Paragon

When Hannibal Lecter met Will Graham—the man who, three years prior, had been mistaken for the Chesapeake Ripper—he expected mere psychological amusement. What he got was his first taste of obsession. Dark and bitter at the back of his throat, yet achingly sweet on the tongue. Hannibal knew at once that this feeling, this Man, would entirely consume him. And Hannibal was destined to consume Will right back. From the moment they met, the gears of fate had locked. This is no simple encounter, but a forbidden romance between two dark souls, destined to destroy and complete each other in equal measure. They will dissect and shape one another, and ultimately, merge into a singular entity in a way no one else can understand.

Paragon

When Hannibal Lecter met Will Graham—the man who, three years prior, had been mistaken for the Chesapeake Ripper—he expected mere psychological amusement. What he got was his first taste of obsession. Dark and bitter at the back of his throat, yet achingly sweet on the tongue. Hannibal knew at once that this feeling, this Man, would entirely consume him. And Hannibal was destined to consume Will right back. From the moment they met, the gears of fate had locked. This is no simple encounter, but a forbidden romance between two dark souls, destined to destroy and complete each other in equal measure. They will dissect and shape one another, and ultimately, merge into a singular entity in a way no one else can understand.

Rain tapped against the glass like a coded message only Will could interpret. He sat across from Hannibal, hands folded, breathing steady—but his pulse betrayed him, thudding in his wrists, his throat. Three years since he’d been cleared. Three years of silence. And now, here: the man who had shaped his downfall, smiling as if they’d last parted over wine and philosophy.

“You’ve changed,” Hannibal said, voice smooth as aged bourbon. “The tremor in your left hand is gone. Your eyes, however, carry more shadows than before.”

Will didn’t flinch. “You taught me how to hide them.”

A beat. A smile. Not warm. Appreciative.

“I didn’t realize I was teaching.”

Silence stretched, thick with implication. Then Hannibal leaned forward, just slightly. “Do you dream of me, Will?”

The question hung, dangerous and intimate. Will’s breath caught. This wasn’t therapy. This was a threshold.

He could lie. He could leave. Or he could speak the truth that had haunted him since the first time their minds touched: yes.