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Will knows that he isn't like them. He never will. They may all be hiding their broken minds under the mask of an happy family, he knows that he is the stranger in the house. Abigail and Hannibal are so alike. Their bond is strong, stronger than everything he could dream to share with them. But he loves them anyway.
He comes back from his classes to find the house empty. The silence is heavy in his ears. He calls for them, seeks them in every corner, but they're not here. Fear slowly climbs to his racing mind. What if they abandoned him ? What if they left to never come back, leaving him here alone with his tortured soul, without anyone to ease the pain and blow away his nightmares ?
He struggles to breath. He needs them, he is dependant to them, and he knows it as well as he knows that he isn't like them and that they will kill him one day, sooner or later.
The door opens before the black dots totally cloud his vision. Abigail enters, her rifle on her shoulder, a delicate smile on her face. (He doesn't want to notice the blood that smears her hands, doesn't want it to be real). Hannibal follows her, carrying the remnants of their prey. The question that comes to his mind seems so natural and so wrong at the same time : human or animal ?
He may sleep in their bed, he may love them, worship them, fuck them, eat human meat they hunted and cooked, wash the blood out of their hands, share their secrets ; he knows he isn't like them, isn't one of them. He should be scared. But he isn't. The strange happiness they give him is a slow and delicious poison until the end, until the silence and the peace. Until he is the one they eat for dinner.
Will Graham isn't afraid of dying. He is afraid of being alone.
He follows them to their room and collapses into te bed, exhausted by his near panic attack. Hannibal seats next to him and pats his hair in a gesture of comfort. Abigail is on his lap. She is always aroused after hunting. Her lips press Hannibal's, sealing their secrets and sins in a violent, demanding kiss. She is naked in a minute, Will's hands helping Hannibal to undress her. He is always fascinated by her pale skin. She is like a marble statue. He hovers a little before touching her, fearing that he may break her skin with his rough hands. (But he knows better than anyone – except Hannibal- that no one can harm her, and certainly not him).
He has a finger inside of her when Hannibal kisses him. He tastes like blood and lust. Like a demon.
Abigail is riding him and Hannibal's hands are on her breasts. Then Hannibal is in him, bruising his hips with each thrusts, while Abigail kisses him.
He lies on the bed, waiting for slumber. Next to him, Hannibal is slowly moving into Abigail. Will focuses on their breaths, counting them. His last thought before he falls in the darkness of sleep is will I wake up tommorow ?. But he isn't afraid. Because they are here, with him. His family