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Hannibal notices it amidst the sporadic mentions of Bedelia; a slight crinkle at the corner of Will's eyes, his lips forming a tiny line. It also reminds him of Will's reaction to his relationship with Alana. That's how the concept takes shape in his mind and gives birth to an idea. Having Will by his side has granted him more fulfillment than dozens of hunts, preparations, but still, his beloved’s peculiarity beckons for further exploration.
For a brief moment, stretched over seconds, Hannibal recalls that at the beginning of this new relationship, Will stipulated not wanting new games or manipulations. But thinking about letting go of this unexplored facet of his character goes against Hannibal's very nature. Of course, he wants to investigate it.
He does so carefully, planning. He tests it with Bedelia, mentioning her name randomly, recalling her brief stint in Florence; Will there, a brief silence followed by a biting comment ("Joining or not. Wanting to profit without even getting her hands wet was just a display of ultimate mediocrity. Such a pity, considering I told you she was the first to believe in me"); and if Hannibal refers to their shared past when he met the psychiatrist in the high circles of Baltimore, Will's grimace worsens, followed by a pause to add another poetic critique, and then hours at the dog shelter where he is working.
Jealousy.
His jealous and possessive boy.
Why shouldn't Hannibal be interested in squeezing that striking characteristic of his beloved?
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It is not difficult to execute the trick; after all, it is much simpler than the intricate webs Hannibal once wove. It's just a matter of finding a target, a cunning and young pig similar to the poet he killed in Florence, to seduce him behind Will's back.
But before that, he must sow the seeds of his manipulation, gradually alienating their relationship. It's the most challenging part because conversing with Will and being in his presence brings him the greatest joy. However, if Hannibal wants credibility for his game, he needs to create the atmosphere.
In their home on the outskirts of Gothenburg in Sweden, where they have settled for a few months after their journey through South America, he exercises as a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in the city. This makes his minutes with Will scarcer during the afternoon, which he compensates with nightly walks.
The second week of his new behavior triggers the first reaction in Will, his pursed lips at breakfast when Hannibal informs him that he will once again have to miss dinner due to a prior commitment. He waits for Will to finally inquire about what he has been doing, but his beloved lamb only responds with his expression.
"I hope you're not planning something terrible," Will tells him after taking a sip of his coffee, "because I'm getting used to the language."
Hannibal simply replies with a small smile, affirming that Will has nothing to worry about.
And it's because he has finally found his prey: Adrian Hansson, 34 years old, a sculptor with a peculiar taste for violence. Hannibal has been dining or having lunch with him for the past four days after investigating him within the museum's network, having come across his works of mutilated bodies. He is, to be honest, quite mediocre; his darkness too superficial, lacking layers to delve into.
But he serves his purpose, the complete package: his age, his work, his appearance; hazel eyes and copper-blond curls, similar yet opposite to his beloved.
It was also easy to ensnare him because despite Hannibal’s lack of empathy, his mastery of emotions and people remains spectacular. Hansson is an easy prey to flattery and intuitive comments about the violent humanity they live in, art analysis, and other amenities that Hannibal handles well.
In the third week of avoiding Will, including for maximum pain ceasing their sexual encounters, Hannibal has all the pieces in place on the chessboard.
Will has been increasingly sharp with his words for two days, although something holds him back from directly addressing the issue. However, concern and suspicion are planted in his mind, and Hannibal can almost read his thoughts filled with furious curiosity.
So, his encounters with Hansson, who looks at Hannibal as if he has found his soulmate, are arranged with the belief that Will will follow, thinking that Will will discover them, thinking about how he will react, how glorious his violence against this new pig will be.
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Hansson's eyes are captivated as he listens to Hannibal speak, which, for now, is positive because it's only through a slow seduction that he has avoided physical contact. The goal of the game may be to provoke jealousy in Will, to call forth his violence, but Hannibal has no interest in engaging in a physical relationship with anyone other than his beloved.
Hansson, so simple in his cheap romanticism, believes it's special that they have only held hands up until now, with only a chaste kiss on the cheek envisioning what he thinks will come in the future.
The positive aspect is that Hannibal is fairly certain that Will has been following him since the previous day. With his darling’s work at the shelter, his hours are much more flexible, allowing him to decide to have the afternoons to himself, for example. Yesterday, Hannibal sensed it while he stayed at the museum, feigning interest in Hansson's exhibited sculptures, imagining Will's confused and curious face, piecing together the artist's identity, connecting the dots between absences and lies.
And today, too, he has Will trailing behind. He saw his darling at one of the tables, sharing a meal in silence at the Mr P restaurant, where Hannibal has been taking Hansson to dinner these days, next to the museum.
And when they go for a walk, and the artist reaches for his hand for a moment, Hannibal allows himself to take it on his own, knowing who is walking behind them. He leads them down a crowded path, bidding farewell in the museum parking lot, where they both get into their cars.
