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Outside his house, the sky had yet to settle on a color, suspended between the pale blue of dawn and the deep blue of night. The moon lingered beside the sun, and he felt trapped within that in-between atmosphere.
He stood motionless beneath the porch, arms wrapped around himself, shivering.
He felt no sense of belonging to the world, not even to the dogs running ahead of him. He was suspended in a limbo of thoughts, waiting.
When he saw the dark car pull up, his gaze followed the figure that emerged from it, clad in a dark coat that seemed to cut through the sky. The sun at his back cast a golden glow that was absorbed by him.
And he walked through the limbo toward Will.
When he stopped in front of him, Will met eyes that held the colors of both sun and night, along with the familiar attentiveness and composure.
"Will, you're getting cold."
The sound of Hannibal's voice startled him from his thoughts, and only then did he realize he was standing outside in the winter dawn wearing nothing but a short-sleeved pajama shirt.
"I was waiting for you."
He had been the one to call him, after all. He could have remained alone and taken something for the headache in the morning, but when he had found himself once again standing on the roof of his house, freezing and trembling, he had called.
And the moment he heard Hannibal's voice, he had decided he wanted to see him.
The only person he wanted to see him like this.
Because even though he could sense concern coming from him, there was calm as well, and that steadiness comforted him in a way he couldn't explain.
Hannibal stepped closer, and suddenly Will watched him remove the dark cashmere scarf from around his neck and wrap it around Will's.
Will remained still. Not because of the proximity—there had already been moments like this—but because of how naturally he did it.
And he could smell Hannibal's scent lingering in the fabric. It was elegant, warm, and close... far closer than he had ever been.
He looked up at him, and Hannibal spoke in that even tone that always seemed to draw him toward stillness.
"The neck is one of the first places that should be warmed when there's a risk of hypothermia."
"I'm not freezing."
"Not yet."
Will sighed and unconsciously burrowed into the scarf.
"Should we go inside? I'll make you something. And... sorry for calling you. It's so early."
His blue gaze drifted toward the approaching dawn before returning to Hannibal's amber eyes, a softness in them, as gentle as the cashmere around his neck.
"Will, there's no need to apologize. You're my friend."
That word again.
And once more, the warmth that spread through him whenever he heard it spoken by Hannibal's lips.
His gaze lingered on them for a moment before he opened the door and let him inside.
As he stepped in, he caught himself breathing in the scent of the scarf, eyes slipping shut for a brief instant.
The moment they were inside, Hannibal draped a blanket over his shoulders with quiet care. His trembling fingers brushed Hannibal's as he adjusted it around himself.
The contact was brief and yet... pleasant.
Will paid it little mind. He simply continued to feel.
He curled further into the blanket and the scarf that comforted him, and seemed to embrace him almost more than the blanket itself while he prepared coffee, feeling warmth return to his body.
When he approached with a mug in hand, Hannibal offered him the faintest smile.
"You may keep it, if you'd like."
And then Will realized Hannibal had noticed everything.
Of course he had.
But Will had been too absorbed in his own sensations to think about it.
He looked away and took a sip of his coffee, feeling the scarf press more firmly against his neck, as though it possessed a presence of its own.
"It's soft. Expensive."
His fingers tightened around it.
"It's warm."
Graham could have stopped there, but when he met those amber eyes, bright with something that seemed meant only for him, he didn't.
He didn't want to.
He gathered the scarf closer before speaking.
"And I like your scent."
Hannibal remained composed, but Will caught a different intensity in his expression. He saw the way Hannibal received the words, his attention fixed entirely on Will's face.
Will felt his heart quicken.
Not because of what he had said, but because of the attention.
Undivided attention.
The warmth spreading through the profiler became almost overwhelming, and the cold felt like nothing more than a distant memory. The nightmare had receded, consumed by the man with amber eyes seated across from him.
Then Hannibal rose.
He stepped closer and retied the scarf more securely around Will's neck without breaking eye contact.
Will found himself unable to look away.
"I'm glad it's... reassuring to you."
When Hannibal finally stepped away and resumed his seat, Will became acutely aware of the absence of his touch.
Only then he lower his gaze to his coffee cup, his brow furrowing slightly as he took another sip, lost somewhere in the rising steam and his own thoughts.
He lay back on the bed and dialed the number.
The answer came almost immediately.
He let out a quiet breath the moment he heard his voice.
"Hello, Will."
"Hey... thanks again for looking after my dogs while I'm away."
"It's my pleasure. I've also taken the opportunity to broaden their palates."
A faint smile touched Will's lips.
He had been away from Baltimore for several days because of a case—or rather, because Jack had dragged him miles from home in pursuit of his imagination.
"One of your dogs, the short white and brown one, is particularly affectionate."
"Buster. That's unusual for him. Apparently, he's developed preferences."
The smile lingered.
He missed his dogs, but they weren't the only reason he had called.
He found himself wondering where Hannibal was and pictured him seated in his armchair, perhaps savoring a glass of wine in his usual elegant posture.
