Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For two weeks, a mysterious fever has been spreading throughout the city. Typically, this fever strikes at night, and all of a person's blood evaporates. A body was found near the bridge leading south out of the city. I was trying to sleep but, due to insomnia, it didn’t help much when I received a call from my boss to analyze the body. It was cold and raining, around 5:20 in the morning; the sun hadn’t risen yet, and it was dark. Only the streetlights illuminated the lifeless body lying among some old barrels and trash-filled boxes.

My bad mood was kicking in; I had only slept for an hour all day and had to work overtime through this night, heading straight from here to work. I muttered a few irritated words but soon switched back into work mode and ignored my fatigue.

I stared at the corpse; it stared back at me as I glanced at the team behind me. I closed my eyes and began to think. The 47-year-old man lay on the ground near the trash; he was pale from blood loss. I walked along the edge of the bridge and spotted a crushed cigarette. Closing my eyes again, I thought that he had probably been smoking when the fever struck, causing him to lose consciousness and fall... too obvious. I turned and looked at the cigarette. "Jack."

Jack came over and looked me in the eyes, waiting for me to explain how the death occurred in every detailed aspect. "Do you know what brand of cigarette this is?" I pointed to it. I noticed Jack’s confused expression.

He paused and tried to remember; black cigarettes with gold details shouldn’t be too hard to identify. Jimmy appeared just behind us and said, "Wow, that’s a cigarette only found in wealthy areas where the bourgeoisie lives; they're rare around here."

"Jack, the file on this man says he's a washed-up alcoholic; I don’t think he was smoking one of these." After making my observation, I walked over to the corpse and knelt down to examine it.

"You mean that the fever is actually a..." Jack started, but I interrupted him.

"Murder. Yeah, probably. I'm not sure, but I can say that whoever did this thinks they are superior. Give me more time."

I closed my eyes and imagined myself as the killer; I was walking slowly while my haste had slipped away from me. I was chasing him; he ran looking back and fell into the trash. I brought out my cigarette, and just when I could attack him, I extinguished it on the edge of the bridge and drained his blood. "Why does he want blood? To sell on the black market? Ritual? Transfusion?... drink?"

Jack placed his hand on my shoulder. "I’ll send the body for analysis along with any evidence; we’ll consider it might be murder."

He wouldn’t stop talking, and I couldn’t take it anymore; I looked anywhere on his face except his eyes and barely heard his voice—my thoughts about going home were louder.

As I stepped away, I saw the team taking away the lifeless young man while forensics investigated the area. Lost in thought, I felt something warm against my right cheek.

"Alana brought this for you; it's your favorite." Beverly smiled.

"Is Alana here?" I'm surprised; she usually doesn’t show up at crime scenes.

"No," Bev shook her head. "She just asked why we were working so early and sent this for both of us—she really likes you." She laughed.

I took the coffee while giving her an indifferent look. "I like her too; she’s very good at her job." I sipped my coffee.

"Bla bla bla, good worker—she’s totally into you! Have you seen how she looks at you during those brief moments you two meet?" She said while laughing until Jack called her over.

The coffee was very well made; I didn’t remember telling Alana how I liked it made—she's a nice girl who is always polite and kind. I got into my car and headed straight to the office.

Hours passed as I sat in front of my computer reviewing any previous cases related to blood thefts. Years ago, there was a serial killer who ate their victims while draining their blood; another case involved a murderer who stole blood from victims to sell on a black market in Thailand. Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair, lifted my face toward the ceiling. "What if it's not murder..." My eyes slowly began to close as silence enveloped me when loud knocks echoed at my door startled me awake as I rushed to open it.

"Good morning Jack." Adjusting my glasses and straightening my shirt.

He smiled. "We have a serial killer on the loose."

I don’t think that’s good news enough to smile about, but if it were an incurable disease, it could be worse. We walked over to the lab where Jimmy and Brian along with Beverly were discussing something animatedly; as soon as I entered, everyone stopped talking and bounced over to explain why they believed it was murder.

"So...I was right." As always—I’m not sure if I'm happy about being right.

"Yes, about draining blood..." Jimmy makes a face trying to explain.

"He drink." Brian says.

"He drinks blood?" A look of disgust appears on my face. "Fetish?"

Everyone looks at me. "I don't think he's like the foot fetish killer." Jimmy and Brian laugh.

Jack glares at them irritably, and Beverly looks confused. "I step away for two months, and a killer with a foot fetish appears?" She laughs.

"He used to steal feet." They burst into laughter until Bev elbows them as a warning to stop.

"Search all the stores where this cigarette is sold and send me a list of all the names of people who have bought it recently. I will be in my office." I say goodbye and leave the lab.

Jimmy, Brian, and Beverly stare at Jack. "You're overwhelming him," Jimmy says.

"Will used to smile and be social even with his shy and friendless profile; he seems tired lately." Brian makes a worried expression.

