The Linoleum Twist

Tragedy

Will's stab wound was what woke him up throbbing with dull pain from all the movement of last night's activity, the memorable sensation lingered in him after letting himself be so vulnerable for Hannibal. His body was still sensitive to touch, that being said it was hard not to melt into Hannibal's arms when they formed around him in a warm lazy embrace. The feeling of naked warm skin made the pain more bearable, breathing in unison while the room flooded with golden rays and their spooning bodies were warmed up under the covers. It was such a pleasent moment that it was a near tragedy when Hannibal stood from the bed in order to get dressed. It was time to get ready to runaway, to finish the final escape plans and leave to Florence. Will had only ever seen photos of the old city, it's intensely medieval feel made him think of how well it suited Hannibal. And where ever Hannibal goes, he shall follow.
Will groaned when he realized he needed to physically get out of bed in order to be productive. He felt a hand ruffle his hair gently, lingering inbetween the messy curls then the sound of bare feet walking out of the bedroom. With a wistful sigh Will forced himself to sit up right in order to try and wake up, his gaze re-focusing onto the foot of the bed where a pair of suite pants and a sweater were laid out for him. As small as the kind gesture was, it filled Will up with a warm feeling that finally gave him the final push of motivation to get out of bed.
The sweater was soft, warm, grey, smelled of Hannibal, like physical embodiment of an embrace. It was just what he needed at a risky time like this, with the FBI soon to be on their tails and the whole disappearing from the US plan... reassurance was very much needed.

Hannibal was already in the kitchen working on the decorative tomatoes of the brunch, black coffee in a golden metal cup was sitting on the counter waiting for Will.

Next to the coffee was a small white bottle of prescriptive anti anxiety pills, a questionable gesture. Slipping on his glasses, Will new they highlighted his purple tired eyes and made him look almost as dead as the bodies he'd created. And with that morbed thought his mind slipped into something grim, a state he only experianced when he was feeling more unstable after viewing an especially gruesome crime scene. The real world around him faded away rapidly only to be replaced by a cold sort of darkness. His body wasn't there anymore, nothing was except a sense of a homicidal urge, a thirst for blood he'd always suppressed though it was now overwhelming him. All that was visible were the mangled corpses of his future victims, blood, chaos, and in the centre of it all stood the well dressed Hannibal Lecter, those red eyes reflecting the red flames of hell itself. Dr. Lecter truly was a devoted being to the arts of chaos, and he was good at it. So was Will... was that so wrong? If both their talent, their calling was to be the hunters of humanity, causing destruction and pain in unison and protecting eachother from the vile rudeness of others ignorance, then did that make them both the human embodiment of evil? Or just human? The last thing Will remembered from his haze of hallucinations was a fading red image, the Eye of God and a familiar voice;
"Chaos is the closest thing to purity humanity can come to."