He imagined the suit fitting him perfectly, the button that would have come undone when he sat down to answer the phone and his hand opening it.
Will exhaled softly.
"The case you're working on, Will, is it allowing you to remain anchored to yourself?"
He listened carefully to Hannibal's voice—not only the words, but the sound of it, the cadence.
His eyes nearly drifted shut.
"Jack borrowed my imagination, but yes. Nothing new. Just a few nightmares."
Rolling onto his side, he reached for the scarf lying beside him on the bed.
He gathered it against himself the same way he had a few nights ago when sleep had abandoned him.
Its scent had soothed him: warm, intoxicating, elegant.
So present that calm had replaced anxiety before long.
"And before you ask, yes, I've been sleeping."
Hannibal didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Will knew exactly what expression he was wearing.
He lifted the scarf to his face, but the scent had almost faded now.
That was the real reason he had called.
The absence of a presence.
"Several days have passed in which we've exchanged messages, and yet today you've chosen to call me. Is there another reason besides your dogs?"
I love your voice.
He didn't say it.
Instead, he smiled.
Perhaps Hannibal heard it anyway.
"I wanted to hear you."
I need you.
A brief silence followed.
Even through the distance, he could sense Hannibal's reaction.
The faint smile that curved his lips, the one that made Will's heart stumble.
"And I'd like to ask you something."
He heard Hannibal breathe and wait.
Will did the same, as though they were sitting across from one another.
Almost unconsciously, he stroked the scarf resting against his chest.
"Do you remember the scarf you gave me? It's losing your scent."
He paused.
"And it doesn't feel the same. When I get back to Baltimore... could I stop by?"
His fingers tightened around the fabric.
"Could you..." He hesitated before a small smile escaped him.
"Put your cologne on it again?"
He shook his head lightly, laughing at himself.
"I'm terrible at this."
"No, Will."
Hannibal's voice softened.
"Go on."
Something in his tone had changed, lower, richer.
The sound of it sent a shiver through him and made him wish Hannibal were there beside him in bed.
He swallowed and sat up, the scarf pooled in his lap beneath his fingers.
"I want to see you."
The admission lodged in his throat.
But Will had begun to understand what Hannibal was to him and how friendship had long since ceased to be enough.
"As it happens..." Hannibal said, "I intended to invite you to dinner. Just the two of us, when you returned. You've anticipated me."
Will went still.
His eyes closed as he let the words settle over him.
His voice, Hannibal's voice telling him these things.
And then he noticed something.
Hannibal hadn't used the word friendship.
His tone was gentle, deep, and what reached Will felt less like an invitation between friends than something perilously close to a date.
He offered no reply, for the moment, he knew he was understood in silence as thoroughly as he was in words.
Even from miles away, he could almost feel the warmth of Hannibal's gaze resting on him, his eyes stung unexpectedly.
Because Hannibal wanted his company for the man he was.
He didn't see him as fragile porcelain, he didn't see him as strange by the standards of the neurotypical world.
Hannibal wanted him.
“Ok.” He just said that.
"And I can apply the cologne to the scarf again, if it would please you."
"Very much..."
Whether he intended it or not, the words emerged with startling intensity.
He heard Hannibal's quiet exhale through the phone.
His own breathing changed in answer, thick with longing.
"Hannibal, I..."
A knock at the door interrupted him.
Jack's voice followed from the hallway.
Will lowered the phone for a moment.
"Yeah, I'm coming!"
Then he brought it back to his ear with a sigh.
"I have to go."
"Yes, Will. I'll be waiting."
Will hesitated before ending the call, Hannibal didn't hang up either.
So he lifted the phone a little closer to his lips.
"I miss you."
He whispered it softly.
And ended the call before he could hear the answer.
The moment the door opened and he saw him, Will's heart lurched.
As though it had only now come back to life after everything he had endured with Jack.
His gaze sought Hannibal's immediately and found eyes softened for him, and not only the eyes, his entire face seemed gentler.
"Welcome home, Will. You're punctual."
Stepping aside, Hannibal allowed him to enter.
Will hesitated only briefly.
He knew how much he had revealed during their last phone call.
He was also acutely aware that Hannibal's scarf still rested around his neck like a treasured talisman.
"I tried to be."
Hannibal knew everything and still, Will crossed the threshold.
"Punctuality is a virtue, Will. But my doors have no schedule where you're concerned."
His voice softened further, nearly becoming a confidential murmur.
"Don't tell me that," Will replied, a sigh threading through his words. "Or I'd never leave."
The need in his own voice made him shiver, he didn't dare look at Hannibal in that moment.
"It's always a pleasure to have your company, Will. I would be delighted if you spent as much time here as you wished."
Will lowered his gaze, his brow drawing together slightly.
"Let me take your coat."
And suddenly Hannibal was standing behind him.
Will's heart felt ready to abandon his chest altogether and place itself in the other's hands, the same hands that lingered just a little longer than necessary as they helped him out of his coat.
