Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Low clouds pressed into the trees, and everything outside the window looked waterlogged and grey. Rain clung to the glass in thin, shaky lines. You couldn’t see where the forest ended and the sky began. It was all just damp.

I sat cross-legged in bed, surrounded by half-open notebooks and dog-eared paperbacks. My homework — a comparative essay on tragic archetypes in Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Oedipus Rex — stared back at me in judgment. I’d written exactly eight words in the last hour: "Fate operates differently in Greek and Victorian tra—" then I’d given up mid-thought to sip lukewarm black tea and will myself not to fall asleep.

The heater clicked on with a hollow groan, doing almost nothing. Outside, somewhere near the river, my dad was fishing with the guys. I yawned, jaw aching, and leaned back into the pillows. The mug wobbled on the windowsill. My eyes fluttered. For a second, I let myself slip into that half-dreamy space where the world softens—

And then a sudden thump against the floorboards, and I was airborne. I hit the floor hard, spine first, dragging my notebook and Oedipus Rex down with me. The mug clattered, somehow still intact. Hannibal crouched on the windowsill, a Renaissance oil painting — all dark angles and quiet smugness, water dripping from his curls, bare feet planted with predatory ease. My window, I might add, was on the second floor.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, heart pounding as I scrambled to collect my books from the floor. The pencil had rolled under the bed.

"No," he said smoothly, stepping inside with unfair, deliberate grace. "Just me, beloved."

He was wearing my sweatshirt — the dark grey one I always reached for when it got cold, sleeves too long, the hem stretched from use. On him, it looked almost tight. The cotton strained over his shoulders and arms, the kind of fit you notice whether you want to or not. His skin, as always, held the color of marble in moonlight.

The contrast made his golden eyes brighter, unnaturally stunning. I stared at him for a second too long.

"That's mine," I said, voice flat.

"I like that it smells like you." He didn’t smile, but he might as well have. I rolled my eyes and stood up, brushing dust from my jeans.

"You know there’s a front door."

"And deprive us of this ritual?" He stepped closer. Rain was still in his hair, dotting his temples like tiny stars. "Never."

I reached for him instinctively. My hands met his chest first — chilled through the fabric.

Even through the sweatshirt, I could feel the way his body didn’t quite match human heat. He kissed me as if we’d never kissed before — slow, decisive, cold in a way that felt like fire. His mouth was always like that.

By the time I remembered to breathe, I was back in bed, tangled in sheets and the strange, paradoxical warmth of his arms. His hands were everywhere. His voice in my ear made my spine shiver. Three years, and my body still reacted like it had just met him. Like my heart hadn’t gotten the memo.

Maybe that was just how it worked — the human system, completely unequipped to process something like him. Or maybe it was just me. Will Graham. Perpetually on the verge of collapse. Perpetually in love with something I still didn’t fully understand.

I let my forehead rest against his throat. He didn’t need to breathe, but sometimes I thought he did it anyway, just to make me more comfortable.

-

I meant to move. I really did.

But Hannibal was still half on top of me, and the bed was warm, and I had a vampire draped over my legs like a marble paperweight with intimacy issues.

“I need to finish that essay,” I mumbled, tapping his arm with two fingers.

“Fate, tragedy, ancient ruin. Remember?”

He didn’t move. Just kissed the side of my neck, cold and slow, like he had nowhere else to be for the next hundred years.

“What’s the assignment?” he murmured.

“Compare the role of fate in Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Oedipus Rex. ”

“I’ll finish it for you.”

I blinked at the ceiling. “You’re not even enrolled.”

He kissed me again, higher this time, smug.

“And yet, I’d do it beautifully.”

He wasn’t wrong. I could already imagine the flawless references. The impossible vocabulary. The disgustingly perfect punctuation. Still.

“No,” I said quietly. “Feels like cheating.”

“You’re so principled,” he said, finally sitting up. “Admirably so.”

I didn’t answer. I was busy trying not to look at the way my sweatshirt fit across his shoulders. He made it look like a second skin. I reached for my notebook, flipped to the half-filled page, and started writing again. Or trying to.

He stayed beside me on the bed, one hand draped over my thigh like a forgotten thought. He didn’t talk. Just watched.

Eventually, he got bored.

He stood, floated a little — not enough to be dramatic, just enough to not bother walking — and began tidying. Trash disappeared into the bin. Empty mugs stacked on top of each other. A few loose papers tucked into folders. He folded my laundry without asking if it was clean. He just… decided.

I paused halfway through a sentence to watch him fold one of my t-shirts into a perfect square. He smoothed the fabric once with both hands, then placed it on the chair like it was an offering.

“Do you do this in all your lovers’ bedrooms?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder. “Only the ones I intend to keep.”

I didn’t answer. Just smiled a little and went back to my paragraph.

Rain kept ticking gently against the window, and the clouds hadn’t moved at all since morning.

Then, quietly, from across the room, Hannibal said, “Your father is here.”

A few seconds later, the familiar crunch of gravel confirmed it. Then the car door, then the porch. No knock would ever surprise me again.

Hannibal sat in my desk chair, spine straight, one leg crossed neatly over the other. His hands folded in his lap like he was posing for a brochure on good posture. He did this every time — transformed from my ancient, clingy vampire boyfriend into a perfectly presentable visiting acquaintance in under five seconds. A portrait of respectability.

The door knocked once and opened before I could answer.

“Hey,” I said.

My dad stood in the doorway, still smelling faintly of river and pine sap. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on Hannibal with the same measured distance he gave every new face he didn’t entirely know what to do with. He nodded once.

“Evening, Mr. Graham,” Hannibal said, smiling the exact amount that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

My dad nodded back.

“We’re doing homework,” I added, holding up the notebook without much conviction.

He didn’t question it. Just nodded again and said, “I’ll bring up dinner in a few.”

“Thanks.”

Door shut.

I didn’t move for three seconds before Hannibal was already back on the bed, fast and quiet, his mouth at my jaw, hands sliding under my shirt like gravity had changed direction.

I laughed, couldn’t help it. He kissed me through it.

