What Could Have Been- A Hannigram Fanfiction

The Wrath of the Lamb

By the end of the story, both of them are crying. They have forgotten about their drinks, which now sit lukewarm on the table. Hannibal takes Will's hand, and Will sees that the blond hairs on his arms are standing upright.

"Will," he starts.

"I think I got carried away." Will wipes his face, but the tears keep coming. His surroundings suddenly become oppressive to him. He hears Hannibal breathing across from him, feels the comfort of his hand enveloping his, smells the chocolate-scented steam that drifts from his mug into his nose. All of these comforting things almost evaded him entirely, and it would have been his fault only.

 Hannibal stands, leaving their mugs on the table. It's an uncharacteristic move; Hannibal is obsessed with order, always cleaning up after himself. It makes Will feel important. He grips Hannibal's hand tightly as he leads them away, turning the kitchen light off behind them.

Their bedroom is pitch black, and the clock says it is approaching midnight. Hannibal lights the candle on their nightstand, casting a cozy light onto their bed. He then reaches for Will and grips the bottom of Will's shirt, pulling it over Will's head and tossing it on the ground. Will slips out of his sweatpants while Hannibal does the same to his own shirt. 

They climb into bed wearing nothing but their underwear, and Will feels a stray tear drip down onto his stomach. He isn't sure which of them it came from.

"It could have happened," Will cries softly. "You could have died, and it all would have been my fault. It could have happened so easily..."

"Oh, darling." Hannibal presses his torso against Will's, climbing and then laying on top of him. He knows that Will likes to have weight on him; according to him, the pressure is satisfying to his senses. Hannibal likes to be his personal weighted blanket. Sure enough, Will sinks into the mattress with relief. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that question."

"We were having fun, though. And then we weren't." Will feels a tear slowly trail from the corner of his eye down towards his ear. "I have you now, but I could have lost you just as easily. And it would have been because of me, and my stupid decisions—"

"Stop. My love, please." Hannibal kisses him on the cheek. "I did not mean for things to go downhill so quickly. I was simply curious."

"I don't deserve you." Will turned his head away from Hannibal's lips. "I'm not good enough for you. I'm never good enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's always me. I'm always the one who does everything wrong, in the stories." He chokes out a small sob. "I didn't take your first offer to run, I didn't kiss you, I tried to hurt you, I pushed us..."

"And I wasn't clear enough about my true desires. And I was too cowardly to kiss you. And I stabbed you. And I tried to kill you." Hannibal places a hand on Will's chest, feeling his reassuring heartbeat. "The stories are not a vessel to regret the past; it's merely for fun, like you said."

"I should have--"

"No more of that. We cannot turn back on our sins. The teacup has already shattered, beloved. But we can be happy now. We can piece together a new teacup, better than before."

"I just— I love you. I love you so much, and what if you'd died before I got to tell you?" The thought makes Will shudder. "What if you'd died thinking that I hated you?"

"Fate must have wanted us to live so you could tell me. But I always knew. We have always loved each other."

"I felt so lonely. I felt that emptiness, even though it was only a story. I'm that attached to you."