"Take it easy on him, Jack; it's only been a week since his father died." Bev says.

Jack rolls his eyes and denies any accusation of overwhelming me.

I was in my room taking notes, and now that it was confirmed to be a murder, I needed to study about it. That cigarette, I had seen it before, but where? And even if I had seen it, it didn't mean he was the killer. I take a deep breath and try to remember.

**sanglant**

"Everyone wants to find meaning in life; did he find it?" I look at my father lying in the coffin. There was classical music playing softly in the background, and several people I didn't know were surrounding my house, chatting and sipping teas I had never seen before.

"Probably not," Beverly says. "I'm sorry, I spoke without thinking; what a mess." She blushes in embarrassment and apologizes.

"It's okay. He was rude; he thought he was better than everyone else, but he'll be buried in the same place as the others." I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on the coffin. "So pale; he had a mole near his mouth; I never noticed." I laugh. "33 years, and I never noticed."

Bev looks at me awkwardly. "You're the only guy who laughs at a funeral." She pulls me into an embrace. "I'm sorry; if you need anything, I'm here."

"Thank you." I return the hug.

She steps back and says she will get some tea to calm me down. I accept, and she walks among the guests. The day goes by, and those people I didn't even know are leaving, and thus the wake comes to an end. I'm glad it's over but sad that the only family member I had is dead. It started getting dark, and there were only the maids left in the house and Alana, who arrived late due to an unforeseen work issue. Beverly left, and I was alone with my father; Alana said it would be good to have a private farewell without those strange people who were his coworkers who didn't care that he was dead.

I looked at the coffin and clasped my hands together, starting to pray softly, repeating the prayers until I heard the door of the room creaking open slowly. "Alana, did something happen..." When I turned around, it wasn't Alana but rather a man I didn't know; he was smoking that damn cigarette, and his smell was of expensive perfumes that stank; my rhinitis flared up just remembering the scent. I looked at the man's face, waiting for him to say something, but he just approached me and stood by my side staring at the deceased in the coffin with a calm expression that disguised fear.

We turned our faces at the same time to look at each other. "Mr. Will Graham? Pleasure to meet you."

My swollen red eyes diverted their gaze. "I would say the same but don't recall... Mr?"

With a charming smile, he makes eye contact and shakes my hand. "My name is Hannibal Lecter, but just Hannibal is what I prefer." He said with confidence in his eyes; everything about him was calculatedly perfect—every line of facial expression and body movement was done with care.

The handshake. "It's kind of late, don't you think? Did you wait for sunset to come? I'd say it's inappropriate." I rolled my eyes and turned my face away; his smell irritated me.

He smiled genuinely happy. For such an intellectual man, he didn't realize he was interrupting a moment that was solely mine. "Your father spoke highly of you; I had in mind that you would be younger since working at the FBI requires years of experience." He said adjusting his luxurious suit.

"Uh-huh." Where's Alana when you need her to send this man away? He babbled on in an elegant tone about trivial intellectual conversations while continuously moving closer to my face until his overpowering scent pushed me away.

He stopped talking suddenly; his gaze changed—he had stopped calculating all his movements and elegant speeches. He was attractive but tried to seduce me as if I were prey. He leaned closer with his mouth near my ear and descended down to my neck; his breath was heavy. "Mr. Graham you... are."

Alana opened the door and gasped upon seeing Dr. Lecter in the room; Hannibal abruptly stepped away from me. "Good evening Alana; pleasure to reveal myself." He kissed her hand delicately and elegantly.

"Do you know each other?" A doubt grew inside me.

Alana confirmed it; Hannibal gently placed something into my back pocket and smiled. "I'm leaving now; nice seeing you both." He walked out without letting Alana say a word. Alana followed him trying to offer coffee but he declined.

After that, all I remember is the funeral home coming to pick up the coffin for my father's burial in the morning; Alana and I drank some wine and other alcoholic beverages—everything passed like a flash through my mind.

Alana was sitting on my sofa when she stood up slightly tipsy saying it was late and she would go home, but I couldn't let her drive in that state—I offered to take her home. When we arrived at her place, I took her to her bedroom.

"Will..." she said softly.

"Yes, Alana." I laid her carefully on her bed.

She whispered some words so low that I couldn't hear them.

"I have to go; it's late—thank you for supporting me all these years." I brushed my hand across her face.

She takes my hand and gently opens her eyes, pulling me in for a kiss, which should have stopped there, but it led to more kisses that made the buttons of my shirt come undone. I was so out of it that night—the murders, my father's death, and being the only one left in my family made me forget my problems.

---

Chapter Text

It was dark, blood kept flowing from my mouth. A hand grips my neck, choking me on my own blood. I claw at its hands, looking up to see the horned being staring straight at me. When I look down, the body of the man who had been murdered is in my hands; I am drinking his blood.

