✔️ Only I Can Feel You | Hannigram | Rye Ambrose

30

Hannibal's eyes glittered through the space in the curtain as he watched Will numbly stow his phone away, and he turned back to the dinner party.

    "Abigail," he said softly, gently pulling her away from the rest of the Horsemen dining around the table. "Pack your things."

    Her brows furrowed, but when she met Hannibal's calm, steady gaze, she nodded, making her way upstairs. When she disappeared from sight, Hannibal sidled up to the table, his silence bleeding through the air and alerting the four entities.

    "Horsemen," said Hannibal, his eyes flashing, "It's imperative you leave now."

    Their expressions hardened, and Penelope was the first to burst out in protest.

    "Hanni, why—?"

    "Forget all praise I've said regarding Will Graham," breathed Hannibal, his chest tight. He gazed at each of his horsemen with a stoic expression, though his eyes glittered with a deeper emotion. "Now go—before your mortal forms confuse the humans."

    Victorum straightened himself, and he nodded at the others. "You heard him," he said lowly. "Let's go."

    Penny pouted, and with a sigh, she waved a hand in front of herself. Her form dissipated in thin air, along with Miguel's and Victorum's. Their auras lingered in the air like dust, and Thana stood before Hannibal, the only horseman left.

    "You will show him mercy in killing him," said Thana quietly as she noted Hannibal's offput presence; a part of her loathed the truth in the fact. "And Mortifico's woes will be put to rest."

    Hannibal stared at Thana evenly.

    "Report to my father that the job is done," he breathed, eyes glimmering as Thana straightened herself. "Will Graham is dead."

Thana bowed her head, and she faded away before his eyes. Hannibal took a deep breath and began to tidy up the table, bringing a stack of plates into the kitchen. He began to wash them, letting the water cascade down the glass dishes, stilling when Will's presence shakily approached from behind.

Will swallowed, still unable to process the gravity of what he'd done. The absence of chatter from the dining room passed by his senses, and he stood by the kitchen counter, staring at Hannibal's toned back. His hand still tingled from holding his phone, the weight of it a ghostly presence in his palm.

"Will," said Hannibal, gazing at the suds frothing down into the drain, and Will straightened himself, pulling out of his trance. "That night, when we were connected so closely... body to body—beyond the mortal plane... did you think anything of it?"

Will's lashes fluttered, and he swallowed, shifting at the sudden question.

"I-I—"

Hannibal picked up the large kitchen knife from the sink, scrubbing away the bits of food and staring at its glossy surface. His reflection glinted back up at him, not human but dark and black and effervescent—Death's true image.

"Yes," answered Will, his voice wavering. "You and me... intertwined..." He swallowed, his throat tight. "I've never felt anything like it."

Hannibal's fingers tightened over the grip of the knife. "Would you ever take it for granted?" breathed Lecter, closing his eyes as his grip flexed—tight, loose, tight—on the knife. "The moments in which we shared... the memories?"

Will swallowed, and his brows furrowed. "I don't really understand what you're getting at—"

Hannibal gazed over his shoulder, and Will silenced, eyes widening as he realized just how glassy Lecter's eyes were.