might need next. Fresh mortar, another brick, a clean trowel, the level. He watched, and Will stopped asking for anything, just stretched out a hand for Hannibal to fill. He wouldn’t have known how late it was if it wasn’t for the shadows getting longer until that was all there was. They stopped then. The base was done, it could be left to settle while the dome was built tomorrow. They both went inside and devoured a loaf of bread, Hannibal barely had energy to pour some oil and vinegar in a bowl to dip it in.
As Will pressed his last slice of bread into the oil he ask “Do you have the menu selected for the ovens unveiling?”
“It will have to center around bread.” Hannibal said. “So often it merely starts the meal, I will find a dish that will let it take the spotlight for the night.”
They stood in silence a moment, both too tired to move. Will finally pushed himself away from the counter first. “I can build the dome tomorrow, attach it the day after. I’ll want a day to watch it settle, so three days. You have three days to think about this, on the fourth it will be ready for you.” He left and went upstairs. Hannibal followed a moment later.
There was a satisfaction in being so tired. Hannibal felt it as he stripped, a weariness to the bone that made sleep well deserved. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hear Will standing in the doorway until he spoke.
“Hannibal.” Will said simply.
He turned slowly to face Will, aware of his shirtlessness, aware of the scars on his wrists.
“Hannibal.” Will said again, and stepped into the room. Hannibal met him halfway. In the center of the room Will kissed Hannibal, as if it was a simple thing, as if they were the type to kiss. Hannibal raised his arms to encircle Will, and Will slid his around Hannibal’s waist. They kissed as if there was no hurry, no reason to think they’d ever need to stop. Hannibal had no thought beyond the moment until Will lowered his head and let go of Hannibal. He loosened his own grip on the slightly smaller man. Will took a step back, looking him over. Hannibal could think of nothing to say. Will turned and left the room. All Hannibal could hear was the sound of his own breathing, faster and heavier than normal.
***
The next morning Will went straight to the yard to work. Hannibal stayed in his study until lunch, when he took food out to Will. The food was acknowledged but Will only stopped to eat a few bites. “It’s the mortar,” he explained, carefully not talking with his mouth full, “Needs to be stirred. I can’t stop for long.”
“Would you like me to assist again?” Hannibal offred, putting the tray down outside of Will’s work area.
“No, this is much slower, I put each brick in place, smooth, and wait to make sure it’s in the right spot. It’s almost meditative.”
“I understand completely.” Hannibal said.
Will smiled. “I’m sure you do. There’s something about creating with your own hands, nothing like it in the world.”
“It’s always a good thing, to remind yourself you are capable of creating.” Hannibal said, and took the dishes back inside.
***
Will was lying face down on his bed.
He hadn’t come down for dinner, Hannibal had heard him moving around upstairs as he took a shower. He assumed Will was too tired to join him, had prepared a small plate and meant to leave it on the table inside Will’s room. He set it down there now, then stood up.
He looked at Will, lying caught in heavy slumber on the bed. There was a towel around his waist, water still weighed down his hair. Hannibal knew he could go closer, place his hands on Will’s back.
He stepped back out of the room, gently closing the door as he left. The food would keep until Will woke.
***
Will finished the oven at shortly before sunset. He came into the kitchen while Hannibal was still putting lunch together, filthy and grinning.
“You can’t cook in it tomorrow, of course.” He said, sipping wine leaning against the counter. “But you should take a look, make sure it fits your plan.”
They walked outside together, Will stopped on the stairs off the patio as Hannibal walked up to the stove. It was a good size, if he wanted to make bread it would fit three loves. He found himself thinking of the bread, the smell of it cooking, the crack of the crust. It would be a wonderful thing to bake in, this oven built by the hands of Will Graham for his use.
He knew he’d never bake bread in it.
When he turned Will was standing on the steps, watching him. “It’s beautiful” he said, walking back to him. “You have created something astounding.”
“Thank you.” Will murmured, and when Hannibal reached the bottom stair Will leaned down and kissed him. Hannibal had expected it this time, was closing his eyes as their lips found each other, expected the lips tasting faintly of red wine, expected the smell of sweat as he wrapped his arms around WIll’s waist and pulled him closer, as close as they could be.
Will let out a puff of breath as Hannibal tightened his hold, but didn’t protest. He ran a hand down Hannibals cheek, Hannibal pressed his hand into the touch. He opened his eyes and saw Will looking down into his.