Dad didn’t know. About the boyfriend part. Or the vampire part. He still thought I was just… quiet. Sensitive. Bad with girls. It was easier that way. Safer. For him, maybe for me too.

“Jesus,” I muttered against Hannibal’s mouth.

“Wrong immortal,” he whispered, grinning.

-

I woke up with the taste of cold in my mouth. That kind of metallic chill that clings to your teeth, like you'd been breathing through ice. The dream was already gone — nothing left but fragments. I’d been in the woods, maybe. Or somewhere darker. Maybe not even a place. All I remembered was the feeling: cold, and drained.

Drained like he'd taken everything. Every drop. Every part of me.

Most people would call that a nightmare. For me, it was routine.

I lay there under the weight of too many blankets, eyes on the ceiling, waiting for the heat to kick in. It didn’t. Forks was still pretending central heating was a myth. I shivered and pulled the covers tighter, but eventually forced myself to move. Hannibal was beside me, still and beautiful and fully dressed, like always.

He didn’t sleep. Not really.

He watched me. He’d stay until right before sunrise, or before my dad woke up — whichever came first. I never saw him leave.

Just woke up to the ghost of his presence still lingering in the sheets. Sometimes, like today, he stayed a little too long. But he never got caught.

I got dressed in the kind of daze that only happens on cold, wet mornings. My limbs didn’t feel like mine until the third layer of clothing went on. I made it to the kitchen. My dad was already at the table, coffee in hand, three pancakes and a pile of eggs and bacon on his plate. It never changed. Not the food. Not the silence. Not the way he folded his napkin before taking the first bite.

I was pretty sure he had some kind of unspoken neurodivergence — nothing diagnosed, just the kind that made him do everything the same way, every day, down to the exact placement of his fork.

I sat across from him, wordless. We ate like we always did. Quietly, efficiently. The only sound was the occasional scrape of a knife against ceramic. Rain tapped steadily against the windows. Nothing new.

At exactly 8:02, the familiar rumble of Hannibal’s car pulled into the driveway. I wiped my mouth, mumbled a goodbye, grabbed my backpack, and left.

The SUV was obnoxiously large, jet black, and glossier than any car in Forks had the right to be. A rolling monument to drama. I hated how much it stood out. But it was warm. And quiet. And it always smelled like him.

I opened the door, slid in, and exhaled. Hannibal looked over at me with that same calm, unreadable gaze he always wore. He smiled — just a little.

“Missed you for the last two hours,” he said, voice low.

I smiled back. “You too.” My voice still felt like it hadn’t fully turned on yet.

He didn’t say anything else at first. Just pulled out of the driveway, one hand already reaching across to find mine. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it like he was born in the wrong century.

I watched the trees blur past the window — the same drenched pines, the same dense fog, the same rhythm of water streaming down the glass. The heater hummed softly. Hannibal didn’t try to talk much in the mornings. He knew better— I was not a morning person.

We drove in that familiar silence, both of us content to let the rain speak for us.

Somewhere past the third bend in the road, he broke it.

“Did you meet the new kid yesterday?”

I blinked a little more awake. “Isabella?”

He nodded.

“A little. Not much. Why?”

He cleared his throat. That meant something. Hannibal didn’t usually clear his throat unless he was about to say something inconvenient.

“My brother seems to have had an aneurysm over her or something.”

I turned toward him, frowning so hard it felt like my eyebrows might leave my face.

“Edward?”

He nodded again.

“Edward?"

He glanced at me. “Yes. Edward.”

“That’s... unusual.”

“It is, indeed.”

“What about her? She looks like just any other girl.”

“She does. But she’s not. Apparently.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“He cannot read her thoughts.”

That stopped me.

Edward could read anyone. All the time. Well — except for me. But I wasn’t a mystery. Hannibal had shielded me.

I stared ahead, chewing on that. “Maybe she has no thoughts,” I said seriously.

He laughed — a short, surprised chuckle.

“What? It could be.”

-

Classes passed like fog. Thick and unremarkable.

I was present in the technical sense. I sat in the chairs, opened the notebooks, turned the pages. But my mind kept folding into last night. Cold hands. Warm breath. A kiss that left me aching in inhumanly hunger.

I sighed without meaning to, then cleared my throat quickly, like I could cough it away. Sighing lovingly in the middle of U.S. History looked uncool.

I shifted in my seat, blinked at the board, wrote a few meaningless words in the margin of a worksheet I wasn’t going to turn in.

Fourth period was Social Politics. I had that one with Hannibal.

By the time I slid into my seat, he was already there — posture perfect, hair politely disheveled, like someone had sculpted him for the cover of a prep school brochure.

I sat close. My arm touched his. My knee leaned into his thigh.

Class started and I immediately ignored it.

My body was half-slumped against his side, and I could feel the steady press of his hand on the inside of my leg — thumb tracing a line just above the knee, slow and steady, like he was keeping rhythm with my heartbeat. It made focusing impossible. Not that I tried.

I tilted my head, rested it against his shoulder. He turned just slightly, nose brushing my hair, breath cool at my temple.

He smelled like pine and old books and my laundry detergent.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to concentrate when he looked like that. When he existed like that. The problem wasn’t just when he was gone. It was worse when he was here.

I glanced across the room and saw her. The new girl.

She sat in the back like she didn’t want to exist. Hair in her face. Eyes half-shut. She looked like the weather had already gotten into her bones. Typical Forks damage. She didn’t look particularly strange. Just quiet.

I watched her for a few seconds too long, then turned to Hannibal.

He didn’t say anything. Just raised an eyebrow like he already knew what I was thinking.

I smiled.

Edward. Sulky, sensitive, borderline suicidal Edward. A hundred years alive and he’d never fallen in love. Not once. Until this week.

It was strange. He wasn’t the type. He was the kind of vampire who listened to classical piano alone in the dark. The kind who brooded so hard he made everyone else at the dinner table feel like they were ruining his funeral. For a girl to just… flip a switch in him? That was new. Weird. Suspicious.

I looked back at her again. Then back at Hannibal. My chest pulled in a way I didn’t love.

Could someone do that to him too?

Sweep him off his feet?

Had I actually swept him off his feet?

