✔️ Only I Can Feel You | Hannigram | Rye Ambrose

5

Will dared to deny it.

The man sitting in Jack's office emanated a dark, thick air—one that bled with power. As he and Crawford entered, the man looked back, standing and smiling in greeting.

"You must be Will Graham," he said, voice smooth and persuasive. He shook Will's hand.

"And you're—"

"Hannibal Lecter," Jack said, nodding his head. "He's been helping us for fifteen years, now."

Will inhaled, the air of power flooding his lungs. It was so similar to Death's atmosphere. "Nice to meet you," he breathed, shaken by the resemblance.

"I've heard great things about you," said Lecter with a leering smile. He glanced at Jack. "Shall we sit?"

Crawford nodded, and they sat down (Jack behind his desk with Will and Hannibal before him). Lecter crossed his legs, settling his arms in his lap. Will couldn't help but grow weary of his presence, and his skin tingled at the mere sound of his voice.

"I might have the slightest notion," said Hannibal leaning forward, "as to who committed your recent crime. A friend of mine, most likely."

Crawford sat up straight. "Already?"

"Victorum Pikes. One of the most religious men I've ever met." There was a manic glint in his eye. "Learning all of these rituals to make a mocking of God."

"So he's not a true believer," asked Jack.

"There are many answers as to what a true believer is or is not," Hannibal drawled. "All thoughts of religion, to humans, happen to be a matter of personal preference."

Will sat up. "We're not here to debate on what we think of religion," he muttered, avoiding their gazes. "This murderer—whoever he is—killed two children right beneath our noses." He wearily glanced at Lecter, heart thrumming at the sight of him. How was his air so similar to Death's?

He pushed the thought aside. "I think talking about catching this man is more important than the topic of God," finished Will.

Lecter smiled, staring fixedly at Graham. His examining eyes burned through Will's skin.

"Your eyes seem to roam the recesses of this room," he observed. "Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

Will stared for a moment, raptured by his attention. "Eyes are... distracting," he said, glancing at Lecter. "You see too much, you see too little..." Hannibal's gaze burned through him, igniting a chord within him that pushed him to keep talking—to keep Lecter's attention on him.

"It's difficult to concentrate when you think"—he shifted in his seat—"'Hm... the white of his eyes are too bright,' or, 'could that be an illness?"—or even—" He dared to glance into Lecter's eyes. "'Is that a fleck of... maroon in his eyes?'"

Hannibal tilted his head with an amused smile, and Will glanced away. "So you see," Graham said, collecting himself. "I try to avoid eye contact as much as possible." He managed a smile, and Lecter returned the gesture with searching eyes. "As for the case—"

"I imagine what you are seeing and what you learn," said Hannibal, "are the conditions your mind and integrity take into account." Will glanced at him, startled by the interruption. On the sidelines, Jack smirked quietly.

"Although affected from your associations," continued Lecter, "you are afraid of your dreams. In the arena made of the bones in your skull, you've made a fort for the things of which you love."