"Will?" the being says without moving its lips. "Will?? WILL!"

I wake up startled, gasping for air, looking around to find myself in my room, books and sheets of notes scattered everywhere. Alana makes eye contact with me, and I look away. "Alana."

"Will, sorry to interrupt. I came by with Dr. Lecter to say hello." A gentle smile appears on her face. "Are you sleeping well lately?"

"No," I rub my eyes. "I mean yes, just tired."

"That's good to hear. Well... I heard Jack is pushing hard; just call me if you need anything." She takes my hand.

I sigh and stroke her hands. "I'm fine, don't worry." I smile.

After chatting with Alana, she leaves. My feelings are uncertain, and I feel like I can't reciprocate, but the sensation is nice.

After grabbing a note, I look at the card Hannibal left in my pocket that day.

"**Dear Graham, I'm sorry about your father, I'd like to invite you to dinner at my house.**"

I glare at it and crumple it up, throwing it in the trash but missing in a silly way. "What does this guy want? I don't have time for stupid dinners." I take a deep breath and look at the ceiling; my subconscious is trying to alert me with these nightmares, but I don't understand.

The door to my room opens, and I only see Beverly. "Will, the analysis team sent me to give you this."

I grab a stack of papers and flip through them with curiosity; everything I needed was there.

"Dinner?" she says.

"Dinner? What?" I took my eyes off the papers and saw her holding that damned crumpled card. "Uh, um." I don't know what to say.

Her eyes widen. "That rich guy Jack was drooling over is inviting you to the famous dinner??"

I look confused and disheartened. "I don't care who he is. I'm a busy man."

She grips my shoulders and shakes me; if it were someone else, I would be annoyed, but since we've been friends for years, I don't mind. "Listen, these dinners are just for elite people; do you know when was the last one?" she says enthusiastically.

"No."

"It’s been at least years; no one has been invited since then, even the president has dined at his house."

"Ah, cool." I don't know what to say; what does a guy like that want with me? I don't officially work for the FBI; I teach classes at universities about behavior and other subjects; they call me because I have good intuition. "And what is he? A cop? A politician?"

"No, he's just a psychiatrist, but he's a great composer, artist, surgeon, and an excellent chef," she says, shaking her head.

"She's right." Jimmy laughs.

"You hit the lottery, Will." Brian agrees.

I stare at them. "Were you spying behind the door??" I get annoyed.

They all kept pressuring me to go until I agreed if I had time and there were no murders.

**Sanglant**

It was my day off; I had a good night. My dogs were all playing and running around excited to be home; there were seven in total. Winston kept wagging his tail and barking at me; I crouch down and run my hand through his fur, pampering him. Ah, my dad hated them all; he said it was a waste of time to have filthy animals in the house.

Alana was preparing coffee while playing with the dogs. "Are you off today?"

Alana laughs. "Unfortunately not; I'll have to go to work soon." She places my coffee mug in my hands and kisses my cheek. "I'm late; I'm heading out, Will."

"Good work, Alana." I smile.

Alana had been cheering me up recently; she would leave work and sleep at my house, we would talk and eat together. She treats my kids well, and they like her; Buster even gets happier when she shows up. I yawn and see a message on my phone; the group that Jimmy had created was filled with messages, with Bev saying that today was the day Dr. Lecter had invited me to dinner, and Brian responding that I should go. I just ignored the messages and had my coffee, watching my dogs run and play.

Hours had passed, and I was seriously thinking about whether I should go to this dinner. I'm not very sophisticated; my dad made me take etiquette and politics classes, but I never really tried to practice. I was looking at my clothes, and all I had were plaid t-shirts, solid dark-colored ones, and jeans. Digging deeper, I found a suit from an expensive brand that I got for my 30th birthday for a wedding; I never got to use it... until now.

I looked at myself in the mirror adjusting the suit and trying to tie a tie; it seemed ridiculous, so I gave up. "No ties." I laced up my black casual sneakers and put on my glasses. As the hour approached, I received more messages; they were asking if I was ready and if I would go, and that if I did, I should tell everything in detail tomorrow at work. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my car keys, said goodbye to my dogs, and headed out of the house.

Hannibal's house was a few kilometers away but not too far. I think this is the first time I've gone out since my dad died; my colleagues always invite me to drink or eat, but I've never had the time or interest—Alana was the same way, and she respected that.

The road was covered in snow as I drove to the address located in an upscale neighborhood. It seems this guy is quite important and well-known; I've never heard this name before—Hannibal—it sounds like cannibal. "Weird."

I parked my car alongside other much fancier cars than mine. Holding the steering wheel, I took a deep breath. "It's all good; I'm just going to eat fancy food with people I don't know at someone’s house who I don't like and whom I met at my dad's funeral." I got out of the car and walked to the open door where a young man was taking people's coats; I handed him mine and stepped inside. The house resembled more of a minimalist mansion with imported decorations from Europe—paintings, statues, and instruments like the piano near the dining table and a violin as decoration at the entrance. He seemed quite cultured and appreciated art. I ended up analyzing too much when I felt a hand touch my shoulder; turning around, I saw Jack's wife.