It's there, seconds later, sitting behind the wheel, that he contemplates what Will will do, whether he will continue to follow Hansson, whether he will kill him.
But when he arrives home, Will appears a few minutes later, his face a mask of ignorance about what he saw.
His intelligent and astute boy.
That's why Hannibal must continue with his nighttime rendezvous for two more days, being followed by his lamb, filled with expectations of what will happen.
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It is on the third night, both already in their home and ready to retire to their bedroom, that after coming out of the bathroom dressed for bed, Will, still in his daytime clothes, is sitting on the bed, looking at him with icy eyes. An absolute coldness that Hannibal hasn't seen since that first time he visited Will in prison, shortly after sending him there.
Will brings a hand to his mouth, nonchalantly scratching his beard. "I would have liked to think that I've earned enough respect for you to either kill me or let me go if I've started to bore you."
Hannibal doesn't respond, cautious with his words after Will's unpredictable behavior: Will, who made the decision to kill Bedelia. Who is just as possessive as he is. Who should have easily killed Adrian Hansson but has only been following them, with Hansson still alive, sending annoying text messages to him.
"I know what you've been doing for days, and I also know that you're aware that I've been following you. Will you give me some pretentious bullshit about our paths diverging?"
Hannibal blinks, realizing he won't receive the direct violence he was expecting. "What is your accusation?"
Will smiles unpleasantly, sitting in his chair. "Are you cheating on me or planning to do so in the near future? I guess you missed having deep conversations about art that I surely can't provide."
Will's sarcasm is thick when he's this upset. "It's intriguing that you followed me. I thought that would be beneath you."
Those blue eyes only look at him furiously. "Hannibal, don't feed me a script that's beneath us. Just tell me what the hell this past month has been. Are you fucking that artist? What am I supposed to do? Do you want an open relationship? Are we free to seek pleasure elsewhere?"
The mere idea sets Hannibal on fire, the thought of other hands touching Will, possessing him when it took Hannibal so much effort to do so. When only he should be able to love his body.
"No," he affirms. "None of your ideas are correct."
"Then what the fuck, Hannibal? If you're not bored with me, if you don't miss fucking someone else," Will's face is no longer inscrutable, but anguish has taken shape on his lips, in his clouded gaze, "What the fuck has this been?"
For the first time since he desired to elicit Will's fury, the idea feels inadequate, and the explanation tastes like ashes. "I wanted to see how you would react to something like this. I wanted to see how far your jealousy would go."
Will's cheeks pale for a moment before turning red, the veins in his hands bulging as he pushes himself forward to stand up and leave the room. Hannibal hears the door slam shut, and that's it.
It didn't go as Hannibal expected.
Will, covered in blood, filled with his righteous anger, his possessive love, the perfect image of his violence.
This is nowhere near what he anticipated.
Will is furious, yes, but wounded, angry in a way he hasn't seen in years. Hannibal knows he hasn't been abandoned, but he doesn't know if his beloved will return tonight or the next morning.
Clearly, he shouldn't have wasted time on such trivial manipulation.
Hannibal closes his eyes and enters his rooms dedicated to Will, always victorious, searching for him.
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Will disappears for two days during which Hannibal knows he has been visiting the dogs at the shelter. Hannibal also has to deal with messages from the pig he will have to kill sooner rather than later.
As always when he plays with Will, his actions have consequences he didn't anticipate. His lack of empathy hurting their relationship. Hannibal can now understand that this new bet was a mistake, unnecessary, but he feels like a venomous animal unable to go against his nature.
If Will returns to him, no, when Will returns to him, will Hannibal be able to refrain from the desire to test him, to put him back on a chessboard? The love he feels, unique, has grown like a tumor inside his body, absorbing so much of his original interest in harming Will, in testing his fears, in breaking him and stitching him back together.
Hannibal doesn't want Will to be angry with him. He doesn't want Will to dedicate that pained and betrayed face to him ever again. Hannibal thinks of the promises he made to himself on that beach after falling off the cliff: to never torture him again; commitments he repeated and wrote on Will’s skin dozens of nights, convincing him of his devotion.
Hannibal threw it all away in seconds. His inhumanity perverting the only thing that matters to him today. He knows Will will return, intertwined with his life, unable to leave him, but the fear that overwhelms Hannibal is of losing him, even so; his trust, his affection, even his vulnerability.
He thinks of the explanations to give his beloved, each one sounds worse, as if he hadn't spent five years ruining Will's mind to have him become who he is now. Hannibal notices how only with Will his magnificent level of skills and intelligence becomes null, becomes obsolete.
Hannibal is precisely sitting in the darkness of his library, only illuminated by the fireplace fire as he contemplates his own ineffectiveness when he hears the front door open and the familiar movements of his lamb walking towards him, stopping in the doorway.