Or had I just… been around enough?

He was younger than Edward. Still old though. Fifty-two, which was nothing in vampire years but still enough to make me occasionally spiral. He looked twenty-three, maybe. On a tired day. But in reality, his body had died at nineteen. Technically, biologically, he was just two years older than me.

Except he wasn’t.

I tried to picture him as a fifty-year-old man. Salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkles, maybe a dad watch. It made my brain short-circuit. Not because he wouldn’t be hot. He would. Of course he would. But because it didn’t fit.

None of it fit.

He’d never aged, never changed. Just stayed that exact shape. That exact face.

That prince-like stillness that made people assume he was better than them before he ever opened his mouth.

The age thing tried to be an issue. It really did. Every few weeks it crept back in like mildew. But it never stuck. It couldn’t.

Because when I looked at him, I didn’t see someone old. I saw him . The same way I always had.

I was still mid-thought when his hand slipped up from my thigh and reached my jaw instead. Fingers cold and gentle. He turned my face to his like I was on a pivot.

Then he kissed me.

Mouth soft, steady, familiar.

I barely registered the stares anymore.

He kissed me like he belonged to me and I to him and we weren’t in the middle of some sleepy public school classroom.

I kissed him back then blinked slowly as he pulled away, still close enough to steal my breath.

The good thing about dating a vampire?

Get homophobic and you might just never be heard from again.

-

The cafeteria smelled like wet jeans. It always did.

Forks had exactly two kinds of food: too dry or too wet. Today’s tray leaned aggressively toward the latter. I poked at what I assumed was supposed to be pasta and decided I didn’t need answers that badly.

Hannibal sat across from me, ankles crossed neatly under the table, posture too perfect. I was slouched, knees wide, tray abandoned, chewing on a piece of bread that Hannibal brought me. It was home baked and delicious. It was the usual scene.

No one sat with us anymore.

They had, for the first two years. Out of politeness, or curiosity, or just wanting to say they knew us. But the third year rolled in, and suddenly we were Too Much. Not because we were loud. Not because we made out in front of everyone.

We just were . That was enough.

It wasn’t hatred. Just aversion. Like we were an acquired taste no one wanted to acquire.

I didn’t blame them. If I had to look at us from the outside, I probably wouldn’t sit with us either.

Edward had told us, once. He said the others craved what we had. Craved. His words. Not admired, not liked — craved. And when a vampire uses the word "crave," you take it seriously.

Hannibal could read minds too. Unlike Edward, he didn’t have to hear them all the time. He could turn it off. Said it gave him headaches. Said most people thought the same thing over and over again and it bored him to death. Literally, almost.

He only turned it on when it was necessary. Or when he was curious. Which was often. But with me, he rarely did. Said he preferred me unsolved.

“A puzzle with a pulse,” he’d once called me. “My favorite kind.”

I tore off another piece of bread and chewed.

“So,” I said, mouth full, “you guys doing the graduation party at your place again?”

He nodded, reaching across the table to pluck a piece of invisible lint from my jaw.

His fingers lingered. “Will you let me pick your suit?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

I couldn’t have cared less about the party. Graduation itself barely registered. All I wanted was for this liminal phase of my life to be over. Diploma in one hand, my undead boyfriend’s hand in the other. Everything after that could start to matter.

“Hey,” I said, nodding toward the other side of the room. “Your brother’s talking to the Isabella girl.”

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. After disappearing for a week to recompose himself, he’s finally decided to be normal about it.”

I watched Edward stand stiffly beside her table, saying something low while she looked up at him like he was about to inform her of her horoscope. The whole thing felt tense and awkward and vaguely religious.

I didn’t like the way Hannibal looked at it.

A flicker of focus. Just a moment too long.

“Hey. Come here,” I said, suddenly possessive in the way you get when your most precious thing looks away from you, even for half a second.

I reached across the table and gently turned his face back toward mine by the jaw.

“Hi,” I said.

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss me. Quiet and unbothered, lips cool and sure.

“I love you,” I whispered against his mouth.

“I love you, my soul,” he said.

God. School was such a cockblocker.

Chapter Text

On the way out, in the parking lot of Forks High, I leaned against Hannibal’s car. He stood in front of me, one hand on the hood, the other on my waist, nuzzling me like I was the only warm thing in a three-mile radius.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the Cullens doing their usual perfect-people tableau—leaning on their luxury cars, all polished skin and impeccable hair, not a single wrinkle in sight. And, obviously, not with Hannibal.

Hannibal’s family wasn’t really his family—not by blood, anyway. They were just strays Carlisle Cullen, hot doctor vampire guy, had collected over his god-knows-how-many years, a little traveling museum of immortals.

Vampires liked packs, apparently. Hannibal told me that. Still, he’d always felt like he was a step sideways from them, never completely in. He played the part, smiled in all the right moments, looked like he belonged. But I knew him. If it wasn’t for the convenience of their cover and the endless safety net they provided, he’d be gone in a heartbeat. And when we graduate he'll  go without looking back.

“Hey,” Hannibal said—more of a command than a question—pulling my attention back to him. I smiled and kissed him. People used to stare at us in the early days, but lately Edward Cullen being interested in someone was the hotter gossip.

“Dinner tonight?” I asked.

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

Hannibal didn’t need food, obviously. But he still ate. Claimed he liked human food—liked cooking it even more. Especially for me. I smiled, slipped into the passenger seat. The drive home was quiet, comfortable, his cold hand wrapped in mine like a lock.

“Hey,” I said after a while. “Find out about the girl. The new one Edward’s suddenly obsessed with.”

“Why?”

“Why? Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“It’s surprising, but no. Not that weird. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“It was?”

“Alice had a vision a while ago.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“Seemed extremely irrelevant. Still does.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’ll ask about it if you want.”

“I’m just curious. Nothing ever happens here.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Are you bored, Will?”

I smirked, rolling my eyes. “How could I ever be?” I asked, looking right at him.

Later, we had dinner. Hannibal made pappardelle with wild mushroom ragù — rich, earthy, the kind of thing that’s somehow both cozy and a little pretentious.

