The Ruins Of Creativity

The incessant clattering of a typewriter spilling through the night had annoyed Hannibal at first, but the longer he was trapped in this room with the man who spilled his darkest fantasies out into the void of white paper, the more pleasant and homelike the sound had become.

Hannibal had been nearly at the end of this rope, Will completely oblivious to such a notion, and right before Hannibal had snapped, he had been captured up by the words that had been left behind when Will made a mad dash to a class he was late for.

Hannibal had sat the rest of the afternoon, pouring over the words, captured by their delicate and fanciful details until Will had returned back to the room. Will paused, his bookbag falling from his shoulder and to the floor in much a way he knew Hannibal despised.

"Aren't you supposed to be in biochemistry right now?" Will grumbled, the sight of the blonde man catching him off guard. Will was far more used to Wednesday nights being his alone. He found it a far more constructive environment. One nullified of any huffing and puffing from his stuffy roommate who complained far more than he did anything else.

"Is this what you do all day and night when you're not in class?" Hannibal didn't move from where he was laying across his bed, a stack of papers in his hands. He gave them a light flourish to indicate that they had been what he had referred to.

Will blinked as he took in what Hannibal meant before annoyance raced through his blood stream. "Those are private." He strode over to the bed, snatching the pages from Hannibal's hands and causing the man to sit up in disbelief.

"I wasn't finished with that," he snapped and Will snorted in disbelief.

"Yes, you are." Will opened up his desk drawer and shoved the paper back inside where they belonged with the rest of them and slammed it shut. He would have to reorder the pages later, but that could wait. "In no way did I give you any sort of permission to go through my things."

Hannibal's feet swung over the side of the bed and he rested his elbows on his knees and his face boredly in his hands. "I only thought it fair that I see what keeps you up all hours of the night. I didn't think you would mind."

"Well, I do mind." Will leaned against his desk protectively and folded his arms over his chest. He let out a deep breath. "I would kindly ask you not to go digging through my things again. Are we clear?"

"Do you think what you wrote is probable?"

The question caught Will off guard and he watched Hannibal wearily as the man got from the bed and stepped closer, pointing to the drawer Will took a strong stance in front of.

"What on earth are you going on about?" Will's hand shot out as Hannibal attempted to reach around him and Hannibal froze at the warm strength against his chest.

Hannibal's eyes met Will's and he was swept up in the blue he had never paid much mind to. His tongue desperately tried to wet his mouth that had suddenly gone desert dry and his hands rubbed against his jeans as they had gone sweaty in the same moment, as if all the moisture had left his mouth and rushed to his palms.

"You wrote about someone being encased in boiling sugar." Will's eyes widened slightly and his arms slowly lowered to his sides. Hannibal's head tipped to the side curiously, his heart pounding through his ribs. Had he found someone like him? Someone with a similar enough mind as his? "Strapped to a throne and a golden sugar spun crown poured over his head, melting his flesh and burning his hair."

"I had not meant for that to be seen." Will's voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat, a hand pushing his dark curls from his face. "They're just my nightmares." Hannibal's brow furrowed and his heart sank slightly as he listened to the rushed explanation and attempted to avoid the rather spastic hand motions that accompanied it. "Ever since I was a child I've had really vivid nightmares and a therapist said to write them down and it helps sometimes, but other times it's like the dream continues even though I'm awake and the words just keep spilling and I can't stop them until they're all out. No one is meant to read them."