bugs

About how he had lost everything including that version of himself.

It did not feel like a religious confession, in spite of the sinful nature of what had happened. Will was not there to offer him forgiveness and both of them knew that. Will was aware it was not what Hannibal needed from him.

Hannibal needed him to listen. Unlike God, Will would not judge him. And Will felt like not even God was entitled to judge the terrors that have happened that winter in Lithuania.

It was no longer something that only Hannibal knew about. It was a new secret they shared.

Will finally spoke after he allowed the words to truly hit him, like a sip of whiskey by the end of a long day.

One particular detail in the story seemed to have clung to him like a fruit fly that had got lost in his eye.

"He hit you?"

The image of an eight year old Hannibal being struck in the head, with blunt force, disturbed him.

It disturbed him more than everything he had ever witnessed with the FBI in his previous life.

"I did not want to let them take Mischa away from me."

Will wished he could get a grip, pull himself together, grab a bottle of wine and two glasses, and change the subject.

He wished he could think about anything else. The image remained stuck in his mind as if he had witnessed the scene with his own eyes.

He eventually walked towards the back of Hannibal's armchair and rested his hands on his shoulders.

"Where? Here?" Will asked and kissed the back of his head. "Or here?" He moved a few inches away. "Or is it here?" he said and leaned in, letting his body weigh against Hannibal's back. "I love you."

"I love you more," Hannibal said back and smiled to himself.

"I am not doing that," Will replied and kissed the shell of his ear, "I love you in an unquantifiable manner."

Hannibal allowed Will to show his affection. His silence was loud. Someone like Will always spoke his mind.

"But say, Will," he started thoughtfully, breaking the said silence, "What's your takeaway from what I have just shared with you?"

"That while you are a cunning bastard and the personification of the devil himself with a God complex-"

"It gets better than this? I'm flattered, my love."

"...you were just a child. And I don't think certain things should have happened. And I don't think you have talked enough about it. In fact, I think you will never talk enough about it," he said as his hand caressed the back of his head gently. "I know you don't need my pity."

"But?"

"I am sorry about what happened to you and Mischa."

"You are wrong."

Will clicked his tongue, unsatisfied. He didn't move from behind his armchair. He was not sure whether he wanted Hannibal to read his emotions.

Even though he knew he could still do so.

"You don't have to deny it. Not in front of me."

"You are correct, I often deny it. However, you are wrong about what you said earlier."

"What was it?"

"I need your pity, Will."

Will wrapped his arms around his neck and leaned in.

"I am here. And I am sorry," he repeated, building up the strength to make a confession that he had been carrying for a while. "It often keeps me up at night - what happened to you and your sister."

His voice trembled and it scared him.

It scared them both.

Hannibal was slightly taken aback, unsure about how to experience the fact that someone other than him, for the first time in his life, understood. He felt for him. He felt the weight of everything, the weight of the snow.

"I never knew you were thinking about that."

"Among other things. We've had lots of time to reflect."

"Will, you are allowed to feel grief. Irrespective of how I feel. Even if I never talk about it. Your empathy knows no boundaries."

"Neither do you."

"That is why I want your pity. Along with your anger and resentment. I am greedy by nature, as you know."

"You are curious by nature. Whether you like it or not, pity is a new flavor for you to try. One that's been on a very high shelf, out of reach. I doubt I understand it myself."

"How does it feel?"

"To me?" Will asked thoughtfully, "Like anger, with some helplessness."

Hannibal felt intoxicated with the way Will was experiencing his own memories, so vividly. No boundaries indeed. He felt liberated by the emotional turmoil that was threatening to spill sooner or later.

Like blood on snow.

"Are you angry, Will?"

"When you told me he hit you. I was."

"I only recall your kisses."

"I was angry. And you know it."

Hannibal knew indeed. He hadn't needed to see Will's face to know that he was crying.

"Am I allowed to say it's been a long week?" Will asked.

His voice was trembling but he was no longer afraid.

None of them was.

"If it brings you any consolation."

"It's been a long week."

It didn't bring him, in fact, any consolation. And the confirmation came when more tears followed.

"Come here," Hannibal said, as he stood up, abandoning his armchair and walked towards Will.

As soon as his arms were around his body he pulled Will into himself, tightly, more ferociously than expected.

His hot tears soaked his shirt.

He wanted to say something. Anything, to bring Will the consolation he deserved. Words would not come out. He couldn't threaten them to come out.

When they did, they turned into tears and rolled down his own face.

He held onto Will's shirt as if he was afraid someone would pull them apart. He buried his face into the space in between Will's neck and shoulder as his warm body shook in his arms.

"You are the first to say you are sorry about it," he whispered in his ear.

"I know," Will stopped him, shaking his head against his chest, "Fuck."

"Empathy comes as a double edged sword whose blade you see your reflection into. Or at this point, I see myself into."

Will was, without being aware of it, carrying his whole emotional turmoil. And Will was, unlike him, able to shed tears about it.

Will was feeling emotions he had never felt.

Double edged sword because they were both crying in the end.

Will, because he was brave enough to stare at horrors straight in the eyes without blinking and Hannibal, because he had never witnessed someone's love in this form. And it scared and soothed him all at once.

"I love you," Will repeated.

"I love you," Hannibal responded. "Will, I envy you for your emotions and, at the same time, I want to shelter you from them."

Will's shoulder blades shook underneath his touch as he tried to silence his sob against Hannibal's chest.

"You don't have to talk about it. I will just know," Will said quietly.

"I know, my love. I never had to spell anything out for you."

Hannibal allowed himself to cry, in what felt like the safest place he had ever been in. He had never considered that the safest he would ever feel would be in the arms of a man who was crying for his terrors.

He closed his eyes.