The Smoke [Hannigram]

Chapter 7. Love Is Bliss Of The Unknown

And you no longer have to carry me
We are exactly where I wanted us to be

No more hesitation
Nothing will ever divide us again
No more energy wasted
On the temper of our time
Just the truth and the sublime

We threw our past in the Atlantic
And those eleven days remain in our tool kit
We took our chances with the desert life
Even though we got lost along the way in our own minds

We took all the blows
Searching for purity
We put an end to all
The beating up ourselves
And the walking on eggshells

It was a rainy day as Will found out when he eventually got out of the shower. Hannibal had already vanished, the warmth of his skin lost when the brunet touched the sheets. He sighed softly, looking around the room. His eyes caught a silver tray on his bedside table. There was breakfast left: fresh bread, a few slices of ham, eggs, a glass of sparkling water and a hot cup of coffee which smelled hauntingly. It was all Will could wish for at the moment, considering his current hangover mood, so he dragged his sluggish feet towards the small table, and his lips curved in a brief smile. It was quite impressive that the other had made it in those few minutes. Hannibal always recognized Will's needs way faster than Will could ever come to understand them himself. Not only was Hannibal quite unique as a psychiatrist, but he was also gifted with exceptionally sharp senses and great intuition. Now Will was very much convinced that Hannibal possessed more than just cognitive empathy. Though, it was unusual and entirely different from Will's too emotional, too corrupting one, since the other didn't let the empathy be a guide for either his behaviour or culinary choices. Hannibal didn't discard the concept, no, he'd merely decided to use it as a tool whenever it was convenient. Empathy wasn't a curse like it had always been for Will, quite the contrary: it was a controlled quality to pride himself on if a favouring opportunity came up. A powerful weapon in the hands of a very dangerous and volatile creature. Hannibal's empathy concerning Will, however... Well, that had gone one step further, and with time it'd matured into compassion. Became inconvenient. That knowledge made Will the happiest soul of the unfortunate ones.

Having drunk the coffee and the water, Will felt a bit more energetic. His brain wrestled, seeking some sort of control over the aching muscles and the headache. The soreness didn't leave, though. The pain was a sole reminder of what had happened. All the alcohol and talking, the angst... violence. And the sex. New images of their intimacy. Will closed his eyes for a minute and lay down to consider what the recent events made him feel, what they could make him change into. A lover? Will was conscious of the consequences. He sighed, annoyed at the hot wave sinking deep into his chest, and even more at the following contraction in his guts. A pleasant one. His world narrowed to the head of a pin—one fearful emotion, and a question he still hadn't been able to answer with coherent words and vision cleared.

But do you ache for him?

Will couldn't get any more sleep when there were that many hazardous thoughts running through his troubled head. He bit his lips to the point where they'd become swollen. There was no rest for the wicked.

Will stood up, got rid of a towel he'd covered himself with, and then he looked for clothes in his wardrobe. He needed to get dressed; the sensation of stiff material against his skin unnatural and uncomfortable, but at least giving him some sort of a cover—concealer for the nakedness of a different kind.

Will was about to take the least fancy clothes he owned, including a flannel shirt and blue shabby jeans, but then it clicked in his mind that Hannibal had planned for them to go out somewhere today. He'd been rather mysterious about it, telling Will it was a surprise. Will didn't like surprises but said nothing, silently agreeing to the idea. How could he even begin to reject Hannibal's offer if his eyes had been glowing with the most vibrant light? Thus now, facing the big fashion dilemma, Will felt lost again. He didn't enjoy picking and buying fancy outfits. It mostly seemed to be an expensive facade for the ones who wished to store all the primitiveness in their pockets. On the other hand, Will enjoyed immensely the way Hannibal stared at him whenever he wore them. It caused his heart to flutter ever so slightly as if invisible wings came down to sit on his ribcage. In the end, Will chose a white dress shirt, a dark blue vest to draw attention to the contrast, and blue dress pants with a leather belt. Shoes black, elegant but simple. Will had once heard somewhere that footwear could tell a man's life story. Where he'd been and come from, or where he was heading. The complexity of old and new days questioned with a piece of material on your feet. Will had doubts. His life story was neither elegant nor simple. Actually, it was the furthest from being just that, which was why he thought fashion was nothing but a theatrical act of pretending. Normally, he would be wearing his old comfy boots, muddy and heavy, and that version sounded much more true to his ears.