A Milliways week; two months outside. Time is strange around this place.
And the instant the door shuts, the ice cracks and he's leaning on Villiers hard, palms pressed flat to his chest, eyes still damp from hysterical tears.
It's not that he was hiding it, out there. Hannibal can't feel this strongly in public.
But now there's no one here-- only himself and his lover, Villiers, wonderful Villiers with his ready hands and ready kindness, and if Hannibal could ever cry it would be on this man's shoulder.
Arms wrap around Hannibal's slight form without hesitation, easily, warm and steady.
They can stay here as long as he needs.
Hands, soothing at his back, nose buried against hair, offering this small comfort. Hannibal needs to cry it out. For some reason, Villiers suspects it's been pent up for far too long.
Comments 77
And the instant the door shuts, the ice cracks and he's leaning on Villiers hard, palms pressed flat to his chest, eyes still damp from hysterical tears.
It's not that he was hiding it, out there. Hannibal can't feel this strongly in public.
But now there's no one here-- only himself and his lover, Villiers, wonderful Villiers with his ready hands and ready kindness, and if Hannibal could ever cry it would be on this man's shoulder.
So he does, silently, half joy and all pain.
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They can stay here as long as he needs.
Hands, soothing at his back, nose buried against hair, offering this small comfort. Hannibal needs to cry it out. For some reason, Villiers suspects it's been pent up for far too long.
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For being there. For helping.
For all of it, in the end.
For... love.
Because that's what they have, isn't it?
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It's there, glowing brightly, burning softly, in the way that Villiers hushes Hannibal with murmured nothings and a tighter hug.
Maybe, just maybe, those nightmares will fade.
He hopes they do, for Hannibal's sake.
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