Chapter Text
Will Graham can see the sky above his head, and name each and every one of the constellation. The moon is wide and full, surrounded by the cosmos, and reflecting the sun’s light all over the land. The water is cold, and the wind is low. He is peaceful, in suspension, floating in the ocean all alone, eyes half-closed. He waits for a moment, watching ghosts above his head, until he finds the desire to move.
He’s carried by the motion of the waves, until the currents warm up, then he swims for a long time, without ever feeling tensed or pained, or tired. The ocean stretches everywhere until suddenly there is land, and so he ferries himself towards a rocky shore.
He crawls onto pebbles and shells, fingers gracing at powder and dust, shards and bits of twigs. Even leafs, although there are no trees around. He drags his heavy body out of the reef crest and there lies Hannibal, still, and dry, one hand over his breasts, watching the stars above him. His chest rises and falls in a slow pace, and his hand follows. His shirt is bloodied and torn, he is missing both of his shoes and carries only one sock.
Will lays by his side in sopping noises and ragged frictions. His clothes are no better, they show the marks of his travels. He closes his eyes for a moment and he breathes, catches the saline mists of the early hours of the day, the smell of sweat, of algae and then the rumbling brine. He is cold, and shivers under the breeze. Will blinks, and then he narrows his eyes slightly.
“I tried to shut down the sound of your voice in my head for so long.” It’s a whisper, barely a thought in his mind. “…Until it was gone. Then I realized…”
He listens. Hannibal’s breathing changes just a slight, as acknowledgement.
“I didn’t want it to be gone anymore.”
He pulls his head back, stretches his neck, leaving his throat opened. He exhales all of the starlight still clustered in his lungs.
“It’s the end of summer. You can see the Lyra, and the Sagittarius constellations.” Will tries to etch a smile. “Its brightest stars are easy to recognize as they form a teapot. The milky way is at its densest around it, and it contains the lagoon nebula, which appears grey on a telescope, but is actually pink.”
He pauses, out of breath. Still he feels no pain, as if the salted water has healed his body of all wounds and scars.
“Five months since we fell.”
“It could be any summer. Past, present or future. A lifetime more. Or less.” Hannibal says and Will’s entire body warms up. “How many days does it take to reconstruct an entire universe.”
Above their head, the sky is moving. The stars travel the cosmos, burn and die and birth galaxies; celestial objects are suspended at the tail of comets, spiralling out of control and passing them over. Maybe, one day, they will meet one they recognize.
Will is lying down, holding in his mind all the secrets of the universe. He pulls his chest up with his shoulder, wincing at the effort, and turns towards Hannibal. He let one hand glide along his chest, takes a hold of his shirt, and pulls himself over. The touch makes them both shiver. Hannibal is cold, they both are. Hannibal talks of resurrection but Will reaches for his mouth and silences him with a kiss. It tastes of salt water and linden tea.