We ate it with wine, sitting cross-legged on a picnic cloth in the woods, LED candles flickering between us. No open flames. No burning down the forest.

It would probably be terrifying for anyone else, sitting out here in the dark, but I liked it. The noises in the underbrush. The occasional distant owl. And Hannibal’s chest to lean against, cool and solid like leaning on a marble statue. Besides, what's to be scared of when your date is the most dangerous creature out there anyway?

“We could play a little,” he said, voice low, suggestive.

I tilted my head back to look at him. “Here?!”

“We’re certainly alone.”

“Maybe in the future when I’m also like you and can’t feel cold,” I said, taking another sip of wine. “Right now I’m not dying to roll around in damp leaves. But later… in my bedroom? Where it’s nice and warm?”

He hummed in that way he does when he’s agreeing but also filing it away like a promise.

The first time we had sex, he warned me about vampire strength. About how easy it would be to break a human during these activities. My burning need didn’t care.

Turned out he was better at controlling himself than I expected, and I came out of it with just a few bruises. Funnily enough, he came out of it with more damage than me.

“You’ll make for a feisty newborn, my love,” he’d said.

We’d already decided — the turning would happen on our three-year anniversary. I’d be eighteen, graduated, and ideally far away from my dad so there wouldn’t be any awkward explaining. In spite of all the horror stories about being bitten, I wasn’t worried.

What worried me was the idea of staying human. Fragile. Mortal. Aging.

Later, in the middle of the night, after my dad had been asleep for hours, he fucked me until I passed out. I still couldn’t believe how quiet I could make myself when I needed to. I couldn’t wait for the day we lived together — just the two of us.

-

I wasn’t going to miss high school. Not even a little. I’d never made many friends here, and the only thing of value I’d gotten out of the whole ordeal was meeting Hannibal. Soon, it would all be over—and the idea of leaving didn’t sting at all. I was ready to start my own life.

The weeks were sliding by in their usual rhythm: school, then the diner or the café or the bookstore, then home, then study, then sleep. It would have been intolerably dull if it weren’t for the constant presence of my boyfriend. Sometimes he was chatty, engaging in long meandering conversations; other times, he was just there, quietly existing beside me, letting me do whatever I needed to do.

“By the way,” I said one afternoon, sprawled in Hannibal's bed with the sun just beginning to sink outside the window, “no need to bother with that thing about finding out who Edward’s girl is.”

Hannibal’s fingers slid lazily through my hair, his eyes half-focused on me. “No?”

I shook my head. “No. I thought about it and… of course he’s obsessed. If you spend a hundred years listening to everyone’s thoughts, then the second you meet someone you can’t read, of course you’re going to be intrigued. Must be like a sudden, blinding silence. Relief from the constant chatter.” I flipped a page in my biology textbook.

He hummed, almost approving. “Yes. That makes sense.”

“It’s stupid, though,” I went on. “To be fascinated just because you can’t hear someone’s thoughts. But it does seem to be the reason.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And speaking of, they’re moving fast.”

I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah? Like… they already—?”

“No, no, of course not. You know how Edward is. No, they’re moving fast in other ways. Bella’s coming over.”

“Bella? We’re on nickname terms now?”

“That’s how they call her.”

“Hm. Anyway… she’s coming over for what?”

“To meet the family.”

I laughed. “Well, good luck to ‘Bella,’ then.”

Hannibal smirked. “You did fine.”

“It was certifiably awkward.”

“Well, they requested my presence. I told them I would see with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes. If you wish to do something else, I will not attend. Or you can come with me, if you want.”

I remembered the first time I’d met the Cullens. They’d been… nice. Polite. But they weren’t particularly important to Hannibal outside of a kind of strategic convenience, so it was hard for me to connect with them beyond the standard pleasantries. Still, I’d made sure they liked me—no point in risking access issues later. The fact that I was human hadn’t thrilled them, but the knowledge I’d eventually be turned seemed to settle their concerns.

Now, the thought of watching someone else step into that awkward arena was almost entertaining. I was more than ready to witness another victim of the boyfriend’s vampire family.

“Might be funny… yeah, I’ll come.”

The Cullens had cleared out early that morning, all sleek smiles and polite excuses. “Hunting trip,” they said. Their kind of hunting — deer, elk, mountain lion — the so-called vegetarian diet. It made them smug in that low-key, pacifist way, like they were saving the world one bloody Bambi at a time.

Hannibal played along just fine. To them, he was perfectly good. Better than good. Polished manners, gentle voice, eyes that seemed incapable of malice.

What they didn’t know was that his version of “hunting” wasn’t the same. They probably thought he appreciated solitude, maybe even had some romantic notion of stalking his prey under moonlight like the tragic antihero in a Victorian novel. The truth was less poetic.

They gave us their house anyway, like they always did on hunting days, the way you might toss the newlyweds the honeymoon suite and pretend you didn’t notice what it was used for.

Hannibal’s room hadn’t even had a bed before me. It got one after we’d started whatever it was we were starting. Back then, we were just friends — or the brand of friends who traded long looks and excuses to touch. The bed arrived so I could “rest during the day” or “take afternoon naps,” as he put it, like I was a fainting Victorian bride.

It was sweet. Innocent, at least on paper. Now that same bed hosted far less innocent activities, and the best part was I didn’t have to bite my tongue through them when we were here.

I’d never been with anyone before him. Never cared to. I knew — without needing to test it — that even if I did, it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe it was the vampire thing. Maybe it was the love thing. Probably both.

With him, it was always new. Always electric and soothing at the same time. Every time, I sank a little deeper in love, like quicksand with teeth.

That night, the house silent around us, we lay side by side in the glow of a single candle that smelled faintly of beeswax. The shadows cut him into something almost sculpted, the line of his jaw dark against the light. His fingers traced patterns up my arm, following the veins like he was mapping territory. My head rested against his chest, listening to the slow, deliberate rhythm that didn’t quite match human cadence.

“When do you need to feed?” I asked into the quiet.

His hand stilled. “Don’t worry about that.”

“When?”

A pause, a sigh. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. “A few days, maybe.”

I tilted my head just enough to look at him. “Make me the spinach thingie.”

