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#Hannigram #Hannibal #WillGraham #shortstory
"Because music can sound fast, loud, wild even. Alluring, beautiful to the ears of the world. And I'll be unable to hear it if you won't hear it with me."
🔥 Light of its own🔥
It stood out as things that shine with their own light do. A new coin among hundreds that lost their value long ago, and that shines without even knowing that it does.
Hannibal knew every face, they were always the same. Tired faces of women and men with their lives figured out, shouting to the four winds how happy they were. Hannibal smiled, knowing the truth.
Who was this young man? He didn't know how to wear a suit, amused to see how the suit wore him. Bow tie that was too tight and a white shirt that had been bought just today. Why was he here? And, more importantly, had he come alone?
The music plays, but Hannibal doesn't hear it. It's in the clumsy footsteps of a man who seems to hate the world. In his chest as he breathes, angry, wanting to get out of there. The music plays, and Hannibal keeps dancing. His feet move against his will, dancing, because Hannibal will be all instinct but never impolite. The next song he will excuse himself.
- Does he want to dance?
All the conversation built in his head, all the possibilities are answered. His bed, and that handsome man lying on it, smiling at him. Hannibal closes his eyes and forces himself to push away that delightful mental image as his steps become anxious.
Leaning against the wall the young man looks without really seeing. Hannibal wonders, circling with his dance partner, where he is. How much time he spends in the shelter he has had to create to protect himself, if one day he will allow her to join him. On his lips, a drink that he drinks because that way he is able to fly faster. In his body, the tension of those who are out of tune as the things that shine with their own light do.
- Darling, I don't mean to offend you. I have the next song in store.
As natural as breathing, with the confidence of one who is used to succeeding in all his hunts. Hannibal smoothes his suit, his step firm, his eyes focused on the young man who is still wondering what he's doing there.
- The answer is no.
- You didn't hear the question, says Hannibal, smiling.
- I don't dance. I don't like dancing.
Hannibal offers him another drink, leaning against the wall next to him. The young man takes it without touching him.
- Maybe you haven't found the right tune. Not every melody suits you.
The young man looks at him, and all the conversations Hannibal had created in his head disappear.
- Or maybe there are those of us who are not looking to fit in. And we don't even pay attention to the music.
- Hannibal - he says.
- Will.
Who would have given him those beautiful eyes?
- A dance. Just one to prove you're wrong.
- You're already got a date, Will points out.
- I never had one. But I know who I want to be from now on.
He offers him his hand and Will, who hates human contact, rests his hand lightly in surprise.
- I won't let you fall, Will. I promise.
For some strange reason he knows it's true. And that nonsensical melody he barely heard comes to life in Hannibal's firm hands on his hips, in the gazes of the other attendees, and in amber eyes that have roamed his body, undressing him completely despite being clothed.
- You see? We are creating poetry.
And the music ceases to exist, or rather, becomes part of them. They dance and the world around them disappears, and Hannibal wonders if it had ever existed before this moment.
- Let's get out of here, says Will, his head resting on Hannibal's shoulder.
- Anywhere you want. Always.
And the music continues to play, though it no longer matters. Far away, two men who have found theirs, and who want nothing more than to discover how much they share it.
