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It's a curious thing, that we are raised to associate certain colors with certain emotions. Yellow for happy, blue for sad, red for angry, et cetera. Will doesn't actually remember being taught this association, but it must have been a point of shared osmosis.
And Will has always been able to pick up emotions just that easily, like picking a shade on a color wheel. A few deviations thereupon, maybe this red is more orange and this one is more violet, but still identifiable. It can be boring, sometimes. The simplicity, the transparency.
Hannibal Lecter, though. Hue, as always, but so much minutia in the saturation, the value, like a well-composed art piece contained within a man. So much to be found in a single expression, a passing phrase. Still perfectly legible, of course. It's still easy for Will to say yes, this blue is blue. But ah, this blue is so muted and pale, like a winter morning. How does that compare to the dark greenish-blue of the roiling Atlantic, as they plummeted together?
Over the months- which are quickly growing and stretching to become a year- since their rebirth, Will has become something of an expert in decoding these chromatic messages. He knows Hannibal's spectrum of visible light nearly into ultraviolet. Hannibal's violence- red and black and blinding white as the two of them Hunt. Always far from home, always in tandem. His passion- golden yellow and sunset orange with touches of a rich, wine-deep burgundy as he makes Will speak in tongues and pray to gods he's never known. And at times, an experience that Will finds too Grand to name but can still be recognized. It's a soft but opulent purple, trimmed at the edges with something pearlescent that shifts in the sunlight. To call it love feels so pedestrian, though no other word could be more true. Yes, he's intimately familiar with every beautiful shade that Hannibal can display.
Aside from one.
The two of them have known each other for a little over six years now, though granted, three of them were spent apart. And yet, in all that time, Will has never seen Hannibal afraid. Nervous, perhaps. Concerned, absolutely. But really, truly afraid? Not even close. Will has long suspected that Hannibal isn't even capable of fear. Though every time that suspicion starts to take hold in earnest, Will is reminded that Hannibal Lecter is much more human than he likes to seem. He'll let some tender, vulnerable piece of himself surface, and suddenly he isn't the Chesapeake Ripper or Il Monstro or even Hannibal the Cannibal- he's just Will's Hannibal. A man from Lithuania who'd been through hell and back and now didn't need protecting but sure as shit deserved it. And then in a flash, that piece is hidden away under an unbearably pretentious veneer.
So perhaps the fear is hidden somewhere, too.
Though if it isn't, if Hannibal truly fears nothing, then Will is more than happy to keep it that way. Will's never been less afraid in his life, he can only hope the other man shares the sentiment. That their life together leaves no room for fear. After all, how could they feel anything other than invincible, when they live like this?
"Will."
It's chilly in their kitchen. Summer has finally turned into Autumn, and Will couldn't be more grateful for the reprieve from the heat. Hannibal is thriving too, the harvest season bringing pumpkins and blackberries and an abundance of chestnuts to their table. Soon, he realizes, Autumn will give way to Winter, and the anniversary of their second life will be upon them. When it comes, he'll have to do something special.
"Will, darling, are you listening?"
Will stirs from where he's been drifting, knuckles pressed firmly against his jaw as he stares out the window. He turns to look at his lover, bashful grin on his face. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
Hannibal frowns. "You were in your stream again, weren't you?"
Will shakes his head, tries to be reassuring. He tries not to go there anymore. He spent an unhealthy amount of time in that stream, early on. He'd made a concentrated effort to be more...present, after an incident where Hannibal shook him from a trip that had last almost an entire day. "No, I was just thinking. Lost in thought, as usual."
A fond smile comes to Hannibal's lips. Honey yellow, warm and decidedly happy. "And where did you find yourself?"
Will stands, making his way around the kitchen counter to lazily wrap his arms around Hannibal's waist from behind. He observes the small army of jars, ready to be boiled until vacuum sealed. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of apple butter in the making. "Our anniversary is coming up," He says, pressing a kiss to Hannibal's neck. "Can you believe that? Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have been dead for almost a year."
Hannibal hums, buzzing against Will's chest. "And how has the last journey around the sun compared to previous ones?"
Will chuckles. "Top ten, for sure."
He sighs, feigning resignation. "If that's where you were, I suppose I could forgive you for not listening."
"What were you trying to tell me? I'll pay attention this time."
