Chapter Text
The next several months went on without mention of the kiss. Hannibal held many more events; he had almost completed her color rotation, though the suits never repeated. After blue and green, it was creme, then violet, blush, black, and finally a deep vermillion. Vermillion was always last as it correlated with the holiday season.
***
Tonight, Hannibal was wearing vermillion. Holly ran down the rail of the stairs. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. A gargantuan tree loomed in the corner of the ballroom, decorated with beautiful glass ornaments. The smell of pine drifted through the whole house, filling Hannibal with a nostalgic itch close to innocence and excitement.
Hannibal was seated like a king in the soft leather chair, posture straight as an arrow, face split with a wry grin. The gas lamps that usually lit the library were extinguished and replaced by candles, making the room dim, romantic even. The flickering light cast harsh shadows on Hannibal; he looked ravishing.
“Did you get me a Christmas gift?” he asked Will, eyes glaring.
“In a way,” Will smirked at him.
He gasped like a child, “Did you really?”
Will pulled a black velvet jewelry box out of his suit pocket. Hannibal gingerly took it into his hands, opening it with cautious hands. It was a slip of paper—a ticket.
Hannibal’s face fell into a severe expression, “Will.”
Will stood up from his chair, kneeled before Hannibal, and took Hannibal’s hand into his, “Come with me.”
“Will,” Hannibal said again, suddenly breathless, vision blurring.
“Charlotte is fine. Her husband passed away months ago. It’s time for me to leave. And I want you to come with me, Hannibal.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
Hannibal stood up, ripping his hand from Will’s, and turned away, “No.”
“What?” Will said quietly.
“No. I won’t go with you.”
“Why not?” he was raising his voice now, sadness edging into his tone.
“Will, I am married,” he says like a mother scolding her child, “I have a life here.”
“What life?” he pauses to take a breath, “You have no life here.”
“How dare you,” Hannibal is suddenly very quiet; it is not a question.
"I could give you more than this," Will pleads.
He whips around, looking him in the eyes, “Why must I want more!”
Hannibal’s yelling now, voice crescendoing; he’s loud enough that the whole party would hear him if there were not a small orchestra playing downstairs. He does not care.
Will takes a deep gulp of air, “Tell me why. Do you not feel the way I feel?”
“Will, I can’t,” his voice is barely audible.
“Yes, you can. I know what is said about people like us. They beat us, spit on us, Hell, they’d kill us given the chance. I don’t care,” Will starts rambling, “Please. I know you want to.”
Hannibal turns back toward the window, looking into the still night, “Get out.”
“Hannibal,” Will pleads.
“Get out, Will.”
He turns to leave, dress shoes scuffing across the wooden floor. He pauses in the doorway, the light from the hallway casting dark shadows over his figure.
“I do love you,” Will says, no louder than a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Hannibal hears him take a step.
“I know, Will.”
Will says nothing, but Hannibal hears a soft, broken exhale and the click of his shoes as he recedes down the hallway.
***
My Dearest, Hannibal,
I have married. She’s nice. Lovely, even. Nothing like you.
With all my love,
Will