Chapter Text
Will Graham was a man who liked routine.
His alarm would go off at the same time every day, he’d roll out of bed in a groggy haze to dress himself before feeding his dogs and eating a slice of slightly burnt toast for his own nourishment, and be ready for work within twenty minutes. He’d be in his car by seven and start the drive from his small cottage in Wolftrap to Baltimore, and on the way he’d stop by the same cafe every time and get the same coffee. Two sugars, no milk.
He may not have liked that routine, but it was the one he lived by, and as long as it went smoothly he felt in control, secure of his life and surroundings, it was something to cling to and a form of stability to know that every day would be a carbon copy of the other with only occasion small changes. He’d always wake up to the same thing.
Everyday.
But it was one cloudy Monday that smelt of a coming storm that Will Graham’s most loathed nightmare became true. It came in the form of a slick black Bentley, with polished rims and a pretentious air that made Will’s teeth set themselves on edge as he glared past the rim of his glasses at the abomination. And it was parked in his parking space.
Now, Will Graham was a fairly reasonable person and in any other scenario he would have just calmly found another one, but it wasn't the first time that day that his routine had been broken. His boss, one Jack Crawford, had called him in early to consult on a case, which seemed to have caused a chain reaction. Will thought nothing could get any worse after finding he was nearly out of dog food and had no clean socks, but obvious he was wrong.
And right now, all he wanted to do was to scrape the ugly brown door of his car right up against that assholes rich-ass flashy paint job. The thought made him smile, but it quickly slipped off his face when he remembered his friend Alana’s words about ‘controlling his temper’. Instead, Will Graham found another parking spot, went inside and got his coffee (The person who had made it hadn't stirred it, leaving it disgustingly bitter) and drove to work.
The rest of his day went roughly, everything seemed off and little things that he normally wouldn't mind drove himself insane; the whispers between two of his students in the back, the tap of a pencil on a desk, hell, even breathing had him snapping.
It was that night while in bed after one of the worst days he’d had in months that he rationalized that tomorrow would be better, that his morning would go as usual, he’d get to work and teach, he’d get his coffee the way he liked it. And that fucking Bentley wouldn't be in his parking spot.
By the end of the week Will was ready to tear his hair out. His routine had been completely torn to shreds and thrown out of the window. Every day, something different and more irritating happened, but everyday had something in common; that fucking car. All rational thoughts gone, Will was pissed, he wasn't getting sleep, Jack was pushing him beyond his breaking point, he’d been rude to both his friends and dogs, and was just begging to snap at somebody over how shitty his week had been.
He hadn't had one this bad since last year, when his mind was still plagued by Encephalitis, and the thought of that had him even more riled up. And right now the asshole who drove the Bentley seemed like the perfect person to let this all out on. As he pulled up to the café early Saturday morning –he was working a fucking Saturday- he took a moment to stop and think about what he was planning to do. Was he going to leave a note under the windshield wipers? It seemed like a dick move, cowardly posing behind a piece of paper with angry words on it. Confrontation didn’t seem like the best option either, but at this point Will didn’t care.
As he though over what he could possibly say, he glanced up to see a man holding a coffee approaching the Bentley with his back to Will and unlock it. Having no more time to think, Will took action, hopping out his car and slamming the door, he rushed over past three cars to where the man was, approaching him from behind. Will’s eyes ran over the polished oxfords, the pristine state of his dark slacks, the long black jacket and the fancy parting of his hair. Hell, the bastard even had leather driving gloves on. “Hey, you, hold on a second.” Will said, his tone coming out with a coldness that made him proud. It had been exactly what he’d been going for.
He was a few feet from the man, staying up on the curb to face him, a poor attempt of dominance over height, seeing as the man appeared to be taller than Will by a few inches. The man straightened from leaning in the car door when he heard Will apparently addressing him, turning to look over at him.
Oh fuck.
Will felt his mouth open unintelligibly as he stared, and the man’s lips curled slightly as if he knew exactly what had made Will stop. His eyes are what caught Will’s attention first, deep set and a dark maroon color that seemed even darker by his tanned skin. Haughty cheekbones and sharp nose stood out like they were made of marble, and his thin lips seemed almost too perfect for the smile that would make the Mona Lisa proud curled across them.
