Palatial Intimacy

XXXIII- The Illusion

I can't see anything, and I can see everything. I'm being jostled around in someone's arms, held bridal-style — Hannibal's arms. My arms, our arms. I don't know how to describe it anymore. Nothing is mine or his alone.

I don't know where I am, and then I do. I don't even have to think about it. If he knows, I know.

I know everything. I know what we did. I know what they did to us. To me, specifically. I know what's going to happen.

Hannibal is crying onto my body. He's relieved. For now, he is relieved.

"It's okay, Will," he says to me. Either says, or thinks. There's no longer a difference between the two for us. "You've been hurt. But we're going to take care of it."

I can still taste blood on my tongue.

———

May 7, 2030

When Will finally resurfaced, aware of his surroundings for the first time in days, he woke up in a room his eyes had never seen before.

He would have called it unfamiliar, but he knew deep within him that Hannibal had seen this place before. If Hannibal had seen it, then he knew it, too. It was an exorbitantly nice room, even nicer than Hannibal's home, and he was propped up on soft pillows and covered with soft blankets. He was so heavy and so light at the same time, sinking into the mattress and floating above it. In a blink, he knew everything Hannibal was thinking, and their thoughts congregated into one realization: he's awake.

He heard footsteps running towards him, and Hannibal appeared in the doorway. Both of their shoulders sagged with relief.

"This is the most active I've felt you be in days," Hannibal said. "You're here. You made it."

Hannibal didn't look any different than normal. There wasn't a hair out of place, and he looked sophisticated even in more casual clothing. He wasn't wearing shoes, which made Will believe they were somewhere familiar to him. Comfortable.

"Not unscathed." Will's hand traveled down to his abdomen, where Hannibal had wrapped his chest with gauze. His sternum ached, pain ringing through his entire upper body. He didn't have to ask what happened. He knew. He could still hear the loud bang in the recesses of their memory.

"What matters is we've escaped." Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Will's hair. "We're on another property of mine right now. As soon as you're good to move around, we're getting on a plane."

"Hannibal—"

"I'm going to take us back to Italy. Back to where we met. We can enjoy the romance of Florence, the wonderful food of Rome, the Venetian canals. So many wonderful things to see." His eyes were wild, flooded with adrenaline and a hint of anxiety. "Anywhere you want to go."

"Hannibal." Will placed a hand on his thigh. "We need to talk about everything."

"Let me get you some water. And something to eat. You've hardly been conscious these past few days." He stood before Will could object, like Will's touch scalded him. "I'll be back. Are you hot? Cold?"

Will stared at him. "...No. No, I'm okay."

Hannibal smiled. "I'll be back."

Will watched him go. There was a sinking feeling inside of him, not in his gut but somewhere in his mind. Like the embodiment of dread was blanketing itself over his brain. This was wrong. All of this was wrong.

Hannibal didn't seem to think so. He returned with a glass of ice water and a plate of bread, cheese, and sliced fruit, setting it on Will's lap. He settled in on the bed next to Will, kissing him on the cheek. He then picked up a dark cube of blood orange with his fingers, holding it up to Will's mouth. Will let himself be fed, the little pods of juice exploding deliciously on his tongue. It was both tangy and sweet. It was the most vivid taste he'd ever experienced.