Will looks at him without reflecting any emotions in his expressive eyes and lips. "Don't think that your search for a new shitty test took me by surprise. I was expecting some manipulation, some little game on your part. I know who you are, Hannibal, and more importantly, I know what you are. I would have understood if you wanted to provoke me in a situation where I had to kill as you pleased, even though you know it's still a struggle for me every day. But not that you would drag your shit into what we have."
The hundreds of reflections Hannibal has rehearsed in these hours abandon him, leaving him empty in the face of the accusations. "It wasn't my intention, Will. If there's anything in this world that I respect, it's our relationship."
"Of course, of course. And that's why you spent weeks charming a potential lover and making me believe that we no longer had a future. Knowing that my only concern, because of you, by the way, is that someday there will come a moment when you get bored of me."
The words bury themselves deeply. In Hannibal’s analysis of Will’s jealousy, he only focused on his possessiveness and the desire to see him in action, the joy of feeling so loved, victorious in having obtained his prize, leaving aside, of course, the insecurity rooted in abuse that Will has mentioned to him. It's inconceivable to Hannibal: how could he get bored of his beloved, of his wonderful mind, of his personality, of every sentence that has escaped his sharp tongue? Will Graham, who has tamed and liberated him equally, who has elevated him to new heights he never dreamed of.
"Impossible, Will. Impossible," he emphasizes, standing up and walking towards his lamb, stopping a few steps away. "What I did was purely woven because I wanted to see if you would kill him, to witness your jealous fury in action."
Will brings a hand to his face, scratching his temple and eyelids. "God, Hannibal, you're so fucking terrible. Didn't it occur to you that provoking such a scenario would make me feel bad? It took years for me to accept that you could love me, that you felt, and I've told you how much everything costs me every day. Even though I believe you make me happy. What we have is built on foundations of the pain you instilled in me, of starting out as a toy for you."
As only Will can provoke, Hannibal’s heart tightens, a feeling of self-disgust that no one else causes in him. "I just wanted to see you bathed in your darkness, glorious."
Will ignores his response, walking toward the armchairs, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the coffee table they have. "Of all the shit you could have chosen to make me kill again, you had to pick the one thing that genuinely worries me, that unconscious fear that counts the hours until your heart erases me, until your interest is overtaken by something else, until my character stops evolving and entertaining you."
If Hannibal had control over time, he would be erasing the past month. He would be erasing this entire foolish plan. "Will, I've spent these past two days contemplating what I did. My inability to not create your suffering. For decades, I was a monolith to change, only adapting for pleasure, but my feelings for you tests my nature. I wish I could tell you that now I understand my mistakes and the reasons behind them, but I won't lie to you by saying I would have thought about them without this confrontation."
Will sinks into the armchair, his eyes lost in his glass. "When I decided to stay with you, to embark on this journey with you, I accepted who you are, Hannibal. Your empathy towards me isn't automatic; it arises precisely from your love for me. I can only imagine the number of games and actions you must reject every day because you know I wouldn't forgive you for them. But even knowing that, knowing that I chose you, that I forgave you, I can't help but wish you wouldn't play with me."
With slow steps, Hannibal takes his seat again, contemplating the words he wants to say, coldly aware of how difficult it is to speak about his emotions when they're real, explaining something he has never needed to. "My natural sadism manifests in my murders and manipulations, not compulsively. They are the basis of the pleasure I derive from destroying bodies or minds. Over the years, I have refined my art, Will, as you well know, seeking the perfection of breaking the original masterpiece."
Hannibal lets out a faint sigh, his eyes fixed on those of his beloved, who still refuses to look at him. "What I did to you in the beginning was with that purpose, heightened by your brilliance. However, my recent operation wasn't intended to harm you like this. I wanted to see you in another stage. It originated from that, from my desire to understand you in all your facets, in my need to consume you completely, to observe your reactions to different worlds."
Those blue irises finally fixate on him, shooting him with annoyance. "Do you realize how utterly perverse is what you're telling me? And how absolutely foolish it is of me to love you nonetheless?"
Hannibal tilts his head slightly. "To say that my love isn't toxic would be a lie. But that doesn't mean that I seek to hurt you, even though it's my nature to do so. I restrain myself because my greatest desire is to make you happy. Except in this situation, where my inability to understand and empathize with what it would cause you blinded me."
Will lets the tension rise for seconds, for minutes. "I don't know what I would have done. That's why I pushed us off a cliff. Maybe I would have left. I wouldn't have killed him. Maybe I would have killed you and then myself, but not out of some stupid possessiveness, but because I don't think I can live with myself if I know you're out there, continuing with your lifestyle," he whispers.
"I would have killed your wife and your son. I would have killed Alana if she had touched you," Hannibal confesses, his own jealousy a crucial factor in so many of his actions.