“Yes?” The man said, his eyebrows raising slightly as his eyes flicked to Will’s mouth, which he realized was still open. Closing it to swallow, Will awkwardly cleared his throat and ignore the way the man’s eyes traveled briefly to the exposed skin of his neck before up his face and finally to his eyes. Pointing his finger at the man’s car Will spoke, “You’re kinda in my parking spot.” Something about this man, whether it was his air of respect and slyness, made Will reevaluate chewing him out for the deed.
The man turned to look almost comically at and around his car. “I do not see a name anywhere.” Will felt his face get warmer as he refused to meet the other’s gaze, which burned like a poker into his face. With no idea what to say, he decided to look anywhere but those penetrating maroon eyes. Clearing his throat again, Will ignored the feeling of sandpaper his tongue had taken on to say. “That’s a Bentley Arnage isn’t it?”
“Yes it is.” The owner of the car replied, seeming surprised by Will's answer, but not commenting on how he changed the subject.
“6.8 L or 6.75 L?” Will asked, wondering if the man driving the car knew. Will took a minute to look over how well the car matched the man- sleek, dark, prideful and pretentious- and dead sexy. “6.75 L.” He said, leaning against the open door.
“You are interested in engines?”
“Boats mostly, but, uh, yeah I know a few things about car engines.” Will said, trying to ignore the way his face was heating up under the man’s intense yet curious gaze.
“Well Mr…” He trailed off as he straightened and stepped back to close the car door, the action making Will swallow as the man took a step towards Will. “Graham.” Will filled in for him. “Will Graham.”
“Well, Mr. Graham, I will try to avoid taking your parking spot in future times.” He said, his tone keeping an amused edge whilst approaching Will, who even standing on the curb was the same height as the man. “Thanks.” Will said, looking anywhere but the dark eyes that seemed to be trying to meet his own. There was barely a foot between them, but still even then the other man offered his hand to Will. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” Will shook his hand against his own better judgement, knowing if he didn’t it would be blatant disrespect. Even through the leather the Hannibal’s driving glove, he could feel the warmth and strength in the long fingers. If Will had to take a guess he’d say the man probably played piano.
“What kind of Doctor are we talking about here?” Will said in a casual tone. “The ‘vaccine your kids’ or the ‘I have six GEDs in massages’ kind?”
Hannibal Lecter gave a huff of laughter at Will’s dry humor as his smile grew. “Psychiatrist.”
Of fucking course. Will Graham never seemed to catch a break at this rate. He should have guessed. And some of seemed to show on his face.
“Is something wrong?”
“No nothing just…” Will trailed off, finding himself staring at the doctors lips. He hadn’t noticed how close they stood and shuffled back, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I just don’t work well with psychiatrists.”
“Is that so?” Hannibal said, actually seeming more interested.
“Like cats and dogs.” Will grumbled dryly, well aware that Hannibal Lecter could see the dog hair that was laden over his clothes, seeming to be forever ingraved between his fingers or through the hemming of his jeans. Hannibal didn’t have a speck on him, and didn’t seem to be the type of person to have a pet. Hannibal’s smile widened, and Will caught a hint of sharp teeth. “That is quite unfortunate because I was going to ask if you’d like to have coffee sometime this week with me Mr. Graham.”
Will stared, completely floored. The guy he’d just gone to bitch out for taking his stupid parking spot that wasn’t even technically his , just embarrassed him and then asked him out. Opening his mouth, Will lacked anything to say and ended up spilling the first words that came to mind out of his mouth.“I hate cat people.”
This time, when Hannibal smiled, it was all teeth, and it made Will think back to when he was watching Shark Week months earlier, the way those teeth were bared feigned innocent but hide a predator. It made Will want to turn tale and run as much as it make him want to get as close as possible. “And I dislike dog people. I think we will get along just fine Mr. Graham.”
When Will Graham got home, he went straight to his room, placing Hannibal Lecter’s business card on his bedside table within reach as he crawled under his sheets.
He called in sick that day. He deserved the sleep anyway.