“It feels strange, being above you.” Will said.
“These past days have been anything but normal.” Hannibal answered, and ran a hand through Will's hair.
Will guided him into the villa, a hand on the small of Hannibals back. He lead them upstairs to Hannibal's own room. They began to kiss again, and Hannibal found himself now the one guiding, gently directing Will to the bed.
They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs, clinging to each other. When Hannibal was on top he began to free Will of his clothing, until he found Will naked, trapped between his still clothed thighs.
They both were breathing heavily.
Hannibal started at the scar he'd made. He ran his fingers across the length of it. He then bent down and traced it with his tongue, learning it as intimately as he could. Will's skin was still salty with sweat from all the work he'd done. At some point Will gently pulled one of Hannibal’s arms up to his lips. As Hannibal tasted Will he could feel Will's tongue running down his forearm, learning his own work first hand. It's not the same, Hannibal wanted to whisper. It's not the same at all when you give it secondhand. But those scars were more then most were willing to gift him, and he treasured the emotions behind it. What he and he alone was capable of inspiring.
The scar memorized by his mouth he sat up, pulling away from Will slowly. He moved off the bed, leaving Will a body of lightness among the dark sheets. He striped, aware of Will's eyes taking him in with the little light that filtered through his window. When he was finally sans clothing Will gestures for him to return. He climbed over Will, slowly lowering himself down, each millimeter of skin signing with electricity as it connected to Will's warm flesh. He thrust against Will, partly for the slide of their cocks against each other but also to feel the heat their bodies were creating. They could start a fire between them.
Will was the one that passed Hannibal a condom, a question answered he'd now never need to ask. Slicking himself, then Will, was almost too much. Thrusting into Will, hearing the man moan and clutch him tighter undid him. He began to tremble, knowing this couldn't last, needing to experience as much as he could before the end.
He came and it was enough to block out everything.
As he came back to himself, panting, he realized Will was still hard under him, whimpered as he tried to move on Hannibals dick. Hannibal pulled out, electing the first moan of displeasure. He then moved down and took Will's cock in his mouth. He sucked hard, running his tongue along the smooth underside, listening to the sounds of pleasure Will made. Then Will's hands came down to Hannibals jaw, stopping him, pulling him off. Hannibal looked up, trying to meet Will's eyes in the dark.
"Please, can I just use your mouth." Will said, his voice raw.
"Anything." Hannibal said.
Hannibal brought his head back down and Will trust back into Hannibals mouth roughly, Hannibal fought his instinct to gag. Will groaned, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He kept his mouth open, his jaw slack as Will trust quick and dirty and hard. Will came suddenly, so deep that Hannibal couldn't even taste it, just felt it hitting the back of his throat. As Will slowly dragged his dick out he licked what he could clean, the taste of Will's come left for him. They both lay still in the bed, overwhelmed.
Finally Hannibal got up. His eyes were well adjusted now as he passed down the stairs still nude and retrieved a bottle of wine and a glass. He made his way back up the stairs, not turning on the light until he was in the bedroom, despite the sound of protest Will made. It was important that Will see what was happening next. He poured a glass of wine, then reached into the bureau and pulled out a small white packet. He added the contents of the packet to the glass of wine. He then looked at Will observing him. Walking over to the bed he knelt down, offering up the wine.
Will accepted the glass, and then took a small sip. "Thank you." He took a larger sip. "It's not bitter at all."
Hannibal slipped into the bed next to Will. "I wouldn't want to ruin the wine, I choose my poisons carefully."
Will gave a little laugh and finished the glass. He fell asleep a few minutes later with his head in Hannibal’s lap, Hannibal’s hand in his hair.
When Hannibal was certain Will was in thrall of the compound he shifted him to the center of the bed and tucked him in. Then he began to ready himself for the next step.
Clothing on first, a quick inspection of his bags. Money, passports, some light reading material. Emergency credit cards. Contact information for a few people who would be able to help him with anything he required, at least it was in their best interests to do so.
He was ready to continue his flight from the FBI in less than ten minutes.
Will still slept heavily in the center of his bed. He looked at the man, so helpless, so dangerous. He wanted to kiss Will one last time but felt that was a liberty he could not take, having betrayed Will once again. He wondered what would happen next time Will would find him. He might be killed, Will may kill him. He doubted they would spend days together, Will building him a future he could not have.
Instead of a kiss he ran his thumbs over the scars on his wrists and left the room.