“Good evening, Miss Bella.” A contained smile appeared on my face.

“Will, what a surprise to see you! Are you accompanied? Is Alana with you?” She smiled.

I felt embarrassed; Jack must have definitely heard the gossip going around at work and would probably tell Bella. "Actually, I—"

"He’s with me, my guest of honor." A smooth, deep voice emerged behind me, his hands lightly resting on my back, making gentle movements and tracing disconnected lines with his fingers.

"Dear, I got your wine..." Jack tilted his face slightly in uncertainty and surprise at what he was seeing—me and Dr. Lecter very close, making it seem like we were intimate with each other. "You two know each other; I didn’t imagine Will being your type of interest." It was clear that Jack wanted it to be a misunderstanding, but I wasn’t as low on the hierarchy as he perceived; I came from a wealthy family, had an impressive resume and a doctorate, and was invited to teach at the best colleges and give lectures in renowned places. But he only saw a guy with an absurd luck for guessing murders who had just invaded the FBI.

Hannibal smiled in a fake way. "We met recently but I already consider him." His eyes moved to mine, appreciating me as if I were a rare gem among stones.

Jack and his wife were talking to Hannibal, and I felt trapped, out of place; I couldn’t leave. He didn’t take his hands off my back; he was talking, but every moment our eyes met. Hannibal managed to conclude the conversation quickly in a natural way. Soon he guided me away. All the gazes were on us, wondering who the guy next to Dr. Lecter was. I rolled my eyes; my discomfort was visibly idiotic. I'm not one to show what I feel, but there was nowhere to run.

"Any problem, Will?" He took a few steps ahead of me, looking at me with a smile, but his smile was different; it wasn’t meant to show that he was always ahead of the situation or to disguise his disinterest in the conversation; it seemed genuine.

Everyone. "No, just wondering why you invited me, Sir.

He laughed awkwardly. "Sir?" He placed his right hand on his chest dramatically. "Call me by my name." He smiled.

"My apologies, Dr. Lecter." I was tired of this small talk; I would probably come up with some silly excuse to leave... What should I use this time? I've said so many times that Winston ate my shoe and went to the vet... Maybe something else...

Hannibal took a deep breath and smiled. "I was excited about your presence; I thought this dinner would be a good opportunity to get to know you better." He started walking, and I followed him. Classical music played ahead at the entrance; dinner would be served at 8:30 PM, and guests were just enjoying wine and listening to music played by some musicians.

" Are you European? You seem to really like Italian and French culture." I stared at a painting of a very beautiful little girl with blonde hair and black eyes smiling in a flower-filled field; a date was written in the lower right corner: Florence-1937.

Hannibal admired the painting along with me. "I came from a city in Europe; I've become attached to its customs and culture; I'm somewhat attached even after years of living in Baltimore." He didn’t take his eyes off the painting, and when he turned his face to look into my eyes, he looked at me the same way he observed the artwork.

Our conversation flowed in sync; I didn’t expect this on a first meeting just to get acquainted. We were interrupted by some women calling Hannibal for something. He left with them but kept glancing back discreetly so our eyes kept meeting. Now I'd have to manage alone until dinner time. I couldn’t join Jack; he’s my boss and treated me according to labor laws—or tried to—at work; I may be his detective without a badge there, but here I’m nobody. I walked over to a corner of a table where some oddly looking cheeses and boring wines were displayed.
"Is there any beer here?" I asked the waiter who passed by my side.

"Oh yes, we have some; just a minute." He hurried away.

He returned with a tray of craft beers; he handed one to me but said he could leave the tray with me instead. He looked surprised but left anyway. There were about two glasses of beer around 500ml each. "Damn," I took a sip of that beer made by gods—wow, this is amazing. I kept drinking; no one there was drinking anything other than wine or sparkling water. I’d been trained to taste wines but only drank based on appearance. While distracted, I heard the sound of drinks clinking together as Hannibal announced that dinner would start soon. Everyone headed toward the dining room. As I was moving toward the location, I was stopped by a guy.

"Graham." His angry expression stared at me. "Did you crash Lecter's dinner? Or something like that?" He laughed, and the other people around watched discreetly.

"Ah." I couldn't remember this guy's name, but he worked at the FBI and was replaced by me. He made a false allegation against a woman to get his friend out of a crime; it didn't go very well, but he made a lot of money on the stock market. I just didn't respond and kept walking straight.

"Look at Will Graham, they said his daddy died and he's having fun with the money, what a cynical man, besides everything, he killed his own mother." The guy spoke loudly, and the guests further ahead stopped to look.

