The Ruins Of Creativity

Part 3

"Do you think it's more elegant for the victim to be left alive or killed?"

Hannibal's lips pulled into a smile as he closed the bedroom door. "Well, hello to you too. Class was fine, thanks for asking." Will huffed and waved his hand to dismiss the greeting and pushed for an answer to the question with a raised brow and expectant expression. Hannibal took his sweet time putting his bag away and eyeing Will's, that was tossed haphazardly in its home on the floor, close enough to the door to trip over. "What message are you trying to leave behind?"

"Message?" Will's tone was confused and Hannibal instantly forgot the bag and turned his attention towards his roommate who had gotten from his chair and was standing with his arms folded over his chest. Hannibal nodded, brows furrowing as well. "What do you mean by message?"

"Are you telling me that all of your stories have not had some greater meaning behind them? Isn't that supposed to be a thing with books? A theme or something?" Hannibal crossed the distance between them so he could catch Will's gaze who had looked to the floor immediately with flushed cheeks. "Isn't that the whole point of your major? You haven't been missing classes, have you? Because we both know that without your scholarships you wouldn't-"

"I'm not missing classes," Will grumbled, still looking down at his shuffling feet, chest going tight. How could he be so dense? So stupid? Of course that was something he had learned. He had simply thought that it was the readers' job to find the theme, not his. He wasn't sure other than darkness and cruelty he had themes. He strongly leaned towards vibes over themes. "I just..." Will sighed heavily. "I don't put weight into other's actions. Why would killing someone mean anything more than just taking a life?"

Hannibal's head tip made Will perk up slightly, arms falling to his side, no longer in self conscious defense. Will reached out and took Hannibal's arms with a strength Hannibal wouldn't have considered belonging to someone the size of Will. Amber widened as it met blue and the intensity of it.

"What aren't you telling me?" Will demanding, shaking Hannibal. "You understand something I don't. What is it?"

"Ok, ok, ok," Hannibal stated rapidly, pulling himself free from Will's grip with a laugh. "Calm down. You're going to have an aneurysm."

"I'm not good at reading people. Tell me what you're thinking, please!"

Hannibal cleared his throat and his hands to his waist, though he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Will was so adorably oblivious. His face was nothing but eagerness to understand, but he had taken the que to step back and give Hannibal his space, fairly well.

"Everything everyone does has underlying meaning," Hannibal finally said, only causing Will's face to fall. "That does not give you permission to overthink what everyone does."

"So, killing means more to the killers?" Hannibal could watch the gears clicking to life behind Will's eyes. "But other actions can mean more too."

"Hold on." Hannibal stepped closer, a hand reaching out to take Will's shoulder to ground the man. "If I put butter on toast, it doesn't have a deeper meaning."

"It doesn't?" Will's confusion filled the room like a hopeless buble.

Hannibal couldn't help but laugh, only sending Will spiraling all the more. How could something mean something and nothing at the same time? It didn't make any sort of sense.

"It just means that I wanted buttered toast. It will be the same for some killers. They just do it because they want to, or have an urge to. Others will have reasons, meaning."

"Like revenge."

Hannibal nodded. "Like revenge."

"And if all of the ones I've written were done by one man, what do you think he would be trying to say? You've read them. You know them better than anyone else aside from me."