My Frozen Affections

It's never known for sure whether Hannibal’s heart reflects the warmth in his smiles; it offers comfort in any case. He forgets the tingling in his feet as it spreads up into his calves.Hannibal catches him off guard, leaning in to cup his cheek. He reads Will Graham clearer than he does a most beloved book, as if he's the very ink which flows the poem of a beautiful melancholy. If he was a book, Hannibal would delight to be its author.The other can’t bring himself to speak, instead memorizing the details of the doctor’s face, all to the last crease and shadow: the very features able to ground him with a single look. It’s enough to thaw the ice from his bones.“The colour’s coming back to your face. Let me make you some soup, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes—”“I-I’ve troubled you enough. Really, it’s fine.”“Non-negotiable I’m afraid. I refuse to let you stay without getting at least one hot meal.” His thumb brushes his temple as he stands. “Now then, I imagine you want to put on some dry clothes. Unless you plan on walking around in my blankets?”