Rated M because of explicit slash content. Additional warnings: minor references of canon typical violence, explicit imagery of alcohol consumption, minor references of hetero-sex, and coarse language. If you need more specific warnings, feel free to ask me in a private message to send those to you personally before you read the story.

Thanks so much to The-blackfirewolf for the wonderful betawork and to Nessarose for her awesome help.

Chapter 1: Cold

Hannibal sits down beside the dining table, placing his coffee in front of him. Will has already been sitting by the table in his dull gray, faded t-shirt and blue jeans, sipping his coffee mutely. He doesn't greet the older man, even though this is the first time they have seen each other this morning. Lately, they spend their mornings in silence around one another.

Hannibal takes his spoon to add some brown sugar, but when he sees the way Will is staring over his shoulder through the window glass, with a worn-out, empty look blurring the light blue of his irises, without even noticing the other man in the room, the doctor can't hold back a remark. "You've spoiled the coffee again. I can smell it." When this is not enough to draw a reply from his partner, Hannibal continues talking, "I told you umpteen times to select the finest pieces of roasted beans and not to simply grind all that's in the package."

For a few seconds, Will still gives no answer, and keeps looking out the window without a stir.

When the younger man finally speaks, his voice is toneless. "Next time, make it yourself." And with a mirthless, caustic smirk he adds, "But maybe then you wouldn't have two hours in the morning to spend in front of the bathroom mirror... like some fucking princess."

The spoon freezes in the doctor's pale, slim hand. His response is forcedly calm, but the iciness of it is almost threatening, "Do you have some problem with my morning routine?"

Will just shrugs, staring into his coffee cup now.

At first, Hannibal wants to frame a haughty retort about the miserable condition of Will's clothing, and to suggest that instead of criticizing him, Will should perhaps take a look in the mirror, but then he realizes the useless, childish direction of the conversation and decides to turn it around. Instead, he makes a small, slow motion to put his hand on Will's lower arm over the slab of the table, while murmuring, "I spend this much time preparing my outfit because I want you to like the way I look."

Perceiving the doctor's intention to touch him, Will secretly pulls his arm away, holding his cup with two hands now, leaning back in his chair. His reply is bitter, "No, we both know that's not true. You do that because you are a neat freak."

And after that, they mutually decide they are better off without speaking, and drink their coffee in complete silence.

Two years ago, their conversation went like this:

Hannibal entered the kitchen and found Will fumbling with two porcelain cups near the sink. The younger man was wearing only his boxer shorts and a sloppy t-shirt, and he looked sluggish, drowsy, and – according to Hannibal – incredibly desirable. The thought that Will had gotten up earlier just to make coffee for his partner warmed Hannibal's heart.

The doctor stepped behind him, sliding an arm around the younger man's waist, and placed a small peck on the top of his unkempt curls. Inhaling the raw, unique smell of Will's skin, Hannibal let out a low, wanting growl, and Will moved a bit closer to him, nestling up in his arms.

While leaning his head on his partner's shoulder, Will muttered sleepily, "I wanted to make coffee for us, but... but this new machine you bought yesterday... doesn't seem to work."

"Dear one, you'll need to grind the coffee beans first. Let me show you."

With one hand holding his partner to his torso, the doctor started to organize the necessary tools on the kitchen counter-top with the other hand.

It took a few long minutes to teach Will all the steps of how to prepare everything for an immaculate coffee, and after that, Hannibal was more than eager to pull Will back in his arms, embracing him again from behind.

Will remarked quietly, "I like that you make boring household tasks look like a work of art. Beautiful and spotless." Hannibal could hear from the tone of Will's words that the younger man smiled with fondness.

The doctor returned the smile, and gently turned Will around so that he could kiss him on the lips. Will's eyes grew wide when he realized that Doctor Lecter was already wearing a dark brown Armani suit with a matching tie and a creaseless silk shirt.

"Oh, you already look perfect, so early in the morning," the younger man grinned, and they melted into a deep kiss, soon forgetting about their coffee.

They left the United States three years ago, and their new life together started with many difficulties. Their first year was full of hiding and lies, moving from one town to another, always on the run, always protecting themselves with tiresome precautions. And they didn't just have to fight for keeping their facade together, but also had to struggle with the deep mistrust between them. But after months of hard work and slow steps of carefully experimenting with more and more physical contact, they managed to learn how to show love to each other. They learned how to smile at each other without a cautious glimpse at each other's hands, eyes searching for a possible weapon, how to call each other 'my love' without sounding fulsome and mannered, and how to have each other's backs. They almost reached a level of happiness and comforting satisfaction even normal couples rarely have. And this is where they could have had all the beauty Hannibal was so eager to show Will, and they could've truly enjoyed their life as a family. But instead, for some unknown reason, things started to fall apart.

Hannibal is not one hundred percent sure of the point where their relationship started to go awry. It was not just the question of a day or two. It was a tendency. Slow, indirect, and stealthy. He could not grasp it. But somehow during their second year together, the smiles gradually turned into sneers, the yearning kisses turned into listless shrugs, and the sweet, little signs of kindness turned into automatic, emotionless habits.

And now they are both deep in this.

The worst is the emptiness in Will's eyes. Will always had some kind of feelings for him. Even when it also contained a form of hatred or disgust, Will did have feelings for Hannibal. Real, deep feelings, glimmering in the blue of his eyes. The exciting, secretive ghost of light also hinted at something mild, soft, and yet somewhat full of heavy obsession: genuine love. But now, nothing. Not even anger or despise. Nothing. Those eyes are empty like a corpse's.

Hannibal can't recall when the last flicker of passion disappeared from Will's eyes, but it must have been eight or nine months ago. That was when Hannibal had to travel to Rome and was away on a business trip for two weeks. It was the longest time they spent apart, and Hannibal had to admit to himself that he had started to miss Will after only a day. The vacant ache he went through made him believe that these lonely weeks might be able to help, since they made him realize how much he needed Will's familiar smell, Will's warm body, Will's huffing and puffing in his ear while sleeping, and Will's muttered words asking him how his day was. But when Doctor Lecter finally arrived home after the trip, intending to lock Will into an embrace and planning to ask him to spend the rest of the day like this, holding each other tight just to feel that they still belong to each other, the house was empty. Will had gone out fishing, and didn't even bother to be there when the doctor came home. They didn't talk that day at all.

Hannibal suspects that this was the final straw. Will didn't miss him. And after that, the aura of their home turned ice cold. They barely look at each other now, and when they do, it's only to see if they can catch a glimpse of something unpleasant they can acidly comment on.

Hannibal doesn't understand how this could happen to the unfathomable, beautiful mental link they used to share. How could the mysterious, complex, and fiercely burning longing become this lifeless, dull enmity?

He is sitting alone in his office by the huge ebony desk, leaning forward on his elbows over the piles of documents, meditating upon these questions without finding answers.

Only one thing is for sure: he is not ready to let go of Will. Not without trying.

I have worked with all kinds of horrible mental issues of patients, the doctor tells himself. It should be easy to solve such an everyday nuisance that my love life seems to have gone in an unwanted direction. There are so many greater psychological challenges I could effortlessly face. I'm going to sort this out soon, I should just make up my mind... The only problem so far has been that I was not determined enough to change this. But now that I am, I'll work this out for sure. And it cannot be that difficult. We should just return to the emotional connection we used to have; I need nothing but a few well-planned attempts and patience. Yes, it's going to be easy.

Or is it?