He turned, eyes catching the candlelight, and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose.

-

I woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented in that pleasant, floating way, the kind where the first thing you feel is warmth. The house was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that meant peace. Vampire quiet wasn’t real quiet—someone was always moving, talking, existing just loud enough that you could tell you weren’t alone. I’d heard my fair share of Rosalie and Emmett’s sex noises by now, which made me think there were definitely worse things than sleepless immortality.

Tonight it was just footsteps and the occasional hush of voices. Far away. Harmless.

Hannibal was right next to me, exactly where I’d left him. Eyes closed, perfectly still, but the stillness that comes from choice, not necessity. He wasn’t asleep—he never was—but he stayed anyway.

"Hey," I murmured, rolling toward him, pressing my mouth to his. His lips were cool from the air in the room, not from any lack of wanting. "This might be the only thing I’ll miss about being human."

He tilted his head slightly, almost smiling. "What? Sleeping?"

"No." My hand rested against the curve of his jaw. "Waking up next to you."

That earned me an actual smile. He kissed me again, slow, unhurried. "You could always just close your eyes for a very long time and then open them back up beside me," he said. "I do that. It’s very pleasant."

I laughed into his mouth. "Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind."

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little."

He slipped from the bed with the kind of silent grace I’d never be able to manage, even after turning. A moment later, the soft sound of the mini fridge opening, a rustle of packaging. He handed me something I knew he hated the smell of, but still kept stocked for me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, taking a bite. His expression didn’t change, but I knew the scent made his nose wrinkle internally.

Later, we ended up in the bath, the water steaming, foam gathering in little islands between us. His body was all angles and warmth against mine, my head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder. I could’ve stayed there forever, the candlelight playing on the water, the muffled hum of the world outside not mattering at all.

"I love you," I said, because not saying it felt impossible.

"I love you," he replied, and then he kissed me so many times in quick succession I had to laugh. A kiss attack, like he was trying to map my entire face with his mouth.

When I caught my breath, I asked, "Have you decided where we’re going to go after you turn me?"

"Florence," he said without hesitation. "I want to show you there, at least, even if we decide not to stay."

"Sounds good. Wherever you want."

And I meant it.

Chapter Text

"Are you picking me up later, or are we going after school?" I asked as we drifted down the hallway together, books under our arms, our steps just slightly out of sync.

"Pick you up later," Hannibal said, then amended, "Or rather—I'd like to stay with you until five. I'll drop you off, leave the car at home, then I'll come back to be with you. Then I’ll leave around five, come back with the car, and we’ll go."

I laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth as we walked. "’Kay."

It had been this way for a while now—Hannibal hovering, orbiting, almost glued to me. Not in a suffocating way. More in that quiet, mutual magnetism that made absence feel… unsafe. Strange. I couldn’t pin down why exactly, but being apart left me uneasy, like leaving a door unlocked in the middle of the night. Better to have him close. Better to have someone who could protect you from basically anything.

During PE, I ducked out and ended up on the benches, cigarette tucked between my fingers, watching the faint plume dissolve into the winter air. That’s when the Bella girl appeared, moving toward me with the kind of awkward determination of someone who’d been psyching herself up for the last ten minutes.

"Um… hi. Will, right?" she asked, stopping in front of me.

I nodded.

"Can I?" She tilted her head toward the empty spot on the bench.

I nodded again and she awkwardly sat beside me.

"I, uh… I know you’re coming. Tonight. At the Cullens’ house." She hesitated, mumbling a string of half-words before I started to lose patience.

"Right. You want… what? Vampire boyfriend tips or something?"

She gave a nervous little laugh. "I figured you’re… quite literally the only person I could ask that."

I chuckled, took a slow drag, thought about how much to say. "What do you wanna know?"

She fidgeted constantly, shifting in her seat. It was almost distracting. "Um, I don’t know, I mean… is there anything I shouldn’t do or say or…?"

"Hmm…" I exhaled smoke toward the court. "They’re generally fine. Alice is annoying as hell. Jasper’s… weird. Unsettling. Wouldn’t trust him. He was, like, a Confederate soldier or something—don’t quote me. Anyway, just remember: they look young, but they’re not. They’ve lived things we can’t even imagine. They’re pretty settled into the current times, but they’re not really from our time, so…"

She looked anxious, like she’d been rehearsing her breathing. I softened a little.

"Hey, it’s fine. They’re actually pretty chill."

She nodded quickly. "Well… I guess it’s nice to know another human will be there."

"Not for long," I said, smirking. "So enjoy my human company while it lasts."

Her brows knit. "What do you mean?"

"I’m obviously changing once I graduate."

"Oh… right. Of course."

Silence. The awkward kind.

That’s when Hannibal appeared, cutting through the air like he always did—self-contained, sure of his place in any space.

My smile found him before I did, and I looped my arms around his shoulders, kissed him like he’d been gone for weeks instead of a class period. We brushed noses, the gesture warm and instinctive.

"Hi, you," I said.

"Hi," he returned. Then, "Hello, Bella," with a polite nod.

"Hi." She smiled, tight around the edges.

"We’ll see you tonight, right?" Hannibal asked.

"Um… yeah. Yes."

He smiled, then tugged me into his lap without ceremony. Bella’s eyes lingered a little too long before she seemed to realize and made her excuses.

"What was that about?" he asked once she was gone.

"What do you think?"

"Vampire dating advice?"

I laughed, leaning into him. "Yeah."

-

H’s fingers moved through my hair in slow, confident circles, each pass loosening something in my neck I hadn’t realized was tight.

“How realistic would it be for your father to not know about us?” he asked, voice low like we were conspiring.

I let my eyes half-close and leaned into the pressure. “Not very. I mean, the whole school knows, and the school is basically half the town’s population. But…” I shrugged. “Dad’s not exactly socially active, so there’s a chance he’s still in the dark.”

“He seems weirded out by me.”

“He’s weirded out by everyone in general. Told you that a million times. Plus he respects Carlisle in that old-fashioned ‘doctors are god’ kind of way. So you get a pass, believe me.”

