𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞: A Hannigram Love Story

Chapter Six

A subtle ticking clinks throughout the flat in Florence from a clock that hung idly on the wall, the face of it cracked ever so slightly for an unknown justification. Small droplets of rain pitter patters against the glass panes of the handsomely structured windows, casting diminutive and disfigured shadows onto the floor, candles the only source of light. Tonight was exceptionally frigid outside, the glass clouded with seemingly frozen condensation. Hannibal stares out of it thoughtfully, watching the droplets to keep his mind away from the subdued pain that struck his arm like cutting knives each time Will threads the needle in his tainted and battered skin. Killing Jack had been precise, the jumble of their mayhem already cleaned, though they'd never tell what exactly they did with the body.

"I feel as if this would be a harrowing moment to say 'I told you so'," Hannibal finally mutters. He hated silence between them, the soundless night more deafening than any screech or cry of words. If it were anyone else, Hannibal wouldn't even bat an eyelash. But this was his William. How could they be so reticent?

Will's lips tighten as his fingers maintain a patterned stitch with Hannibal's flesh, cutting the string once it was finished. "You're right. It'd be absolutely atrocious," he finally responds halfheartedly. "And who says you're right, anyways?" He applies a bit of numbing ointment to further ease the scorching pain in Hannibal's shoulder, making sure to keep his movements and tender.

"Are you implying that I was wrong?"

The right corner of Will's lips tug upwards into a half, crooked smile, washing his hands thoroughly in the sink. He speaks as he dries his hands off with a towel: "I'm finding it arduous to poke any holes in your remarks. I always have. And, for the rest of our lives, I believe I will."

At the breathtakingly adorable smile of Will's, Hannibal can't help himself but to immediately smile back, his body leaning against the countertop. He grabs Will's hands and pecks his forehead with a gentleness he only expresses towards Will, looking down at him. "Do you plan on a forever with me, William?"

Will places the surgical needle in a small bowl of alcohol, a slight sizzle erupting from the metallic piece coming into contact with the cleansing liquid. His hands are quick, efficient, something Hannibal could admire about Will. Truly he believed that if Will wanted to ever become a surgeon, he damn sure could, the boy's intelligence level and preciseness impeccable. "You continuously enquire about my loyalty and devotion to you. There's no going back now. Abiding by the rules society has set out is no longer in the cards for me."

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." Hannibal remains still as Will covers the stitches with some gauze and completes his task of patching up Hannibal, handing him his shirt. Hannibal smoothly slides his arms into the sleeves and buttons his shirt up, though leaves two of the plastic buttons untouched. "Before I forget, I've asked Bedelia to retrieve your dogs and send them to our new home in the outskirts of France."

One of Will's thick eyebrows arch in question. "France?"

"Yes, France," Hannibal replies. "We leave this morning. I know you're awfully tired, but you can sleep on the train ride to our home. At the station, a car will be waiting for us, to take us there."

"Who's going to be the driver?" Will asked, dread apparent on his face as he suspects who it is.

Hannibal smirks. "Well, our dear Chiyo, of course."

❝♞❞

Will was utterly exhausted. He had barely been able to keep his tired eyes open on the way to the train station, doing his upmost best to remain discreet and casual while they zigzagged through ongoing passengers. Thankfully it wasn't too crowded this particular morning, and he didn't have to worry as much as he thought he would. Any other time, Will may have admired the artwork of the architecture that made up the huge building, but, to be perfectly honest, most of the ongoing happenings seemed like a dream. Hannibal was his only guide, the taller man allowing Will to lean on him for support, his hand pressed against the small of Will's back. He'd occasionally point something out to Will, mostly to keep him from collapsing onto the ground they trekked upon, whispering facts or quotes into his ear.