"I was asking if you could go grocery shopping this afternoon."
Will grumbles into the crook of Hannibal's neck at that. "If I pretend I didn't hear that, can I stay and make out with you instead?"
Hannibal laughs. Dappled light through the trees and beams streaming in through curtains. "I'll make it worth your while."
"Will you?" He whispers, leaning up to nibble at Hannibal's ear.
Hannibal turns away from the pot at last, trying with all his might to look annoyed while his mirth is still casting sunlight through the room. "Naughty boy," he scolds. "Worth your while in the sense that the ingredients for Brunswick Stew are on my list."
Will perks up at that. It's rare that he gets to eat Southern comfort food anymore, but Hannibal indulges him from time to time. And Brunswick Stew is perfect for this rapidly chilling weather.
He shoots Hannibal a wolfish grin anyway. "I think you could sweeten the pot a little more than that, Doctor."
Hannibal lets out another heavy sigh and Will is expecting a snide remark when the other man surges forward and grabs a rough handful of his hair. Will yelps into Hannibal's mouth, already closing in, and his kiss is absolutely ravenous. A hot tongue licks its way into his mouth and his back arches as Hannibal pushes him backwards until the only thing keeping him from falling is a strong hand gripping his lower back. Will moans and Hannibal swallows it, doubtlessly relishing how Will is clutching at those broad shoulders.
And then, as quickly as he'd been captured, he's released- flushed and short of breath and knocked off-balance. Hannibal turns back to the apple butter as if nothing has happened. "The list is on the island. Be home before dinner, please."
Will is stunned into silence for a few seconds before he laughs, taking the list and finding his keys. "Okay," he says, still a bit dazed. "Yeah, I'll be quick- fuck, I'll be back before you know it."
Hannibal's smugness is overwhelming, a deep burnt orange painting the moment. "And don't forget the olive oil, mylimasis. We're almost out."
"Love you," He tosses over his shoulder, the screen door bouncing slightly in its frame before settling.
Their home is a bit far from Lourmarin, though Will is accustomed to that. Years living in Wolf Trap, far from the grip of society have made him well-acquainted with a lengthy commute. Will rolls down the windows, taking in deep lungfuls of the crisp Autumn air. The French countryside is breathtaking like this, and Will realizes that he's now seen it through all four seasons. The knowledge that he and Hannibal will likely have to flee eventually makes the view feel bittersweet. For a moment, Will thinks of Hannibal in Florence- how he lamented cutting that life short, how he'd wanted to show Will the delights of that city. As he crests a hill, he stops his car. No one else is around, the backroads near their home are almost always vacant. It's by design, of course. No witnesses.
Will steps out, leaning back against his car. He'll be quick. Just a minute. But God, it's beautiful out here. He takes a slow, steadying breath, and drinks in the quiet. The silence of nature has a subtle music within it, and the song of Lourmarin is reminiscent of that of Wolf Trap but the small differences can be detected when he listens closely. Will looks over everything in view with careful focus. He memorizes the many shades of orange, yellow, brown- clinging stubbornly to the trees and dusting the ground and drifting on the lazy breeze. His memory has always been excellent, but he finds himself fearing that this one might fade. He understands why Hannibal felt inclined to immortalize certain sights on paper.
He doesn't take many pictures. Mainly just impressive fish he's caught or the odd deer that drifts onto their property. But this sight won't be adequately described with words, and he wants to show it to Hannibal, so-
Will doesn't have his phone.
He pats at his pockets, checks the car. Shit. Should he turn around? No, it's fine. Hopefully Hannibal doesn't think of any last-minute requests while Will's gone. Still though, Will realizes he's been out here drinking in the countryside for quite some time. No worries, he'll just have to be quick at the store.
Will wakes one last lingering look at the view. Autumn should stick around for a few more weeks, before the trees become too barren. He can take some pictures another time. Maybe print them out and take the view with him into their next life, when it comes.
The market is uncharacteristically crowded. Will tries to swallow the rush of anxiety. They haven't been recognized yet, there's no reason to believe he would be today. This is why Will usually does the shopping to begin with. Hannibal would doubtlessly prefer to hand-select every individual item that ends up in his kitchen, but Hannibal has a very recognizable face, and his past crimes had placed him in the spotlight for quite a while. Will, however, is much less recognizable.
