We Grow Accustomed To The Dark

Chapter 10

"You don't understand me. You are not expected to. You are not capable of it. I am beyond your experience."

― Richard Ramirez

***

When Hannibal woke, the prospect of an empty bed hadn't been one he had expected. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he had woken up to an empty bed when someone had slept beside him and it forced a peculiar feeling that Hannibal couldn't exactly name into his limbs.

He climbed from the bed and glanced around the room, finding everything perfectly in place as it had been before Will had upturned his living quarters. Not even the glass of water from the night before was left on the nightstand.

Hannibal's brows furrowed and he found his robe on the back of one of his chairs. He pulled it on and left the empty room, out into the hall and down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen, where something sweet filled the air.

The kitchen was also empty, though there were some pans drying on the counter that hadn't been there the night before and Hannibal's eyes caught a note placed on the counter top. He moved over to it and picked it up, glancing over the words written in a hand he didn't recognize, but placed with the first four words.

Good Morning Dr. Hotass,

Will called and asked me to pick him up. Nice place you got. Made you some breakfast. Hope you enjoy it. It's in the microwave. Thanks for taking care of Pretty Boy. He'd be helpless without you.

-Bev

P.S. Will cracked the eggs. If there are shells, it's his fault .

Hannibal read over the note several more times before setting it back on the counter and moving over to the microwave curiously. He opened it and found a plate with a Monte Cristo sandwich and a blackberry compote. Hannibal gave a small smile, pulling the plate from the microwave, the dish still warm and Hannibal wondered how long ago they had left his home.

Hannibal ate in a pleasant silence, wondering how many more cooked meals made by hands other than his he would be participating in with Will around. The thought caused his smile to drop and he sighed, no longer hungry. He wasn't sure if he would truly be hungry again with the idea that both Will, and by association, Beverly would very soon be out of his life.

He had never let himself become this attached to a person after his aunt abandoned him, which he couldn't blame the poor woman for doing. She had tried to calm the darkness in him and it had worked for a time until it just didn't and that wasn't her fault and Hannibal never saw it that way. He just wished she could have seen him the way that Will saw him.

The way he hoped Will saw him. Hoped Will was telling the truth. Hoped Will wasn't acting. Hoped that everything would... Hannibal scoffed and stood from the bar stool at his counter, that he rarely ate at if ever, and left his unfinished plate there for a more calm and future Hannibal.

He made his way back to his room and picked out his suit for the day, trying to block his earlier train of thought from his mind, but as he filled the bathroom sink with warm water and fetched his razor, it drug him back into it.

What did he expect the outcome of this to be? He knew what he hoped it would be, knew what he wanted the outcome to be. It was a childish whim to believe that somehow Will was telling the truth and that the truth would manifest itself before the encephalitis could take over, or that the encephalitis would heal on its own without medical treatment. But his expected outcome did not favor his adoration for Will. It only secured his own life.

The encephalitis would claim Will with its fevered vengeance and Hannibal could walk away from that sticky portion of his life, unscathed by nothing more than a few cracks in his heart that he could patch up indefinitely. He could continue his life as a god among pigs with the world being none the wiser. It would be a dull and dreary existence, but he would exist.