I just ignored him again and kept walking. He came up to me, pushing me. "You're a petty idiot, listen when people talk to you; you think you're better than everyone else." He said irritably.

"Better than you? I can say that I am." I rolled my eyes. He raised his fist towards me, but something stopped him.

Hannibal's gaze was sharp, staring at the guy. "I think it's best if you leave." The place fell silent; everyone was curious to see what was happening for Hannibal to rush out of his culinary presentation.

We looked at each other. "It's fine, I can handle myself." I ran my hand through my hair. "I shouldn't have come." I huffed.

The guy named Lewis tried to explain himself; all his remarks were about me being a bad person, that my mother's death was my fault, and that it was a mistake to attend the dinner among so many important people. Hannibal cut him off and politely told him to leave, soon saying that anyone who was bothered by my presence could withdraw. The guests fell silent, the music resumed, and everyone went to dinner pretending nothing had happened.

Sanglant

I didn't expect much from the dinner, but those people were interested in the topics I discussed and recognized me for my work and written theses. The food was tasty but strange; I can't explain it, but something was missing—it felt like it was made by someone not human. How could I say it? Someone who just follows the recipe but doesn’t feel the food. Hannibal wasn't eating; he was just sipping wine from a fancy glass. The night went on, and everyone started leaving. I was putting on my coat and holding my car keys when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you leaving? So soon." Hannibal tilted his head. "Oh dear, stay."

I made a confused expression, furrowing my brow. Dear? "I need to work early tomorrow, Dr., but thank you for inviting me; I really enjoyed the dinner." I stepped away.

I looked around, and all the guests had left; only I remained.

"Do you want a drink?" He said with a smile.

"Isn't it a bit late to drink? And we don't even know each other well." I was suspicious.

"But you could get to know me..." He stepped closer, making eye contact. "I have a huge library next to my room with books from the last century. We could drink some good wine and read some books." A sweet and seductive smile appeared.

I stayed silent, thinking of an excuse, but old books were my weakness; it wasn't that late after all. I could borrow some copies; even when looking for books about the last case, I never found anything... I'll use this doctor for my work.

"A beer is fine." I looked away.

"Great."

Dr. Lecter was a man who made me have many questions—curiosity, I would say. He got very close and tried to maintain physical contact; when I stepped away, he respected that. In the kitchen, he grabbed his beer and prepared it in an elegant glass. I leaned against a counter and couldn't stop looking at his really broad back.

"Why don't you eat your food?" I crossed my arms, waiting for him to respond.

He turned holding the beer and handed it to me. "You're the first person who asks me this; probably people are curious but don’t have the courage to ask." He turned back and grabbed a glass for his dark red wine.

I took a sip of the beer while Hannibal sipped his wine. "I have an illness, I would say; I can't taste food. I know, it's stupid, right?" He rubbed his neck and turned his face away.

"No, just curious." I kept drinking until I'd reached halfway through the glass. "But you seem to enjoy this wine; your wine is the only thing different from dinner."

He agrees. "It's an Asian wine made from peppers; I don't know if I can really call it wine. A normal person wouldn't be able to drink even a drop, but I just feel a tingling on my tongue."

"Interesting, I also have a strange condition. I have too much empathy for others; I can't explain it, other people's problems affect me." I stare at the ground, but as soon as I finish speaking, I look at Hannibal's face, which is looking at me curiously.

"Do you feel empathy for me, Will?" He walks closer to me, his body so near mine that I can feel his breath.

I get startled and take a few steps back, but I bump into the counter. "If I weren't drunk, I'd say you're flirting with me, Doctor." I look away.

Hannibal laughs. "I want to show you my library; could you accompany me?" He steps back.

I agree.

After quite a long walk to an enclosed space, Hannibal enters his private library. I didn't know where to look; there was even a second floor with shelves full of books. As I ventured to find books about the case I was working on, Hannibal turns on a record player that was on the coffee table, playing an instrumental piece. Probably classical music. He sits in an absurdly fancy armchair. "What was your relationship with your father like?"

I stop flipping through the book and turn to observe him. "I would say it was bad." I go back to flipping through the book indifferently.

"I'm surprised never known you, your father and I have been friends for almost 8 years." He continued to watch me.

"It's a shame you've spent so much time with him." I close the book and walk over to Hannibal; his armchair faced a chaise longue. I sit down.

Hannibal observes my leg bouncing from stress. "When did your relationship start to worsen?" He sighs.

"I think...." I raise an eyebrow. "Are you trying to gain a new patient? Just know I'm not crazy."

"I don't think someone who claims to have hyper empathy is normal."

"At least I can taste my food."

He smiles.

After that cold night, i would never have imagined that you would become the target of my eternal hatred.".

