@HesMyDesign Will's concept of time had abandoned him, as if hell froze over and he existed in a moment of absolute nothingness; barely aware of his own existence, only of the motions that gravitated around him, as if he were the center of the universe » @HesMyDesign « luring Hannibal's body around him by some orbital force until their bodies aligned in perfect symmetry - hip to hip, chest to chest, eye to eye, until their lips pressed devotedly together. He could feel every indentation of Hannibal's body, »

Will's foundation was empathy. He thrived through his ability to understand others. Empathize with them. It was exactly what he was doing now with Hannibal; viewing the world through his shoes, through the complexity that was his mind. Most » « people did not comprehend him, they did not see him in his true colors, their black and white imagination too bland to empathize with the man labeled cannibal. Although Will saw him past the superficial label plastered on him by a society who »

His tears were blood. His body a mere skeleton judging by the exposed and deeply torn flesh. His lungs burning like a raging wildfire with the capability of combusting an entire forest to ashes. He felt as if he were living on borrowed time, » « time he wished he'd never been gifted. Not if he were doomed to live whatever life he had left without the only man who made him feel whole. Who made him complete.
He'd almost given up. Not out of desire. For his mind was the one thing »

Water drowns his lungs, block his airways, suffocates him. He's aware of the intrusion even prior to reaching consciousness, aware even before he begun spewing salt water like a fountain from his mouth. Adrenaline shoves his body sideways, a » « trusted compaginan assuring he does not re-choke on the one thing choking him. The sting is unbearable although he is unsure where it's coming from; his throat or the stab wound on his cheek, arm, chest... Only aware when he'd emptied the »