“Oh yes, the pass. I am well aware of it.” He bent down and pressed a kiss into my hair.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I knew how much he’d given up to be here—how much patience it took to play the long game.

Staying with the Cullens wasn’t his idea of a fulfilling existence. We talked about it a lot but it was always just conversations...He’d never complained, not once, about waiting until I turned eighteen so I could keep whatever uneasy peace existed between me and my father.

He just stayed.

The house was quiet, golden with the low light sliding through the curtains. We moved together without urgency, the day bleeding into evening, my skin warmed under his hands. When Dad’s car finally pulled into the driveway, H slipped out the window like smoke. I headed for the shower before the front door opened.

“I’m having dinner at the Cullens,” I called as I passed him in the hall.

“Okay. Are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll sleep there.”

“Did you do your homework?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Give them my regards.”

“I will. Bye, Dad.”

H’s car idled at the curb. As soon as I slid into the passenger seat, he looked at me with mock devastation.

“My beautiful soul. These forty-five minutes without you were tragic.”

I laughed, leaning across the console to kiss him.

-

The Cullens’ kitchen glowed like a magazine spread. Esme’s hair caught the light as she came toward me, warm smile in place.

“Will, sweetie, hi,” she said, kissing my cheek.

“Hi.”

“We’re making Italian tonight!”

“Great,” I said, and felt H’s fingers trace slow lines up and down my back.

I made the rounds—polite greetings, brief nods—until I caught Rosalie leaning against the counter, arms crossed, expression like she’d bitten into something sour.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

She huffed a greeting. “Yeah. Just…” She waved vaguely at the whole scene like it offended her on a structural level.

We weren’t close, but I liked her. She had a quiet ache under the armor that felt familiar.

She’d never minded me hanging around (not that I did much); I think knowing I’d be turned soon and that Hannibal wasn’t Edward made the difference. Edward was dismissive with her, Hannibal was always kind.

The front door opened.

“Oh, hi Bella!”

Everyone chimed in, telling her about the Italian night.

“Great!” she said, forcing a smile.

“She already ate,” Edward announced.

The crack of shattering glass cut the air.

Rosalie stood over the remains of the salad bowl, voice flat: “Great.”

Bella lifted her hands. “I just—I know you guys don't eat, so—”

“That was considerate of you, dear,” Esme said smoothly, before turning to Rosalie.

“Clean it up, now.”

Rosalie’s eyes flashed. “It’s incredibly dangerous for them to have a relationship,” she snapped, not looking at Bella this time but at the room as if it might take her side.

Carlisle’s tone stayed calm. “Bella understands the necessity of secrecy. We trust her.”

Esme stepped back toward the stove. “We always cook for Will when he comes. It’s nice for us, and we enjoy the activity.”

The tension settled like static in the air. I kept my face straight, but inside, I was laughing.

I ate with the kind of quiet satisfaction that only comes from not being the odd one out. Bella was the new tense presence at the table, and it made me—strangely—feel like part of the family instead of the weird outlier.

Everyone sat at the long dining table, plates warm in front of us, silverware chiming gently as Bella and I ate. Hannibal’s fingers smoothed over mine, deliberate and slow, our hands intertwined beneath the tablecloth like some secret current humming between us.

“So, Bella,” Esme asked, voice warm but measured, “what do you plan to do after you graduate? That’s getting pretty close, isn’t it?”

Bella shifted in her chair, eyes darting away for a moment. “Hmm… whatever Edward decides. I just want to be with him.” The silence after was almost polite enough to pretend it wasn’t awkward. Then she tacked on, “But… maybe Dartmouth?”

Esme’s smile didn’t waver. She nodded.

Bella’s gaze turned toward me and Hannibal. “Where are you guys going?”

I blinked at her. Wasn’t expecting to be pulled into this.

“We will go to Europe,” Hannibal answered smoothly, his tone dripping with that quiet authority he liked to lean on. “Travel for a bit. Will wants to study biology, so that too, at some point. I’m sure he will be accepted into any university he desires.”

His hand squeezed mine under the table. I could feel the smugness radiating off him.

“He certainly will,” Carlisle added with a mild, approving smile.

I felt my face warm. Hannibal liked to show me off—my intellect, my potential, all of it—and it was… different. My dad had never been the praise type, so the whole room treating me like I was something worth boasting about was still foreign.

The conversation wandered to lighter topics, names and places I didn’t hold onto. Hannibal and I drifted into our own world—exchanged looks, a few quiet whispers, fingers brushing, small caresses hidden in the folds of linen.

After dinner, I caught Bella before she left.

“Are you staying over?”

“Um, no. Edward has no bed.”

“He didn’t get a bed for you?”

She shook her head. “You have a bed here?”

“Yeah. H got one ages ago.”

Edward materialized from nowhere—arm sliding around Bella’s waist, his eyes cutting toward me in that way that always landed somewhere between a glare and an x-ray.

Hannibal was instantly beside me, his arms wrapping around my waist like he’d been summoned.

“Say good night, Will,” he said, voice calm but lined with steel. “Let’s go upstairs.”

That tone meant I want you away from this . So I went. Edward had always unsettled me.

Maybe it was because Hannibal shielded my thoughts from him—Edward didn’t like not being able to read me anymore, and his expression always showed it.

In bed, with the quiet pressing in, I commented, “Bella sounded desperate when she said she just wanted to 'be with Edward'.” I added an exaggerated, needy whine to mimic her.

Hannibal smirked like he wanted to disapprove but didn’t quite manage it.

“Don’t you feel the same about me?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “but I still want my own things. And most importantly, I’d never say something that needy at a dinner table with people I just met.”

He tickled me once in silent punishment for my manners. I laughed, and he let me collapse against him. My curls were gently stroked, over and over, until sleep pulled me under.

I woke up the way I always did — somewhere in the middle of the night, no idea what time it was, no real reason for it.

Just a thought that wouldn’t leave me alone. My eyes stayed shut when I asked, “Can vampires impregnate humans?”

Hannibal’s chuckle was low and warm in the dark. “Are you talking in your sleep?” His hand brushed my hair back, fingers finding the knots.