Chapter Text

I was procrastinating waking up, it was cold, and it had been a while since I had slept so well. I stuck my hand out of the bed to grab my glasses from the desk, but there was nothing. I didn’t feel any dogs lying on my legs… I quickly opened my eyes and, of course, I wasn’t in my house. Upon waking, I immediately smelled something really good—fried eggs. I got up and saw that I was lying on the same couch where I had sat the night before to talk to Hannibal. I looked around, but I couldn’t find my phone or my glasses. I got up, worried. "What time is it? My job, damn it. Why the hell am I not wearing pants!?" As I turned around, I saw Hannibal holding a spatula and smiling.

"Good morning, darling. Your breakfast is ready." He quickly left the library.

After fixing my wrinkled shirt and messy curls, I walked slowly to the kitchen. Hannibal pulled out a chair at the table, and I sat down. He placed a plate with eggs, homemade bread with jams, and some kinds of cheese. I yawned and ate a piece of bread. "So? Can you explain to me what happened?" I asked, chewing the bread, which was ridiculously delicious.

"Are you talking about your pants? You passed out on my couch and took them off while you were sleeping." He sat down in a chair and placed my folded pants along with my glasses and phone on the table. "Jack called, I told him there was an emergency, and he didn’t even question it." He rested his hand on his cheek as he watched me.

I was annoyed, but soon felt embarrassed for sleeping at a stranger’s house. "Sorry, I must've drunk too much, that wasn’t my intention."

"It’s fine," he said with a calm expression. "By the way, I’d like you to see me for consultations. I think it would be good for you."

"Sorry, I don’t want to spend that much on therapy, besides, I don’t have time and I don’t think I really need it." I disagreed. I finished my coffee and grabbed my phone, which had missed calls from Jack. "I really have to go, thanks for everything, Hannibal."

Hannibal seemed surprised, but his expressions quickly returned to normal. "When you need it, come by. I’ll be waiting." He handed me a business card with his phone number and the location where he holds his consultations. I got dressed and quickly went back home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. We talked until late, and then we sat reading in silence while listening to classical music, until I ended up falling asleep during the reading.

I was in my office, staring at the business card and wondering if I really should go for a consultation, just to be cautious. Sometimes I really feel like I don’t fit in or think the same way as others. Since I was a kid, I've had my dark thoughts. Soon, the door opened, and I quickly hid the card in the drawer. I saw Beverly with Jimmy and Brian. They walked in excitedly, as if they hadn’t just opened a murdered body minutes ago.

"Good morning, Will." They said in unison, like kids talking to their teacher.

I was finishing my thesis, but I stopped to see what they wanted. "Good morning, are you guys excited? I hope this is about the case." I smiled.

Jimmy immediately bombarded me with questions about the dinner, and Brian chimed in. Beverly listened carefully while I responded in a disinterested way. "Oh, the food was good, the people were classy, but I just ate and left. I'm not that social." I nervously bit the pen cap without realizing, embarrassed by the lie. They were probably expecting me to say I got into a fight, that Dr. Lecter stayed by my side half the dinner, and after that, he invited me to drink and I blacked out, and when I woke up, he made me breakfast like a wife? My cheeks turned red.

They looked disappointed. "That was to be expected. I don’t know what we were expecting." Jimmy said, while the other two nodded.

"Is Hannibal everything they say he is? I’ve never met him in person, they say he only comes out at night." Brian asked.

Flashes of Hannibal appeared in my mind—him with his back to me in the kitchen, drinking elegantly while staring into my eyes without looking away, his hands drawing disconnected shapes on my back, him holding that guy’s fist to defend me... I snapped back to reality, unable to speak. "He’s pretty elegant, but I didn’t really have many chances to talk to him." A lie.

The trio shrugged but perked up again. "But we’re glad you got out for a bit. If you want, join us for drinks later." Beverly smiled.

My lip cracked an awkward smile. "I’ll think about it. I need to finish my work, and so do you."

They smiled and went back to work, except Beverly, who waited for the other two to leave through the door. She looked outside the room and then entered, closing the door behind her.

"Will." She stared at me.

"Yes?" I kept writing on the computer while she stood there, arms crossed.

She sat down in the chair across from me. "Why are you lying?"

A lot of answers rushed through my mind, but I couldn’t respond, the words stuck in my throat. "Well, I..."

She interrupted me. "You were late, and earlier, I overheard Jack on the phone, then talking. Did you spend the night out? Alana came by looking for you, but you weren’t here. I hope you didn’t sleep with anyone. Alana is an amazing woman, and she seems really interested in you." She said, raising an eyebrow.

I was surprised. "Sorry, I didn’t sleep with a woman." My serious expression quickly softened.

"A man!?" Her eyes widened.

"Kind of. I was embarrassed to say I passed out at Dr. Lecter’s house, but when I woke up, I went straight home. He was very understanding." I saw Beverly’s expression go from annoyed to laughter. She laughed, and I ended up feeling awkward.

