The Ladder Scene

It Was Only A Kiss (It Was Only A Kiss)

Hannibal Lecter believed that nearly any problem could be solved with art. Whether he was happy, sad, angry, or in love, he channeled those emotions into his art. It had worked in the past, but today, he had no inspiration. He simply had no desire to create.

He felt...destructive.

It had only been a few minutes since Will left, just a few minutes since they kissed. The euphoria had faded into self-loathing as he slumped into the couch with their bottle of wine.

He couldn't believe he acted so impulsively. He normally planned his actions ten steps ahead, but he let his judgment slip, and it backfired.

Everything was perfect. He cooked dinner, they ate together, and shared one of the best red wines Hannibal owned. He gave Will the full treatment, but Hannibal still found some way to mess it up.

He dug through this bag to retrieve his phone, opening the messaging app. He only used it to talk to Will and a fellow artist off whom he often bounced ideas.

We contemplated texting Will, just to check on him. It was getting late, so he may have gone to bed, but Hannibal needed to make sure he hadn't ruined their friendship.

"Are you okay?"

He waited a few minutes with no response. When he checked his phone again, Will was typing. Then he stopped.

Filled with anger towards himself, he made his way to the studio. He was looking for any reminder of a life that was worth the trouble. All he found was paintings of the kind of love he wished to have with Will. Apollo and Hyacinthus laughed at him as they held each other close. Psyche and Eros looked down at him with disappointment. Pyramus rose from the dead to mock him. No one had ever loved him like that. It was all he had ever asked for, and yet it was too much for the universe to grant him.

When art failed to heal his heart, he turned to philosophy. He had many books on the shelf, but very few contained the wisdom he required. The ancient Greeks thought nothing of heartbreak, so he found himself straying towards the Romans.

"If you are pained by any external thing, it is not this thing that disturbs you, but your own judgment about it." — Meditations, Marcus Aurelius, Book VIII, Article 45

It wasn't Will's rejection that angered him. It was his own reaction. He hated how much it hurt. He wished he could just feel numb like he did with almost everything else. He thought that the critics of the art world would have toughened him up a little. Sure, his outer shell was solid as a rock, but his insides were still too soft.

He had received the hard truth. Now he needed guidance.

"With your whole will surrender yourself to Clotho to spin your fate into whatever web of things she will." — Meditations, Marcus Aurelius, Book IV, Article 34

Hannibal knew in his heart that his fate would sort itself out some day, but he had grown impatient. He had forgotten Epictetus' wise words about love. He had forgotten that Will, the person he loved, was mortal just like him; and that there was an allotted time for love. Just as a fig or a bunch of grapes was given at the appointed season of the year, so was love.

"If you wish for these things in winter, you are a fool," he quoted to himself.

Of course, how could he be so foolish? He had panicked and acted too soon.

He looked over at his painting of Hyacinthus and Apollo. Will Graham's likeness haunted him. He saw Will staring at him like a deer in headlights, pushing him away and stumbling out the door.

He couldn't bear to look at it.

In a rash act of anger and frustration, he picked up the canvas and snapped the thin wooden frame over his knee, tossing the painting aside. It was over. He couldn't take back what he had done.