Still, it makes a chill run down his spine every time another shopper looks at him, especially at the scars on his face. It helps to be legally deceased, though.
He pushes through the crowd, focusing on his task. He's eager to just get it over with, but he forces himself to take his time on a few items. The butcher knows his face by now, knows that Will's 'husband' is a man of discerning tastes but that Will himself is lacking in expertise. His recommendations usually please Hannibal, so Will always asks for his assistance. The produce, too, Will is more patient with. Not as patient as Hannibal would probably like, but he's sure to select ingredients that aren't overly soft or discolored. Only the best, Hannibal always asserts, though it's clear that he's willing to make exceptions on that rule- if the powdered coffee creamer and potato chips in the basket were any indication. Hannibal always sneers when Will eats things that don't meet his standards, but he still adds them to the list, begrudgingly making note whenever they run out of frozen fish sticks or soda.
'You can't expect me to eat like I have a personal chef for every meal,' Will says with a smirk. 'My diet is fine, I can order pizza once in a while without dying.'
'You do have a personal chef, Will,' Hannibal responds, and Will rolls his eyes but the smile doesn't leave him. 'I'll just never understand why you would choose this processed garbage over fresh, homemade meals. We can afford it, you know.'
Will laughs. 'I could afford it in Wolf Trap, too. The FBI did pay me, believe it or not. It's just nostalgic, I don't know. Makes me feel like I'm in college again. Is it so wrong to just genuinely enjoy the occasional greasy pizza?'
The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time Will is loading the groceries back into his car. He sighs, he's running late. Hannibal's probably going to be annoyed. 'Back before I know it, hmm?' He'll say, though he will relent when Will explains the reason for it. Hannibal adores how happy Will is in this life, hearing that Will got sidetracked while enjoying the scenery and made an extra effort to find quality ingredients for him will easily smooth out his irritation.
Will is pleasantly surprised by it, too. He'd never really noticed that he was unhappy, before. At times, he did, of course. But for the most part, Will felt convinced that he liked the life he'd built in Wolf Trap. Now, he can't imagine ever going back. Can't fathom how he'd found that life fulfilling, not when he's so free here. For the first time in his life, Will is so free. They both are, their Person Suits cast aside. He knows that Hannibal enjoys the freedom, too, but it's undeniably different for Will.
Hannibal's Person Suit was only for the world, he slipped it off behind closed doors. Will's stayed on even when he was alone, trying to hide what lay underneath even from himself. Hannibal's seemed to fit, if a bit uncomfortably, while Will's felt like it got smaller and smaller with every passing day.
Hannibal's could be removed as simply as undoing a zipper. Will's was fused to his skin, it had to be ripped from him. It left him bleeding and raw, but finally able to heal. He and Hannibal were washed clean in the sea and Will's entire body stung when the salt water hit him, just minutes after being flayed alive. But it cleansed him, kept the wound from festering and allowed something better to grow in the Suit's place. And now he's finally out. Finally exposed, for better or for worse, with Hannibal.
So yes, Hannibal will forgive it. Because Will is simply too free to keep track of the time.
Will curses aloud as he's leaving the parking lot. He forgot the damn olive oil. He weighs his options for a moment. Would Hannibal be more pissed if Will got home even later than he currently would be, or if Will was just a bit late and also forgot the one thing he was reminded to buy? The answer is obvious, and Will curses again as he turns back into the parking lot. Luckily, he knows exactly where Hannibal's preferred brand of olive oil is, and there's only one customer in front of him in the checkout line. Still, it does set him even further behind. Will kisses the chance of getting ravished by Hannibal tonight goodbye, but at least there will be Brunswick Stew in his near future.
Will drives quickly down the familiar back roads to their home, headlights doing all the heavy lifting as the street lights out here are few and far between.
His heart drops and his foot slams on the brake when a moving shape comes into view from the darkness.
The car screeches to a stop mere feet away from the dog, sending the groceries in the back seat careening into the floorboards. It's paralyzed in fear, staring at the car with big, dark eyes. Will sighs in relief, he's never hit an animal with his car before and he isn't sure if his heart would ever recover, especially if it was a dog.