Sanglant

I was in the kitchen, reading the latest updates on the case when Alana appeared behind me and hugged me. "How was your day?" She smiled, her eyes sparkling as her face settled into my shoulder. The dogs were circling us, barking and wagging their tails.

"Fine..." I stared at the floor, trying to delay what I wanted to say. "I heard you went to talk to Jack this morning."

She went silent, but soon I heard her take a deep breath. "Oh, I was worried. It was snowing a lot this morning, and you’ve been a bit down... You didn’t come home last night." She stopped hugging me and sat on the kitchen counter.

I looked into her eyes. "I want you to know I didn’t sleep with anyone."

"I know, I just got worried," she smiled slightly.

I took a few steps toward her, holding a strand of her hair and twirling it around my finger. "You said I was depressed. Do you think I need help? Therapy?" I tilted my head with a concerned look, waiting for her response.

"Oh, Will..." She murmured a few words, placing her hand on my cheek, gently caressing it. "You’re grieving, and that’s completely normal." Her worried expression didn’t convince me.

"Before my father died, you knew I was unstable." I stared at her.

She sighed and changed the subject. That was my answer.

I needed help.

Hannibal’s POV.

Another cold snowy night. The wind howled loudly, and the snowflakes hit my window. I was tired, but not physically; the late shift at 9:30 p.m. on Thursdays is always the worst. I was sitting, listening to Franklin ramble on about his pathetic problems. I take my professionalism very seriously, but I despise this patient. His narcissism is irritating. I wouldn’t even feel pleasure killing him; his blood doesn’t attract me at all, and his flesh doesn’t seem good enough for dinner. I watched the folds of his neck twitch nonstop while he proclaimed himself the best. I wanted so badly to crush his head with my own hands, but I would feel disgusted by his innards... I really got along with my patients, usually high-class women or rich men with anxiety or syndrome problems.

"So, Hannibal, like you said last time we met at the opera, 'Persistence leads to success,'" he laughs falsely just to please me. All the time, he tries to show that we have something more than doctor and patient. He shamelessly stalked me at the places I frequented and told people we were best friends. It boiled my dead blood. My posture remained perfect, but I was furious.

"We could remember that our relationship is that of doctor and patient," I smiled, though I could feel a vein throbbing in my forehead.

He brightened up. "Alright, Hannibal. I won’t tell anyone about our friendship. I know it could hurt your professionalism. You’re the only one who understands me, and I’m the only one who understands you. Operas, wine, and wealth. We’re the same." He looked at me with seduction, not taking his eyes off my chest. If I gained 80 more pounds and stopped taking care of myself, I wouldn’t look like this trash.

"Doctor," a seriousness appeared in my voice.

"Oh, what?" He seemed confused, expecting it to be a misunderstanding.

"Doctor, for you," I hated when people called me by my first name without having the slightest intimacy.

The guy turned completely red, stood up irritated, but tried to pretend everything was fine to avoid annoying me. "I understand completely, Hannibal..." He was interrupted by my secretary, who opened the door slightly.

"Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Lecter, but there’s a young man wanting to speak with you. It seems urgent."

I didn’t care; I thought it was just another patient in crisis or asking for prescriptions.

"His name is Will Graham, sir," she said, and immediately my heart clenched with anxiety. I wanted to run to the reception and ignore Franklin, who sunk my sofa every week. I quickly composed myself and stood up.

"Could you ask him to wait?" I smiled.

She nodded and closed the door behind her, leaving.

"Where was I? So, Hannibal, you and I..." He was interrupted again.

"Our session is ending early, if it’s not too much trouble. You seem emotionally fine," my mood shifted.

He looked uncomfortable, and there was no time for him to respond. I simply expelled him from my office. Once he left, I went to the reception to greet Will personally. My heart raced, and I felt anxious to see him. As soon as I saw him sitting casually at the reception, I smiled.

"I'm happy to see you." I wanted to be lying, as I always did, but I didn’t care for people, and yet, I was genuinely happy.

Will was lost in thought when he came back to reality. He stared at me and then quickly diverted his gaze, looking at my feet. He stood up, scratching his neck. "Could we talk privately, Doctor?" He said indifferently.

"Call me by my name, I’d appreciate it." I placed my hands on his back, guiding him to my office.

Franklin, who was leaving, glared at Will with anger. He looked him up and down, from his casual and simple clothes, which were out of place in this area. He was irritated and asked the receptionist about Will.

As soon as we entered, I closed the door behind me, and Will stood in front of me. I couldn’t lie, I was thinking about how I would kill him, his blood spilling down my throat, his screams muffled by my hands. He would resist and could hurt me badly, it would be difficult... What trophy would I take when I killed him? My eyes dropped to the middle of his legs. His thighs were beautiful, I admired them in my kitchen this morning. I would feast on them, a private dinner, not letting anyone taste my award-winning meal. I wanted to feel their texture.

