Chapter Text
Twas a dark and stormy night, no different from any other night. Hannibal was laying in bed next to his partner, Will.
There was something unusual about this night, though. This night, Hannibal felt off—different. He had this uncomfortable churning in his stomach. No amount of tossing and turning could rid him of this gut feeling, screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Unable to shake the feeling, he opened his eyes and gave up on any chance of getting rest. It was then he noticed something missing—or rather, someone. He rubbed his eyes and looked to the other side of the bed, as if his mind was playing tricks on him, but alas, the other fraction of their shared bed remained empty.
He jumped up—now fully awake—and frantically started searching for his lover. No matter how close or far, how high or low he looked, there was not a single glimpse of his husband. Hannibal immediately went to grab his phone, fear and worry painting an unsightly picture in his head.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up!” he repeatedly chanted into the phone, as if hoping it could telepathically send the sound waves of his voice to Will and urge him to answer.
But no matter how much he begged or pleaded, the call still dropped to voicemail, only serving to make Hannibal panic more.
Hannibal’s grip tightened around his phone, his knuckles white with tension. His breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing with scenarios—none of them good. Something was wrong. Will was never one to disappear in the middle of the night. Not without a word. Not without reason.
He threw on his coat, the fabric snapping against his skin as he rushed toward the door. The storm outside raged with a vengeance, as if the heavens themselves were mirroring the chaos within him. The rain pounded against the pavement as he stepped into the night, the bitter cold doing nothing to dull the fire of anxiety burning in his chest.
The streets were empty, slick with rainwater, reflecting the dim glow of streetlights. Hannibal’s hands trembled as he clutched his phone, dialing again, hoping—praying—that Will would answer.
Voicemail. Again.
He clenched his jaw, his mind a maelstrom of suspicion and fear. He knew something was wrong, but a darker thought was beginning to take root in his mind. One he had been avoiding. One he refused to acknowledge.
Then, like a cruel answer to his unspoken question, his phone buzzed in his hand. A message.
It was from an unknown number.
“You always knew he’d betray you. Stop pretending to be surprised. The truth is at The Blue Orchid. See for yourself.”
Hannibal felt the world tilt beneath him. His breath caught in his throat, but after the initial shock, something cold and sharp settled in his gut.
Not fear. Not sorrow.
Rage.
With renewed purpose, he turned on his heel and strode toward his car, his movements deliberate, calculated. The Blue Orchid. He knew the place. An upscale lounge downtown, known for its dim lighting, velvet booths, and intimate encounters. The kind of place where secrets were whispered between clinking glasses, where betrayals were sealed with a kiss.
The drive there was a blur of headlights and rain-slicked streets, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. When he arrived, the neon glow of the sign buzzed above him, casting a sickly blue hue over the entrance.
He stepped inside.
The air was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the low hum of jazz. Shadows stretched across the walls, lovers entwined in dark corners, oblivious to the storm outside—or the one brewing inside him.
And then he saw him.
Will.
Sitting in a secluded booth, his back slightly turned, his hand resting on the thigh of another man. Their heads were close, lips barely a breath apart.
Hannibal’s pulse pounded in his ears.
Will was whispering something, and then—he laughed. Soft, intimate, a sound Hannibal had once thought belonged only to him.
Something inside him cracked.
For the first time in his life, Hannibal felt something wholly unfamiliar—humiliation. It curled around him, thick and suffocating, sinking its claws into his spine. But even more than that—he felt liberated. As if the man he had been, the man who had once believed in love, had finally died.
A slow, eerie smile curled at the corners of his lips.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
He turned away, slipping silently into the shadows. Revenge was an art form, and tonight, Hannibal Lecter would begin his masterpiece.
The transformation did not happen overnight. It was a slow, deliberate unraveling, like a symphony building to its crescendo. The pain that had once hollowed him out was now the fuel for something far greater.
And he was not alone.
Alexander Hamilton came into his life like a whisper in the dark—a man with a grin as sharp as a knife and laughter that echoed madness. He saw him, truly saw him, in a way no one else had. Where others would have cowered in the face of his wrath, he leaned in, reveling in the storm.
He became his shadow, his partner in chaos. His twisted reflection.
Together, they carved their way through the city, leaving a trail of beautifully orchestrated destruction in their wake. Blood-red roses on doorsteps. Cryptic messages scrawled in perfect calligraphy. The slow, psychological breakdown of everyone who had wronged them.
And at the center of it all—Will.
Hannibal did not strike immediately. No, that would be too easy. Too merciful. Instead, he let the paranoia sink in, let Will feel the walls closing in around him. Strange packages left on his doorstep. Letters written in a familiar hand. A sense that he was being watched.
And then, one night, Will came home to find his house eerily silent.
The air smelled of something rich, something decadent.
A candle flickered on the dining table, illuminating a beautifully plated meal. The finest cut of meat, seared to perfection, resting atop a pool of deep red sauce.
And sitting across from it, legs crossed, a slow smile stretching across his painted lips—
Hannibal.
Behind him, Alexander Hamilton chuckled, twirling a knife between his fingers.
“Welcome home, darling,” Hannibal purred, his voice a velvet promise of ruin. “We’ve been expecting you.”