my life is a love letter to you

The argument had started so inconsequentially that, by the next morning, neither of you would have been able to say with any certainty what it was about, or who even spoke the first sharp word.

It had been an exceptionally long day. And by the time you arrived at Hannibal's home, exhaustion had settled over you and your patience was worn incredibly thin.

Normally, the calm of his house was enough to soothe you and relax you. But…tonight,  even that wasn’t enough to quiet the frustration that had been steadily building throughout the day.

The disagreement itself was almost laughably mundane. Hannibal had planned a dinner party that weekend, once again making a decision that affected both of you without asking for your opinion first. 

Frankly, you didn’t even care that much, but it hurt you that he didn’t even consider you would just want some alone time, or some time together without another elaborate dinner party filled with cannibal jokes that nobody but the two of you truly understood.

The details of the argument blurred together until they hardly mattered anymore. What mattered was that this time, after weeks of swallowing your irritation for the sake of keeping the peace, you simply couldn't let it slide.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking your head as you met his gaze across the kitchen. “You don't get to decide everything just because you think you know better.”

Hannibal stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. 

A knife rested comfortably in his hand, moving with surprising focus and precision as he cut up an assortment of vegetables. His face remained composed, betraying almost nothing, yet there was a noticeable chill behind his eyes that hadn't been there moments before.

“I made the decision because it was the correct one,” he replied evenly, his voice calm enough that anyone passing by might have mistaken this for an ordinary discussion.

“For you,” you answered, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

“For us.” Hannibal corrected.

You let out a tired breath, rubbing your temple before looking back at him. “You don't know what I want all the time, Hannibal.”

The room fell silent.

It wasn't the comfortable silence you had come to associate with him. 

This silence carried weight. 

It settled over the kitchen like an invisible fog, pressing against your chest with a weight that felt crushing.

Without breaking eye contact, Hannibal lowered the knife onto the cutting board.

The polished steel met the wood with a soft, deliberate clack. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the sound would have been insignificant. 

Tonight, it felt… different. The simple sound seemed to echo endlessly through the house.

“I know you,” he said after a long pause, speaking with complete confidence.

You gave a humourless shake of your head. 

“No,” you replied quietly. “You know the version of me you think I should be.”

That finally drew a reaction.

His eyes lifted fully to yours.

His expression remained controlled, but you noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw, a tiny fracture in the flawless composure he so carefully maintained.

“You presume,” he said, his voice still calm despite the unmistakable edge beneath it, “that I have spent years learning every nuance of your character only to misunderstand you now.”

“I think,” you replied, your own frustration beginning to outweigh your caution, “that you forget I'm still allowed to disagree with you.”

A subtle shift passed through his posture.

It was barely noticeable to anyone else, but after spending so much time with Hannibal, you recognised the change immediately. He straightened almost imperceptibly before taking one slow, deliberate step around the kitchen island.

Then another.

He wasn't trying to corner you.

Not consciously.

“You are allowing emotion to dictate your judgement,” he observed.

“And you're speaking to me like I'm one of your patients,” you replied, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into your voice.

Something flickered across his face.

It lasted no more than a second before disappearing beneath his usual restraint, but you caught it all the same. 

It was irritation.

“When you allow emo–”

“You always say that.” you interrupted, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

“You interrupt before understanding,” Hannibal replied, his tone becoming noticeably firmer.

“Because you never actually listen.”

“I always listen.”

“You hear me,” you corrected, “You analyse me. You explain me. You decide what's best for me before I've even finished speaking.”

Another deliberate step brought him closer, “You mistake restraint for indifference.” he said.

“I don't think that's what I'm–”

“No.”

Hannibal hadn't raised his voice. He never needed to. But that single word seemed to silence everything else.

You fell silent.

Every muscle in your body seemed to stiffen at once.

His shoulders had squared ever so slightly, his gaze fixed entirely on you. 

For the first time since you had known him, there was no softness left in his expression.

Only absolute control.

The kitchen, which had always felt warm and welcoming, suddenly seemed far too small, far too cold, far too bright.

Your pulse skipped painfully in your chest.