“No. I’m asking awake.”

“Oh.” His touch stilled, then resumed. “Well… they can, but it is highly inadvisable.”

“Why?”

“What is born is believed to be a monster.”

“More monster than monsters?”

“Yes. I personally would love to meet one of those, but in general, vampires are terrified of them.”

I hummed at that, rolled over until I’d thrown half my weight across him. My face pressed into his chest and I was already halfway gone again when he asked, “Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why, my love, you asked.”

“Oh. Um. Because of the human girl and Edward.”

“I don’t think they will be having sex any time soon.”

“No?”

“Edward is very old-fashioned.”

“Hm.” That was the last thing I managed before sleep won. His fingers never stopped moving through my hair.

In the morning, he told me the family was going to play baseball, and they’d be taking Bella.

“That’s… dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, “but it can be, as I told you before.”

The Cullens had invited me before, back when Hannibal and I first started spending real time together. He’d always refused on my behalf. Said walking into a clearing full of vampires as the only human was an invitation for trouble. Which is why most of the time, Hannibal and I would stay in. If they crossed paths with another pack, it would look wrong — too much like I was a pet. And vampires, outside the Cullens, didn’t have much tolerance for pets.

“I suppose it will be fine. I think we are the only pack in this area,” he added.

I nodded. “We’ll have the house to ourselves.”

His eyes lingered on me, assessing. “You need to feed,” I said before he could. My hands came up to frame his face.

He’d told me the truth early on — that he fed on human blood, despite the Cullens’ diet and their disdain for anyone who didn’t follow it. I’d been worried from the start they’d find out, even with him careful to disguise the scent and cover the kills. So I offered myself instead. Even though he insisted that they wouldn't actually harm him if they did find out—probably just exile him from the area.

He hesitated at first. But eventually, he couldn’t resist. We worked out a rhythm — every two or three weeks, never more often — and he kept my diet like a man managing a rare wine collection. Always checking, adjusting, making sure I stayed strong.

In the beginning, it had been purely about keeping him from hunting and risking exposure. Then we did it for the first time.

I’d thought it would hurt. Or that it would feel like something sharp and cold and alien. But it was nothing like that. The moment his mouth closed over my skin, a heat unfurled under my ribs — not a literal warmth, more like a weighted blanket settling over every nerve, muting the world into a soft hum. A white noise I wanted to sink into forever.

Addictive didn’t even begin to cover it.

Tonight, he drew me in without a word. My back met his chest, and his hands skimmed under my shirt, anchoring me there. His breath was deliberate against the nape of my neck before his mouth found the spot just beneath my hairline.

The bite came slowly. Not a jolt, not a rush — just a gradual pressure, a seal, then the pull. My eyes slid shut. Every muscle went slack. The room felt farther away.

He fed like he had all night to do it, drawing just enough, pausing when my heartbeat stuttered, letting me float without falling. His thumb stroked slow circles over my ribs.

By the time he pulled back, my head had tipped to one side, hair falling over the marks. He smoothed it down, as though sealing me back together.

The room was heavy with silence, my breath still slow and uneven from the feeding. I was just slipping deeper into that warm, quiet haze when I heard it — faint fussing downstairs, a voice calling out sharply:

Hannibal’s name.

My eyes snapped open. My heart jolted, muscles tensing.

Hannibal stirred beside me, eyes already open, alert. He pressed a finger softly to my lips and slipped off the bed, light as a shadow.

“Will,” he whispered back, voice calm but urgent. I didn’t move. He paused, then returned, getting a backpack, his hand grasping my wrist firmly.

“Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

“What? What happened?” Panic prickled through me.

He didn’t answer, just tugged me up. “Tell you on the way. Hold on to me.”

My fingers curled around the back of his neck as he launched us through the window, into the chill of the night. The wind slapped my face, heart pounding so loud it filled my ears. The world became a blur of rushing trees, the steady grip of Hannibal beneath me the only thing tethering me to reality.

Minutes stretched on—twenty, maybe more. I was dizzy, my legs weak. When we finally slowed, I collapsed, head spinning, onto the forest floor.

Hannibal caught me before I hit hard earth, cradling me like I weighed nothing. “Will. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, brushing my curls aside and kissing my forehead. “I wanted to get us far away but I forgot you’re not used to this kind of flight. Forgive me.”

He reached into the bag strapped across his chest and pulled out a small pill, pressing it into my palm. I swallowed it gratefully and felt the edges of nausea and dizziness soften slowly.

“Tell me,” I begged, breathless, sitting against him. “What’s going on? Did they find out about you? Are they coming for you?”

“No, no,” Hannibal’s lips brushed my knuckles. “It’s not about me. The baseball game. They crossed another pack. Chaos broke loose. Now there’s a vampire hunting Bella. The Cullens are going to chase him down before he reaches her.”

I let out a shaky breath, relief washing through me. “Oh… okay. So, what now?”

“I’m not sure. They asked for my help, but I told them I couldn’t risk it because of you. You’re still human, so they didn’t take offense. But Rose was furious about the situation.” His voice tightened at the memory.

“I can imagine.” I squeezed his arm.

We stayed like that for a long time — me leaning into him, drinking in the steady warmth until my head cleared.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Carsborg,” he said quietly. “Only seventy kilometers from Forks. I have a hideaway here.”

“You do?”

“I made it years ago. Just in case.”

The lodge was small but cozy, a world away from the dark and danger we’d just escaped. Hannibal had secrets the Cullens never knew — old powers, witchcraft from Lithuania, where he was born. I didn’t understand most of it, but I trusted him.

“They can’t come in here. We’re safe,” he said, handing me a glass of water.

I hesitated. “Babe… shouldn’t we bring Bella here? I mean—”

“No.” His tone was firm, almost sharp. Then he softened. “The other vampire has her scent, he's a tracker, and even though he can’t enter here, I don’t want him near you. I’m not involving you in their mess. It’s too risky. I could kill him, sure, but that would still put you in unnecessary danger.”

I nodded, trying to accept it. “Well… maybe you could do a protection spell for her somewhere, at least?”

