Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

#Hannigram #Hannibal #WillGraham #shortstory
🔴 The Red Thread 🔴
"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread can stretch or contract, but never break."
- Do you believe in fate, Will?
In Hannibal's office, the psychiatrist thinks about it sitting in front of the profiler. Has he ever stopped to think about it? He thinks not. Why, then, now?
- I don't know," answers the young man. No. I don't think so.
Hannibal nods, jotting down notes in the notebook on his lap. He rests his pen in the middle.
- Haven't you ever felt as if something was written?
Will is silent. Sometimes, he thinks. With you. He blushes a little, his blue eyes on his hands, now, nervous.
- Like deja vu? - he asks.
- No, more like a certainty that had to happen. Like a rainbow after the storm.
Will rubs his hands together. He wants to, he's afraid. How to tell him that he has been occupying his thoughts, little by little, session by session, and that now they all don't belong to him. How to explain to him that when he is with him he feels safe, that he is the only one who doesn't judge him and that, in that trust, he wants more.
- And you, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in fate?
- That there is nothing we can do of our own free will? No. But I believe - he stands, looking at Will even though Will is not looking at him - that somewhere in the world we all have a person, two, who will make our lives a safe space. Better, if you like, to live in. A home.
Will nods because he wants to believe that he believes that too. Even if he hasn't been lucky enough to meet someone like that, even if he doesn't believe that he himself could be that person for someone.
- It hasn't happened to me," he replies. People tend to avoid me, you know. Or I tend to avoid them.
- Do you avoid me too, Will?
- No.... not you.
Hannibal thinks of the profiler, ten years younger than him. His empathy, which makes him vulnerable. His mirror neurons, which make him fickle and yet strong as the roots of a tree underground. Will Graham may well be the reason why his disguise as a person is less of a disguise, one day. A companion.
- In Ancient Greece it was believed that Zeus, the father of all gods, created humans. And that, in his creation, he separated us. For we had two heads, four legs and four arms. He decided it would be fun to split us into two bodies, one head, two arms and two legs. But what he may not have thought - or perhaps he did, the old Gods were treacherous - is that this separation would provoke a longing. A longing, to be reunited again.
- Is that why we search and search?
- I don't know. It's just a story, Will. A story to talk about in a therapy session - he smiles.
Will then thinks of something he read. The Red Thread.
- Do you know the Asian belief of the Red Thread, doctor?
- Is there nothing we can do of our own free will? No. But I think - he stops, looking at Will even if Will doesn't look at him - that somewhere in the world we all have a person, two, who will make our life a safe space. Better, if you like, to live in. A home.
Will nods because he wants to believe that he believes that too. Even if he hasn't been lucky enough to meet someone like that, even if he doesn't believe that he himself could be that person for someone.
- It hasn't happened to me," he replies. People tend to avoid me, you know. Or I tend to avoid them.
- Do you avoid me too, Will?
- No.... not you.
Hannibal thinks of the profiler, ten years younger than him. His empathy, which makes him vulnerable. His mirror neurons, which make him fickle and yet strong as the roots of a tree underground. Will Graham may well be the reason his disguise as a person is less of a disguise, one day. A companion.
- In Ancient Greece it was believed that Zeus, the father of all gods, created humans. And that, in his creation, he separated us. For we had two heads, four legs and four arms. He decided it would be fun to split us into two bodies, one head, two arms and two legs. But what he may not have thought - or perhaps he did, the ancient gods were treacherous - is that this separation would provoke a longing. A longing, to be reunited again.
- Is that why we search and search?
- I don't know. It's just a story, Will. A story to talk about in a therapy session - he smiles.
Will then thinks of something he read. The Red Thread.
- Are you familiar with the Asian belief of the Red Thread, Doctor?
Hannibal nods, encouraging the profiler to continue. He wants to hear everything he has to say on the subject.
- It is said that we are all bound to different people by an invisible red thread, that we are tied to them, and that we are not only destined to find each other, but that this bond is never broken, never disappears, no matter how far away we are from each other.
- Do you believe that?
Will raises his blue eyes and slowly lets them meet Hannibal's, amber, deep, smiling at him.
- Maybe. Recently, in fact.
- Tell me about it.
Will takes a deep breath, hesitating. How to tell him that all he believes in is her lips on his, and her hands around his waist as she prepares him for something more. How to explain to him that he wants to be more than his patient, and for that, he's willing to do too much.
- I've been thinking about this," he points to the distance between them. I need to understand how I feel about you, Hannibal.
His tone of voice, begging to be understood. His name on Will's lips, hard, palatable.
- Am I your red thread, dear boy?
Hannibal stands up and Will nervously does the same. Neither moves, safe in the distance between them.
- You are. I don't know what yet.
- Let me know you," says Hannibal. Let me be with you.
The distance, smaller now, in feet that own no one. The Red Thread, visible, around Hannibal's neck.
- I will lose myself," Will replies. And we both know I need stability.
Hannibal holding the thread with his fingers around his neck, avoiding being suffocated. Will, reaching out, trembling, lowering his hand before he gets to where he wants it.
- Take it. The other half is yours.
Hannibal takes Will's hand, warm, hesitant. He places the end of that Red Thread around his neck. A gift, a declaration, an intention in that act.
- Hannibal....
Hannibal's lips on hers as he holds that red thread. Tightening it without realizing it as he responds to the kiss. Is this, what he meant earlier by home? Because Will feels at home now.
- You have my trust, Will. Give me yours and let's see how true the story is.
Will hugs him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He sobs. Why? How lonely he's felt? How in need of companionship, of Hannibal? The older man's hands around her are all that bind her to the present, to the now. And that red thread between his fingers, which he promises to try to understand in order to understand himself.