He exits the car slowly, praying he doesn't frighten the poor thing any further. It looks okay, no mange and its face looks healthy, albeit terrified. Will can see its ribs, though, the sweet pup must be starving. He crouches on the side of the road, holds out a gentle hand.
"Hey," he says softly. "Hey buddy, I'm sorry about that. It's okay, though, I'm sorry. I'm not gonna hurt you."
The dog steps closer, slowly. It's gorgeous, short black and white coat and big strong paws and small ears that hang down at just the right angle to tell Will that this is a Pitbull, without a doubt. Maybe not all Pit, but definitely a dominant breed. It's dirty, and hungry, and scared, and Will knows that he could fix all those things.
Hannibal would kill him. Hannibal would absolutely, definitely kill him. Forget being late, forget leaving his phone at home, those crimes would pale in comparison. He'd be lucky to sleep on the couch tonight, Hannibal would be tempted to lock him in the basement. He really shouldn't, can't. Hannibal would be furious.
The dog sniffs his hand for just a second before flinching away, then comes back for another smell when Will doesn't move.
Maybe Will wasn't completely different from the man who lived in Wolf Trap.
"Hi," He coos. "Are you hungry, baby? You want some food?"
He slowly makes his way to the car, keeping an eye on her as he digs through the groceries. He finds some prosciutto and knows, beyond any doubt, that Hannibal is going to kill him.
She eats it, first off the ground and then eventually from Will's hand. He's there on the side of the road for a long while, gently coaxing the dog nearer, nearer. He almost cries when he pets her dirty fur and she responds by wagging her tail. He can't leave her, she's too sweet, he couldn't possibly leave her. Not in the middle of nowhere, not with Winter just a few weeks away, his heart wouldn't allow it.
He moves the groceries into the trunk, watching her carefully as he does so. She's not running, for now. Getting her into the backseat is difficult, but Will's done it plenty of times, and eventually she's safely in the car. She's shaking in fear and Will worries she might get sick on the drive home, but he cracks the windows and they both arrive in one piece.
Will hesitates before leading her into the house. He braces himself, prays that Hannibal won't yell and upset her. 'Will Graham, get that filthy creature out of our home, or you will find yourself on a platter.' He takes a long breath, leads her gently, gently, to the front door.
The house is dark when when the door creaks open, and Will freezes in the foyer. Something is wrong, he can feel it in the air. Something happened while he was gone, something that has the house feeling cold and uneasy.
The dog whines in fear and Will strokes her back, trying to soothe her. He creeps through the house, too anxious to speak. A desperate, paranoid part of him fears that the cops came that afternoon and had taken Hannibal while Will was gone. Or another killer had come knocking, and was simply lying in wait.
Will's heart shifts from anxiety to relief and then immediately back to terror when he enters the kitchen. Hannibal is there, alive, sitting on the kitchen floor. He looks up when Will enters, eyes wide and red. He's been crying.
"Hannibal?" He says, finally finding his voice. Will is at the other man's side in a flash, crouching beside him. "Honey, what happened? What's-"
He's cut off by an almost suffocating embrace, Hannibal hugging him tightly. "Will. You're back."
Will struggles to regain balance, finally settles for just falling into Hannibal's lap. He folds his arms around the other man's back, confused and a little afraid but fully dedicated to fixing whatever this is. "I'm sorry, I know I'm late, I just- well, one thing led to another. It's a long story."
Hannibal lifts his face from where it's been buried in Will's shoulder. The smile he offers is shaky, forced. Will rarely ever sees him like this, but when he does it's usually about Lithuania. Something must've triggered him while Will was gone. He curses himself for taking so long, for not being around to help.
"Yes," Hannibal manages. "You are late. Just late, nothing more."
Will gives him a curious look, still trying to divine what Hannibal is feeling. There's sadness, blue-grey and miserable, though it's beginning to give way to the warm yellow-green of relief tinged with embarrassment. There's something else, though.
"Uh, yeah," He says. He breathes out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little. "Of course it was nothing more. Or did you think that I'd decided today was the day I'd finally leave y-"
And oh God, the flash of Something Else finally clicks into place, and it's a hideous off-white. Pale beige, like the jumpsuit Hannibal wore in prison.
The words die on Will's tongue and his heart drops even further into his stomach because Hannibal didn't experience a trigger. This isn't about Mischa and it's not about Lithuania. It's about Will.