"Doctor!?" Will said, raising his voice, but after noticing I had been paying attention, he took a deep breath. "I haven’t slept in years, and I have strange dreams... Alana and my colleagues know I’m weird. The pitying looks, I hate them."

My attention was focused on Will, who was walking in circles. He seemed lost. "When did you start noticing the onset of insomnia?" I sat down, crossing my legs, and Will sat on the sofa across from me.

His gaze searched for the answer, but soon his expression changed, and I realized he had remembered the reason for his insomnia. "When my mother died." He took a deep breath, calming his leg that was shaking.

"Would you like to talk about it?" I observed him to see how he would react. Probably, he wouldn’t want to talk about his traumas in the first session.

Silence lingered after my question. Will was lost in thought for several long seconds. It was hard to talk about his mother’s death. He didn’t want to refuse, but something was holding him back. I could read his mind and analyze him as I always did, but I truly was interested in his mystery and his unpredictable nature.

I wanted him to trust me with his traumas.

"She killed herself." He looked away. "It was on my birthday, I never understood why she did it."

An deafening silence followed. He fidgeted with his thumbs, one against the other, debating whether he should continue or change the subject. My eyes met his, and my calm expression encouraged him to keep going. I wanted to hear about his past, and after that, get to know him. I had been so bored lately, only thinking if my years would be so lonely and pathetic. No one could understand me; he and I were both strange and liked it, but I fear he’ll find out about my true nature—not just because I’m a bloodsucker who lives much longer than an ordinary human, but because of my dark personality, where no one truly knows me.

Will took a deep breath and adjusted himself on the couch. He wasn’t that comfortable lying down, so he sat with a relaxed posture. "I was an excited child, crying to bring stray dogs home. What about you, Doctor?"

I was taken aback by the question, and my mind quickly went to my childhood. The screams calling my name, the gunshots, and the German voices shouting unfamiliar words remained in my head. "I’d say it was typical, but we’re talking about you." A professional smile appeared on my face.

Will shrugged. "You probably went to the best schools in the neighborhood and ate caviar for breakfast while listening to classical music." Will mimicked a snobbish tone and laughed.

"I’d say that was exactly how it was." I laughed.

After a long session, we ended up losing track of the topic. Will was an interesting mind. I didn’t want to kill him; I wanted to take him with me for eternity. The greatest fear of a being of darkness is eternal loneliness. I had spent many years studying everything I could to have the power to take and save lives. But after the end of my academic life, I found myself completely indifferent to everything. Everyone around me were disconnected and mortal. In my youth, I revealed my thirst for blood to someone I trusted and was called a monster. Would he fear me too?

Sanglant

I was thinking about Hannibal and how he was different from the people around me—not just because of his pale skin or his slightly larger-than-normal canines, but because of the way he carried himself. His dark eyes gleamed, drawing me in, making me want to keep looking.

"Let's go," Beverly said, passing by me while holding a briefcase.

We were in a part of the city's central park, and once again, dawn was breaking, though the light was still too dim. The trees had shed their leaves for the winter, casting an eerie atmosphere over the scene. The team was smaller this time—there was no need for officers to clear the area or for journalists eager to capture gruesome images to shock the public.

As we walked along a shallow snow-covered trail, we spotted two trees standing directly opposite each other, breaking the pattern of the other trees, which were spaced farther apart. Tied to their trunks were two bodies. They had no heads, no arms, no legs—just torsos with their abdomens slit open, their organs removed. Inside the gaping cavity of one body, someone had placed red flowers. The other was empty. Completely hollow.

Jack stared at the crime scene with a look of disgust while the forensic team rushed to analyze the bodies.

Beverly turned to me, waiting for me to say something.

"The trees are different from the others… That's strange, right? Holy shit, I've never seen anything this bizarre."

"They are different."

As soon as the words left my mouth, a chill ran down my spine, but I ignored it.

"Once the bodies are analyzed, I'll leave you alone to observe," Jack said beside me, his eyes fixed on the scene.

Thoughts raced through my mind. I was standing at a good enough distance to avoid interfering with the forensic team’s work. The crime scene felt less like a murder and more like an art installation—like the killer was trying to express something. The location, the choice of trees, the arrangement of the bodies… everything was fascinating.

"Sir, after a preliminary analysis, our team found that one of the bodies had been completely drained of blood, while the other still shows signs of blood pooling," one of the forensic specialists explained, gesturing toward the bodies. "Here, you can see the livor mortis stains, especially on this part of the thigh."

With his index finger, he traced the darkened lines on the victim’s skin.

"Could it be the same killer from the previous case?" Beverly asked, crossing her arms against the cold.

I took a deep breath, considering.

"I’d say… probably."

Jack gave me a sharp look.

"How does the murder of some washed-up nobody, dumped like trash, turn into this? A goddamn spectacle? You should reconsider, Graham."

A long silence settled between us before I finally answered.

"He found his muse."