Without thinking, you took a small step backwards.

His eyes immediately dropped to the subtle step back before returning to your face. He saw the way your shoulders had instinctively drawn inward. He noticed how your breathing had become shallow, and how your gaze faltered beneath his own.

He saw the fear.

Real fear.

Immediately, every bit of tension vanished from his posture, his expression crumbling instantly. 

Horror.

“...My dear,” he whispered as disbelief crossed his features.

Hannibal had never intended to frighten you. But for a brief moment, he had. 

He looked devastated at the realisation, while you struggled to settle the storm of emotions churning inside your chest. 

You knew he hadn't intended to frighten you. Rationally, you understood that. But your body had reacted before your mind ever had.

You swallowed thickly before looking anywhere but at him.

“...I think I just need some time alone,” you murmured, your voice tired more than anything else, “Just... for a little while.”

Hannibal didn't argue.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but after a long moment, he simply inclined his head.

“Of course,” he replied quietly. His voice was softer now, stripped entirely of authority.

“Take all the time you require.”

You nodded once, unable to find anything else to say, and slipped past him.

For the briefest moment, it felt as though he almost reached for your hand.

Hannibal watched you disappear into the living room, remaining rooted to the spot until he could no longer hear your footsteps.

The house felt strangely unfamiliar after that. 

It was always quiet, but never like this.

You curled into one corner of the living room sofa, drawing your knees loosely toward your chest as late evening gradually settled beyond the tall windows.

You replayed the argument over and over again.

His expression. His voice. The way your body had instinctively stepped away from him. Then the look on his face after. That haunted you even more.

You had never seen Hannibal look horrified before, not like you had seen it that day…

Hours passed almost unnoticed.

The untouched dinner remained cooling somewhere in the kitchen, and eventually the golden evening light faded into deep shades of blue before giving way to night. One by one, the lamps throughout the house cast warm pools of amber across the polished floors, leaving the living room wrapped in a comforting glow that did little to ease the heaviness in your chest.

You let out a quiet sigh.

Perhaps you should simply go to bed.

Sleep would make everything feel less overwhelming by morning.

You had just sat up on the sofa when soft footsteps approached from the hallway.

You didn't need to look.

You knew the cadence of them by heart.

Hannibal paused in the doorway, for several long seconds he said nothing.

You didn’t say anything either, your eyes fixed on the window, away from him. 

“...May I join you?” he asked at last, his voice almost hesitant.

It was such an unfamiliar sound coming from him that it made something inside your chest ache.

You didn't answer, you simply didn't know what to say.

Taking your silence as neither permission nor rejection, Hannibal crossed the room with slow steps. Every movement was careful, leaving you more than enough room to ask him to stop if you wanted him to.

When he reached the sofa, he lowered himself beside you, then, very cautiously, you felt his hand come to rest against your hip.

As though he wished to reassure both of you that he was capable of touching you gently.

You remained still, even if it twisted something in your chest, you wanted to give into the familiarity, into his touch, you wanted to melt into him and just let him make it all go away. 

But you remained still. 

Hannibal leaned closer, his lips brushed the side of your neck in the faintest apology.

One featherlight kiss, then another. 

Each one lingering only for a moment before he moved again, as though he were trying to express every unspoken regret through the smallest displays of affection.

You couldn't bring yourself to lean into him. Instead, you slowly turned your head away.

Hannibal noticed and it felt like he was being gutted by you, and not in a loving way.

The soft kisses ceased at once, and he simply closed the remaining distance until his forehead rested against the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

He buried his face there with an exhale, his breath warm against your skin.

“...I missed you.” he finally spoke, his voice quiet, to Hannibal, the distance between you since the argument had felt immeasurable.

You closed your eyes, a slow breath escaping you before you could stop it.

Without looking at him, you lifted your hand and carefully threaded your fingers through his soft hair, combing it back with slow, absent strokes.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice finally breaking the silence. “I missed you too.”

You felt him draw in a shaky breath against your neck.

“I…” He stopped, searching for words he so rarely struggled to find. “I frightened you.”

