Chapter Text
Will’s breathing carried through the line.
Soft. Measured. Close.
He didn’t speak right away.
He had a way of doing that, letting the silence stretch just long enough that she filled it herself. She didn’t realize he was doing it.
“You sound tired,” she said gently.
A pause.
Then, faintly amused, “Do I?”
The corner of her mouth lifted despite herself. She could picture him: head tilted, eyes half-lidded, that distant, wounded look he wore like a second skin.
“You do,” she said. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Her voice softened without permission.
It always did with him.
There it was again, that old hallway feeling. Fluorescent lights. Lockers. Waiting for the phone to ring. Her body recognized the rhythm before her mind did.
Waiting for him to choose her.
Will exhaled slowly, like she’d just touched something fragile.
“I don’t pretend with you, Alana.”
Her pulse stuttered.
God.
She hated how easily he could do that.
Across the counter, her coffee had gone cold. She hadn’t touched it a while. Her whole body was tuned to the cadence of his voice instead.
“You worry too much about me,” he added, softer now. “You always have.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It sounded fond.
Affectionate.
The way someone might talk about a habit they secretly like.
Her throat tightened.
“I just—” she stopped, embarrassed by how earnest she sounded. “I don’t think you’re as safe there as you say you are.”
A small hum from him. Thoughtful.
“You think I need supervision?”
“I think you need someone who puts you first.”
The words slipped out before she could dress them up professionally.
Too personal.
Too naked.
But he didn’t retreat.
If anything, his voice warmed.
“That sounds like an offer.”
Her stomach flipped.
She felt sixteen again, with heart in her throat. Perhaps she was ovulating, the warmth in her chest. Nervousness pulsing up. And down.
She could almost see Daniel leaning against the lockers, half smiling, making her work for every scrap of attention.
Intermittent reinforcement.
She knew the term now. She knew all the tricks now.
It didn’t help.
“You know what I mean,” she said quietly, gently letting her hand stroke her upper arm in comfort.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
She imagined him considering her. Weighing her.
It made her chest ache. The lingering throb of sudden desire brought heat to her cheeks. Will did have a nice voice she thought, leaning on a wall.
“Maybe,” he said at last, “things would be different if I’d met you a long time ago,” he confessed tiredly.
Her breath caught.
The sentence slid straight under her ribs.
Terrible. Dangerous. Intimate.
It felt like being singled out in a crowded room.
Like being chosen.
She pressed her palm flat to the counter to steady herself.
“Will…”
Her voice barely held.
“You deserve something gentler,” she said. “Not… whatever this is.”
He laughed under his breath.
Not mocking.
Private. Knowing.
“Gentle,” he repeated, like he was testing the word. “I always thought you were the gentle one.”
Her chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.
She didn’t hear the thread beneath it. The careful placement. The way every phrase kept her leaning forward, wanting to rescue, wanting to be necessary.
Didn’t notice how precisely he mirrored her language back to her.
Need. Safety. Gentle.
He handed her exactly what she’d been primed to crave since she was a teenager.
On the other end of the line, Will sat very still, leaning on the bedframe with the phone held to his ear.
Listening.
Measuring.
His voice never wavered.
“Me?,” she murmured.
“Yes,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “ You care for everybody. It doesn’t have to be so hard for you all the time. ”
For a moment, she didn’t answer.
And the silence bloomed again, that terrible, electric waiting. Her heart beat louder.
Then, softly:
“I like talking to you, Alana.” Will said.
It was almost a confession.
Her knees weakened against the cabinet.
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “You make me feel… understood.”
The word landed like a promise.
She smiled, helpless and bright, staring out at the yard like the world had just tilted in her favor.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said. “Anytime. I mean it.”
“I know,” he replied gently.
And he did.
“I’m glad you called,” he added, low and warm.
Her heart fluttered, stupid and young and hopeful.
“So am I,” she said.
Outside, the dogs barked.
Inside, she leaned into the counter, smiling to herself like a girl who’d finally gotten the call back.
And miles away, Will let the silence stretch one last time, placing a hand on top of Hannibal's head, the man diligently bobbing his head and sucking his dick with gliding, delicious rhythm and soft tongue.
Will smiled, catching a shadow of dark jealousy as Hannibal looked up, drowning in lust and hunger of his own creation.