𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞: A Hannigram Love Story

Chapter Eleven

"WILL!"

Hannibal grips onto the tainted fabric of the assailant's shirt, a rather animalistic growl leaving his lips as he protects his lover. His own clothing was tattered and covered in heavy amounts of blood; if it belonged to himself, Will, or the other male they were wrestling around with, he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to separate the two men from one other and claim what was his.

"You do not have the delicacy of laying your hands on my lover," Hannibal grumbled firmly.

"I am inevitable!" Hannibal's former captor boomed. "This is inevitable. He is mine!"

The man raises his knife, the blade's metal glinting underneath the white rays of the moon that hung overhead. He charges at Hannibal, wielding it so it'd stab him in the heart. His eyelids widen in circumference, the advance closing in on him far too swift for him to depart from. Hannibal stares in shock, willing his feet to move him, to do anything instead of standing there like a deer caught in the headlights. But he couldn't, and he didn't. He accepted his own fate before it had even come with open arms. Perhaps it was his time to die.

"NO!" Will exclaims, jumping in front of Hannibal protectively.

A startled, quivering gasp emits from Hannibal, holding Will up by grabbing the small of his back. Sorrow, anger, and vengeance fill his entire being all at one time. He pushes some of Will's curls out of the way, looking down at his face. "You stupid, stupid boy," he whispers brokenly.

TWO DAYS EARLIER

The sudden sound of Will's phone ringing awoke him with a start, sweat rolling down the crevices of his skin. He'd fallen asleep atop of the couch the previous night, panting fearfully. Another nightmare had leaked into his subconscious, corrupting his head without his companion. A flash of agony shoots through his cranium, an oncoming migraine threatening to ail him for the day. Bright rays of sunshine peek through a sliver of slightly parted curtains in the seemingly desolate log cabin, causing his eyes to squint to allow his irises to adjust to the light.

Scooping his phone into his hand tiredly, Will slides the answer button and presses it against his ear. He took note of the fact that the caller was 'Unknown'. "Hello?" he answered befuddled through the phone's mic.

"Will," an unfamiliar voice begins. It sounded like he breathed a sigh of relief. If he could articulate a pinpoint as to where the richly authentic enunciation, it may be a possible pointer as to whom he was speaking with. He knew it was British, that much was obvious. But there was a particular edge to it that made it sound...familiar..

Will shot up on the couch, his heart almost stopping. He doesn't say anything at first, heavily breathing. "...Who is this?" he asks tepidly.

"I think you know."

His face goes paler than usual, all color draining from it. And yet, a glimmer of hope rains in the depths of his stomach, hopeful that Hannibal was still alive. "If he isn't alive, I won't speak with you," he says flatly. He was acting more confident than he actually was. Truthfully, he was terrified, and only put on a fearless charade to coat his angst with something much more sanguine, firm.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, as if the captor was holding his breath. Will could hear an almost inaudible scuffling sound, as if he were rummaging around. The sound of a door opening. Heavy footsteps treading down a pair of creaking steps (they must've been ancient hardwood, most likely haven't been varnished or cared for in years). A gun cocking, the dreadful bullet clicking into place. Imperceptible conversation in hushed voices. And finally, a Lithuanian accented voice echoing through the other end.