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Will knows he shouldn't have kept it.
That damned picture.
He knows.
Has repeatedly whacked himself over the head for it.
Knows he should have given it back, not held onto it for safekeeping, profiling, or any other excuse he's been repeatedly telling himself over time.
But he didn't have Hannibal's perfect photographic memory, nor the patience to construct a palace so elaborate in his mind like the man so effortlessly does. So he needed concrete proof upon seeing that image. Something he can hold onto.
Thank Pazzi for handing him that photo.
He literally felt his eyes sparkle upon setting his sights on it. He had to try his best and feign his look of disinterest as Pazzi forgot about the picture and droned on and on about Il Mostro.
And then the photo suspiciously found itself sliding into his jacket pocket.
Will couldn't help it. He was just so...taken with the image. Something so attractive and elusive about a frowning young Hannibal in a black suit, with slicked back hair and a bright future ahead of him as he looked down at the camera. An upcoming brilliant surgeon and serial killer.
Will loved him in that photo. Disinterested, detached, and dangerous.
Sue him, he might have had a type.
But he'd never tell his husband that. The teasing and smugness he would have to endure once Hannibal knows he'd been keeping it---gods, the mortification? He'd much rather get stabbed all over again.
Will could just picture it, his arrogant asshole of a husband walking around the house, face pasted with that self-assured smug smile, preening and parading and all that peacocking bullshit, looking like he does when he's just done a very elaborate cannibalistic pun.
All because Will couldn’t be bothered to throw out the photo, admittedly blown away by the handsome and dashing young mug only someone like Hannibal could possess.
Oh god, if Hannibal could read his thoughts, he would be insufferable.
So Will saves himself the painstaking endurance of a preening cannibal in the house by hiding the damned photo, down to the depths of his old stuff where he hoped Hannibal never reached once he gets bouts of spring cleaning fever whenever the fuck he feels like it.
Of course, it fails.
Because said neat freak was also a nosy, insufferable partner and didn’t hesitate to dig his greedy hands on Will’s boxes the moment he stumbled upon them.
“You dug through my stuff,” Will grits, watching the smug cannibal flip the photo over his hands with a twinkle in his eye.
“Apologies,” says Hannibal, not sounding the least bit sorry, the little shit, “I assumed you would’ve liked for me to sort your items.”
When would I ever, Will bit back and moved to snatch the photo.
"That's mine," Will snarls, shocking them both.
Only to realize he's done more than fucked up.
Majorly. Big time.
Hannibal looked back at him with a barely-contained toothy grin, a fang peeking out while mirth and smugness danced in his eyes.
"Wait---no---"
"Why of course, darling. I'll only ever be yours," he purrs.
"That's not what I meant!"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
Then Hannibal pets his hair and avoids the swipe Will almost gets him with.
The following days later, Will noticed it.
Would've been pretty darn blind if he hadn't.
At first it was the little things. The new spring in his husband's step, the added flourish in his knife when he makes his obnoxious dishes, the unmasked glee in his eyes or the bitten lip with Will's favorite fang when he looks at Will. Or when he's staring off into the distance and smiling dopily with his hands behind his back.
"For fuck's sake, Hannibal." Will groans. "Stop."
"Hm?" Hannibal looks at him, sighing dreamily, wistfully.
"Please pretend that picture fiasco never happened."
"What picture fiasco?"
"The one that's obviously making you like this!"
"Ohhh," Hannibal looked delighted. "The one where I'm handsome and you got possessive over my photo?"
"Fuck you."
Hannibal grins.
Will weakly points at him. "Please forget it. Wipe it from your memory. Burn its room down in your mind palace or whatever."
"Of that, I shall regretfully decline, my love."
"Regretful, my ass." Will grumbles.
Then came the behaviors that grated on Will's nerves. Like the predatory glint in his husband's eyes when he was in the mood.
It freaked Will out, made him feel that his husband would pounce on him anytime with a bone saw and serve him up for dinner. The only positive to it was Will knew to skedaddle the moment his husband looks at him the way he would serve long pig to unsuspecting guests.
Then came the looming.
Like a cat in the shadows, Hannibal would peek from corners and thresholds and disappear, or seemingly appear out of nowhere with the same knowing smile, then walk away. His spooking tactics were definitely top-notch, unsurprising for a serial killer who relied on pulling the rug for his victims.
"What the fuck, Hannibal!" Will cried one time when he awoke to Hannibal sitting in the dark watching him, with his maroon eyes glowing and the same predatory smile and crescent eyes painting his face.
"Go to sleep, Will," he whispered, interlocking his fingers in his lap.
Will did not go to sleep until Hannibal was asleep after that.
And then there was the groping.
"Hannibal, stop mauling my ass." Will grunts into his pillow, already halfway into sleep one night.
Hannibal, seemingly using Will's ass as a stress ball, simply hums and looks up from beside him, saying "hm?" and did it harder.
"You're not a cat! Stop kneading my ass!" Will swatted him with a pillow.
If it wasn't in the bedroom, then even passing him by the hallways were the ghostly touches, a squeeze here, a caress there, a hand on his ass or fingers by his crotch. Like a damn perverted cannibal.
Then came the chases. The tackles. Hannibal was turning his husband into a goddamn sports ball as his way to express his uncontainable glee.
Hannibal blocked the doorway to the outside, smiling. "Where else would you go, beloved?"
Will sprinted. Hannibal tackled him onto the living room carpet for ravishing.
The morning after, the photo was framed and sitting pretty on their bedside table. Next to Will's head.
"For a good morning," Hannibal says while restocking their lube.
Will may have threatened to beat his ass. Violently. Non-sexually. Hannibal was still thrilled.
It was during a night when Hannibal had trapped Will underneath him and used him as a cushion that the cannibal finally expressed the one repeating thought on his mind.
"You had a crush on me."
Will huffs, throwing his head back against a pillow. Still, his hands found themselves softly scratching at the scalp of a certain smug cannibal looking up at him from his resting place on the man's chest. "Oh don't be so full of yourself." Will deadpans.
Hannibal, in a majestic display of not being himself, rolled his eyes. Will gasped in disbelief. If his husband went any further, he would definitely be kicking his feet in the air or purring in contentment.
"Why else then would you keep my photo?"
Will scowls. Hmp. "It's not a crush!"
But Hannibal seems to know better than that. He preens. Then presses a hard kiss on Will's cheek.
"Hannibal---!"
Hannibal pulls back to grin warmly at him, and Will felt his heart swoop at how boyish and charming his husband looked. His fringe fell over his eyes. Oh damn. "You..."
"I love you, mylimasis." Hannibal murmurs warmly.
Will frowns. Blushes and looks away.
"Love you, too." He mumbles back.