"Like when you killed Georgia, Beverly, Abigail. Like when you manipulated Mason to take away my future child. But you have to understand that I'm not like you. I don't know how much and what it will take for you to see that we're not the same monster. You're the one who doesn't want me to have anything that isn't you."
Hannibal takes a deep breath and responds sincerely, "My nature is selfish, Will. Selfish and egocentric. You are the only exception to so many things.I love you and desire you, yes, particularly your violence, but also your tenderness."
"You hurt me," his beloved responds without hesitation, "And you're not supposed to do that anymore, Hannibal. What we have, beneath all its problems and the tons of toxicity that lie in our love, is supposed to seek the best in us. A pact for that, to make each other happy on our own terms. If I'm hunting with you, it's because I want to, but also because I understand how much you need to have me by your side in that way. And I can forgive you for this, understanding who you are and how difficult change is for you, recognizing the effort you make in loving me, but I won't subject myself to a machination that puts me not as a participant but as a puppet."
Hannibal feels his hands tighten on the armrests, his heart releasing itself. "Will you forgive me?"
Will's tired, still wounded face looks at him with resignation, but above all, affection. "Beyond good and evil, we are fused, Hannibal. I couldn't leave you even if it were the only thing I wanted. I have forgiven you for even worse things; I'm a fucking case study, and I'll probably forgive you for more," his beautiful eyes well up again, his mouth forming a grimace, "but with each new forgiveness, something shatters, whether it's your intention or not."
Hannibal nods, already too aware of his own choices and their consequences. "I want to tell you that it will never be like this again, I want to promise you, Will, that I won't hurt you, but I don't want to lie to you like that again, as I have already violated my oaths. I once said that what we have is a zero-sum game, and I feel that maybe I was right."
Now it's Will who shrugs, standing up and walking to his seat. "It still is. Like I said, I never believed that you could stop your manipulations towards me, creating scenarios to see what will happen. It's part of the pact I made by staying with you, and, God, through my empathy, I can see what you wanted. I understand now that your intention was never to leave me for a new version, that you were just playing."
Hannibal feels love, remorse, his own understanding of himself and the future seeping through his pores. "I will hurt you again, Will, I understand that now too. The insignificance of my promises, my power. Can you choose that, my vast love facing against my nature?"
And there it is, written within those expressions of sadness, that small, sweet smile that tugs at the lips he adores. "Hannibal, I chose you even after you put my physical and mental health at stake, making me believe that my nightmare of losing my sanity was real while worsening my seizures, only to later make me believe that I had killed and eaten a teenager in order to send me to prison. In some stupid way, I think my forgiveness is unconditional and infinite when it comes to you."
Hannibal can't maintain eye contact, his vulnerabilities somehow humbling him. His feelings expand even further, altering his genetic code, challenging him to keep changing. Wanting so much to make Will Graham happy. "You are my heart," he finally replies, lacking the words to convey what he feels, so full of love.
Will sits on his armrest, not touching him, his face bittersweet. "I know. I've seen you change, Hannibal, don't think I stay only because I love you and need you. If I'm still here with you despite everything, it's because I know you love me and want me to never doubt it, that you're not the same pretentious psychiatrist I once knew. If I were to have a relapse of encephalitis, which I don't doubt given my fucking luck, I'm sure you would do anything to provide me with the most appropriate treatment, that you wouldn't even consider letting my brain catch fire again."
"Of course," he confirms without hesitation, timidly bringing his hands closer to one of Will's knees, needing the contact. "I would never put you at that risk again. I've spent hours examining changes in my past actions, how I could have paved the way to have you by my side."
Will's smile returns, stretching to one corner, one of his hands reaching for Hannibal's cheek. "I've seen your notebooks and your calculations," and as simple as that, he lowers his head until their foreheads touch, Hannibal wrapping his arms around Will’s waist, lowering him onto his lap. He kisses his chin, his lips softly, Will speaking in a low voice. "Your remorse, something so unthinkable for you and the way you are, is my evidence of your change. And when I say I love you, I do it knowingly and by my own choice."
"And how could I desire someone else? How could I even get bored of you, of who you are, of how much you give me?" Hannibal answers against his beloved’s beard, against his neck, so many feelings enveloping his dark heart.
"When you're the only creature who has seen and understood me, who has chosen me despite everything. I want your violence, Will," Hannibal assures Will in a hoarse voice, looking up to gaze at him. "But also your purity, this unconditional surrender. I want to see how you change me, the cocoons I abandon for what you provoke in me, how much this love fills me. I wouldn't want to leave you even if it were better for me."
Will kisses him, just a gentle touch of their lips, both trembling. "At this point, I doubt anyone could be with either of us. Not when it has taken us so much to tame ourselves to this level."
Hannibal can only kiss Will again, so grateful for what he has, for this love.