And now Will knows every shade. He knows what Hannibal Lecter looks like when he's afraid. And he never, ever wants to see it again.
Will wraps his arms around Hannibal more tightly, holds him closer. "Hannibal..."
"I'm sorry, Will," He whispers, pressing his face once again to Will's shoulder and breathing in deeply. "I shouldn't have been so foolish."
Will brings a hand up to card through Hannibal's hair, trying to be everything that he deserves. "I'm not going anywhere." The words sound sure, resolute. Less like a statement and more like a pledge. A promise. "I'm not leaving you, you don't need to worry about that, okay? Don't waste another thought on it, it's never going to happen."
Hannibal nods weakly against his shoulder, hands finally relaxing so they aren't clutching Will so tightly.
"And if you ever need me to remind you of that, just let me know, alright? I'll say it every day if that's what you need to hear."
Hannibal is quiet for a moment before he speaks, soft and unsure. "Perhaps just once more, mylimasis?"
Will pulls away just a little and Hannibal looks up at him. Will brushes a fresh tear from where it lies on his cheek, presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "I don't want to leave you, Hannibal. I'm happier here than I've ever been. I love you."
Hannibal smiles, and this one feels real. The fear is quieting into an ugly after-image, giving way to that pretty purple that Will wants to see for the rest of his days. "I love you, Will."
Hannibal's gaze flicks past Will and his smile falls. "Darling...what is that filthy animal doing in my kitchen?"
Will looks back over his shoulder to see the dog standing near the doorway, frightened with its head bowed. He chuckles. "I told you that I was late for a reason," he says.
Hannibal starts to object, but he barely gets past an admonishing "Will," before he falls silent. Will beckons her closer, moving out of Hannibal's lap to sit beside him on the kitchen floor. The dog comes to lie in front of them, and Will reaches out to pet her. Her tail begins to thump rhythmically against the kitchen tile, and Will smiles.
He looks over and finds Hannibal observing her with a thoughtful expression. He's weighing his options.
"She's a sweetie, isn't she?"
"She's foul."
"I'll give her a bath after she has something to eat."
Hannibal sighs, exasperated. "You've made this decision entirely on your own, haven't you?"
"You could always make both of us sleep outside."
Despite himself, Hannibal laughs. "And have you chosen a name for this beast yet?"
Will tries to hide his surprise. Well, that was easy. "I haven't picked one, no."
Hannibal holds out his hand and she sniffs it curiously, warming up easily at the sight of how comfortable Will is in his presence.
"Tueuse," Hannibal murmurs, and Will laughs.
"You want to name our dog killer?" Will asks. "I was expecting something much more pretentious from you, Doctor."
"You can call your dog whatever you'd like, I was merely offering a suggestion."
Will sits back against the kitchen island, looking down at the dog. She's still nervous about the new surroundings and the unfamiliar attention, but she's happy, too. He turns to look at Hannibal, fears forgotten in favor of rusty annoyance and rosy affection.
"How about Chrysanthemum?"
A smile plays at Hannibal's lips and Will knows it's decided. "A bit long, no?"
"We can call her Chryssie for short. Chrysanthemum Lecter-Graham."
"Your dog is taking my last name?" He prods with a smirk.
Will laughs. "Take it as a symbol of commitment. I can't go anywhere now, we're raising a dog together. There would have to be a custody negotiation, it would be a nightmare." He shakes his head, gives Hannibal a playful smile. "Best to just stay together. For the kids."
Hannibal is completely overjoyed. Will almost has to squint to look at him through the sunlight, even in the dark of night. "Did you manage to get the groceries, at least?"
Will sits up suddenly and it startles Chrysanthemum. "Oh, yeah, sorry. They're in the car. I just got distracted."
Hannibal stands with a nod. "I'll bring them in and start on dinner, you feed and bathe poor Chrysanthemum. No pet of ours will be left in such disarray."
Will gets up and catches him by the wrist before he leaves the kitchen, gently pulling him back. When Hannibal turns, Will kisses him lovingly, trying to convey how happy he is in their new life.
"I love you."
Hannibal brings a hand to Will's face, strokes his cheek fondly with his thumb. He's beaming. "I love you, too."