A quiet breath escaped him at the contact.
"You look like a man in need of absolute quiet. And warmth."
Even the voice with which Hannibal said it was warm.
I need you.
The thought surfaced again, this time in his presence, before he could stop it.
"Maybe I'll find both here."
Another confession.
Heat climbed into his cheeks, yet he found himself unable to retreat.
It was as though some wild, rebellious part of him had grown tired of restraint. a part that knew exactly what it felt. A man no longer willing to hide behind the fact that he was a patient speaking too affectionately to his psychiatrist.
Hannibal moved a fraction closer, his gaze captured Will's.
Silence settled between them.
Will caught a trace of his cologne—fresher, richer than what lingered on the scarf.
Too far away, he thought.
"Dinner is nearly ready," Hannibal said. "But first..."
He extended a hand toward him.
Will hesitated, fingers tightening around the scarf as though it had become part of him.
Then he watched Hannibal's fingers take hold of its ends.
"I believe I have a promise to keep regarding this particular piece of fabric."
Slowly, reluctantly, Will untied the scarf and handed it over.
The moment it left his neck, he felt its absence.
A powerful urge rose within him to wrap his arms around Hannibal instead and a faint smile touched Hannibal's lips, as though he had somehow perceived the thought.
Which, honestly, wouldn't have surprised Will very much.
Hannibal held the scarf carefully in his hands, absentmindedly brushing his thumb over the fabric.
Will's gaze followed the movement, his pupils widened.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll take care of the scarf."
Their eyes met briefly.
Will nodded, when what he really wanted was to stop Hannibal by the hand, pull him close, and bury himself in his scent.
Only reason prevented him.
Reason, and the fierce longing tearing through him.
So he went into the sitting room instead while Hannibal disappeared from view.
The wait wasn't long.
And yet it felt endless.
A chill settled in his chest, accompanied by an almost phantom memory of that familiar fragrance.
They spent the evening as they always did—speaking of philosophy, of humanity, of subjects that drifted effortlessly between the profound and the intimate.
Until at last Hannibal accompanied him to the door.
He offered the scarf back,Will accepted it reluctantly but he didn't put it on.
In fact, he paused before even reaching for his coat.
He was still lost in Hannibal's words in what Hannibal's emotions seemed to be telling him.
Something passed between them then.
Like static in the air, a current running through silence itself.
And when Hannibal stepped closer, Will felt his heart follow him.
"You said you'd never leave," Hannibal said quietly. "What's stopping you?"
"Good manners, I suppose."
"Will."
The firmness in his tone drew Will's eyes upward.
"I'm asking you. I don't want you to hold yourself back like this. And for what? Your morality?"
"It's not my morality."
His voice emerged lower than before.
Yet he didn't move away when Hannibal stepped closer still.
"Then perhaps it's the fear of discovering that the comfort you find here,"
Hannibal's voice dropped, becoming richer, more intimate.
"...is only the beginning of something much deeper."
Without consciously meaning to, Will set both the scarf and his coat aside, then he moved closer as well, until scarcely an inch remained between them.
His eyes burned.
Hannibal's scent surrounded him now.
Warm.
Intoxicating.
Elegant.
Unmistakably his.
A small smile touched Will's lips.
And in Hannibal's darkened gaze he saw the same invitation his entire body ached to answer.
"It's caution, not fear."
His voice trembled slightly.
"But it doesn't matter anymore."
Hannibal's arms opened.
Just slightly, Will stopped resisting and threw himself into them.
The instant he gave in, the impact of his body against Hannibal's felt like the end of a long exile.
Hannibal didn't yield an inch, his arms closed around Will immediately—firm, symmetrical, absolute.
Holding him tightly against his chest.
And for the first time in a very long while, Will felt as though he had found where he belonged.
Tears slipped free despite himself, of born entirely of happiness.
Of being here in Hannibal's arms.
Surrounded by his scent, wrapped in his presence.
And suddenly he understood why the scarf had mattered so much, why his feelings ran so much deeper than he had wanted to admit.
He pressed his face against Hannibal's neck and inhaled deeply.
Wanting to absorb the moment.
To carry it inside himself forever.
A quiet sigh escaped Hannibal, as though this too were a relief.
Then Will felt a hand settle firmly at the center of his back, drawing him even closer.
The other slid into his hair, fingers spreading possessively at the nape of his neck.
Anchoring him there. Keeping him.
A contented sound escaped Will before he could stop it.
He didn't know how much time passed.
It didn't matter.
When he finally lifted his head and met Hannibal's gaze, he found a fierce intensity there, wrapped in amber warmth.
Will thought they were the most beautiful eyes in the world.
His already vulnerable expression softened further.
Hannibal leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Is my cologne close enough now?"
When he drew back, their eyes met again.
Will laughed and so did Hannibal.
Then Will settled against his chest once more, this time without embarrassment and restraint.
Without any moral barrier left standing between them.
Simply following his own need.
Or perhaps, at last, their shared need for one another.