“Will.” He sighed, then looked at me tenderly. “My heart, it takes several animal sacrifices and a specific astrological configuration to perform that spell.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” I felt foolish.

“That’s fine. Just drink this and try to settle.” He lifted the glass again.

I exhaled and reached out. “Come lay with me.”

He didn’t hesitate, slipping beneath the covers, wrapping his arms tight around me.

“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured into my hair. “They were reckless. Idiotic. You don’t deserve to feel afraid because of them. Or anyone.”

I turned to look at him, my heart full despite the fear. Slowly, I kissed him.

“Thank you for keeping me safe.”

-

I chewed lazily on a slice of pear Hannibal had packed, the juice slipping down my fingers. He’d packed the little plate like we were on some casual picnic—fruit, cheese, a few crackers—nothing heavy. My stomach wasn’t asking for much after what had just happened.

We stayed in the quiet of the lodge, curtains half-drawn, the day stretching thin.

Hannibal read for a while, the turn of each page sounding louder than it should have. I drifted in and out of sleep on the couch, my head against his thigh, the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional brush of his hand through my hair keeping me anchored.

The hours bled together.

By the time Hannibal’s phone buzzed, the light outside had gone that dull, grayish blue that comes before night. He read the screen, his eyes still, then passed it to me without a word.

Alice’s text was short. He’s dead. Bella’s hurt. Hospital in Arizona.

I shifted upright. “Are we going?”

“No.” He didn’t even glance up from tucking the phone away. “Carlisle says James had a partner. She wasn’t there when they killed him.”

“So she’s still out there.”

“Mm.” His gaze slid toward me, patient and unflinching. “Which means she might be watching. We can’t risk being anywhere near Edward or Bella until you’ve changed. I don't want this woman associating you with them.”

I leaned back, the pear slice limp in my hand. “You think she’s after them?”

“I think she will be, if she isn’t already.” He smoothed the cuff of his sleeve like we were discussing a dinner reservation. “Avoid them.”

I let out a slow breath, the quiet between us heavier now, as if the house itself was listening. Outside, the sky kept dimming, and the air felt like it was holding its breath too.

We left not long after. The forest felt heavier on the way out, the air damp and still, like the trees were holding their breath.

Hannibal’s hand was warm around mine the whole way back, steadying in that way he does without saying a word.

At home, the quiet was almost too much. I dropped onto the couch, still feeling the cold in my fingers. Hannibal shrugged out of his coat and said, like it was just another piece of housekeeping, “Bella is fine. She’ll be back tomorrow. I sent best wishes from both of us.”

That made my chest feel lighter for half a second, then heavy again. “Mayne we should’ve been there. We're not close, but I don't know, it was pretty awful.”

“I know,” he said, “but it was safer this way.” He lingered near the kitchen doorway, watching me. “Victoria, they said her name was, has never seen you, but if she sees you with Bella… she may connect you to her. Edward believes she’ll be after them, not you, but I would rather not give her reason to consider otherwise.”

I rubbed my palms over my face. “Yeah, I know, you said so. So we’re hiding from someone who’s not even looking for me.”

“We are avoiding giving her a reason to,” he corrected.

He crossed the room, sat down beside me. “Which brings me back to what I said before. When you turn eighteen, I would like to turn you then. Not after graduation. Your birthday's in just a few months, graduation's only a year from now. With the recent events I think we should reconsider—”

There it was again. “I think I can handle a year.”

“I don’t wish to leave you vulnerable that long,” he said.

I leaned over, kissed him, and let my forehead rest against his. “I’m not dying in the next year. It’s fine.”

He didn’t agree out loud, but I could feel him not agreeing.

-

Hannibal’s fingers were in my hair, slow and steady, the kind of touch that makes your brain go half-liquid. I kept my eyes on the homework in front of me, but my pen was mostly just making loops that looked like they belonged in a ransom note.

“You’re about to get company,” he said, voice low against my ear.

Before I could ask, the weight next to me shifted and he was already at the window, gone without so much as a whisper from the curtains.

A knock. The door opened just enough for Dad to lean in, say, “Hey, kid,” and close it again. That was it. No questions, no comments.

The window creaked and Hannibal slid back in like he’d been waiting just outside for the all-clear.

“So?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Didn’t seem to mind I was gone.”

“That’s neglectful,” he teased, smiling.

I gave him a look that was supposed to kill a conversation. “He knows I was with you.”

“Doesn’t like me but trusts his son with me… alright.”

I rolled my eyes. “I already told you, he doesn’t have anything against you. He’s like that with everyone. Plus he doesn’t trust you, he trusts Carlisle.”

“Ah yes,” Hannibal said, stretching the words, “good Doctor Carlisle and his pristine reputation.” He rolled his eyes, which for him is basically performance art.

I let it drop. His hand drifted to my back, scratching lazily in a way that made my eyelids feel heavier with every pass. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but at some point I stopped pretending to be awake.

Later that week, Hannibal took me up into the mountains. The air was sharp and clean, smelling of pine and snowmelt. We spread out a blanket on a flat rock that still carried the day’s warmth. Above us, the sky was a black ocean spilling with stars—so many it felt indecent.

Hannibal had somehow packed a dinner that belonged in a glass-walled restaurant, not a backpack. Seared duck breast with orange glaze, still warm, slices fanned beside roasted root vegetables and a small loaf of bread so perfect it looked staged. He poured wine into metal cups like we were at some backwoods Michelin tasting.

I leaned back against him, my arms draped over his thighs. His chest was a solid, unmoving wall at my back. I closed my eyes, let the cold air wrap around me, and just… existed for a while. My shoulders unhitched.  My lungs remembered how to fill. I could’ve stayed there forever.

“I’m going to miss your heartbeat,” he said quietly.

I twisted to look at him, smiling but pouting.“Don’t say that.” I kissed the curve of his neck, tasting wine and skin.

I tried not to think about it—how changing might change things for him. Not the love, but the small human details he liked. The warmth in my skin. The way my pulse jumped when he touched me.

When we first became friends, years ago, he used to act like he was freezing, just so I’d shrug off my jacket and put it around him. Later I found out it was never about the jacket. He just liked holding something that carried my heat.