His thumb traced an absent circle against your side, “I cannot bear the thought that I became someone from whom you felt the need to retreat.”

He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his dark eyes no longer carrying only remorse.

“My dear…” he said softly, his hand giving the smallest, almost shy squeeze against your waist. “Please forgive me.”

The words sounded almost like a plea, “I shall spend as long as it takes earning back that sense of safety, if I must.”

You looked down at him then, it was simply Hannibal who sat there.

He swallowed once before speaking again, “...Please.”

“Will you let me hold you?” he asked, unusually vulnerable, and, perhaps for the first time in… fear that you might say no.

Hannibal held your gaze for only a moment longer, as though he hardly dared to hope for the answer he wanted.

When you finally gave a small nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into the faintest, weary smile, something in his expression softened so completely.

“...Come here,” you murmured quietly.

You barely had time to finish speaking before his arms slipped around you.

One arm settled securely beneath your knees while the other wrapped around your back, and with effortless grace, he lifted you from the sofa as though you weighed nothing at all. 

A quiet laugh escaped you in surprise, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself, “Hannibal–”

“I have you,” he interrupted gently, a small smile finally returning to his lips, “I've missed this privilege.”

“I much prefer carrying you anyway,” he noted, beginning the walk toward the bedroom.

Before you could think of a playful complaint about how you could perfectly walk on your own, his lips brushed beneath your jaw again.

They wandered lazily along the side of your neck and up toward your cheek, placing soft kiss after kiss.

Then, unexpectedly, a gentle nip.

“Ow–” you made, turning your head just enough to fix him with a look, narrowing your eyes in mock accusation, “Hannibal…”

His expression remained perfectly innocent, “...Yes?”

“You bit me.” you huffed with quiet amusement.

He looked at you for a second before nodding, “My sincerest apologies.”

Without another word, he leaned down again and pressed a lingering kiss over the spot he'd nibbled only moments before, his lips lingering there just a fraction longer.

“There,” he murmured against your skin. “Better.”

You tried to keep glaring at him, unfortunately, the tiny smile tugging at your lips ruined it entirely.

“I suppose I'll allow it this once.” you sighed dramatically.

“How merciful… I am profoundly grateful.” Hannibal said, hiding the amusement in his voice behind a mockingly serious tone. Again, you couldn't help laughing.

The sound earned another unmistakably pleased smile from him.

By the time the two of you reached the bedroom, the heaviness that had clung to the evening seemed to have dissolved almost entirely.

Hannibal crossed to the bed without breaking his steady pace before carefully lowering you onto the mattress. His movements remained impossibly gentle, making sure you were comfortable before he let go.

Or rather… before he immediately decided against letting go.

The mattress dipped a second time as he climbed onto it, leaned forward and all but draped himself over you.

His weight settled warmly across your torso, his arms slipping comfortably around your waist while his head came to rest against your chest.

The sudden weight coaxed a slight gasp from you, “Hannibal… you’re crushing me–” you chuckled.

He made absolutely no attempt to move. If anything, he settled more comfortably against you, one arm tightening lazily around your middle as though he'd finally found the only place he'd wanted to be all evening.

You huffed, poking lightly at his shoulder, “Doctor Lecter.”

“Hm?” he hummed into the fabric of your shirt. 

He tilted his head just enough to look up at you, his cheek still resting over your heartbeat. His eyes had closed halfway, the usual sharpness replaced by something deeply content, almost peaceful.

“It occurs to me,” he said thoughtfully, “that human beings have always searched for elaborate means of restoring themselves.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“They travel. They meditate. They seek solitude, music, fine food…” A small smile touched his lips. “Some even insist upon expensive holidays.”

“And you?”

“I appear to require only this.”

His hand spread gently against your side, his thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt.

“I suspect you alone could sustain me for a lifetime.”

You smiled, your fingers slipping into his blonde strands once more, “Only suspect?”

He hummed thoughtfully, “I intend to prove my theory for the remainder of my life.”

You smiled to yourself as your fingers continued to comb lazily through his hair. Despite his earlier promise to hold you, it seemed that somewhere along the way, Hannibal had become just as content being held in return.

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