Chapter Text
“So…” Tan begins. “Who’s our lucky victim this week?”
“His name is Will Graham,” Jonathan says from the passenger seat, “and he’s, let’s see, thirty-nine years old and lives in Wolf Trap, Virginia.”
“That’s in the middle of nowhere!” Karamo remarks from behind the wheel, a gleam of interest in his eyes. “He must be a bit of a recluse.”
“He is,” Jonathan says, pursing his lips. “His hobbies are fishing, hiking… oh, he has seven dogs!”
“Seven?!” The other Fab Five exclaim simultaneously, expressions ranging from affronted shock (Tan) to surprised excitement (Antoni).
“Seven,” Jonathan confirms, “and not only that…” he gasps as he turns the page and lays eyes upon Will’s picture. “He’s also a total hottie!”
Bobby shakes his head as the others agree, Jonathan showing Will’s picture to them like a trophy. “Who signed him up?” Bobby asks.
“A woman named Beverly Katz, a colleague and friend of his,” Jonathan tells the others happily. “Apparently, he’s having a big presentation on his newest paper about… psychological motives of family-based serial killers? That’s so creepy!” he shudders.
“Does he work for the police?” Tan asks. “He does. The FBI, actually,” Karamo chips in. “Technically he’s a professor of criminal profiling, but he helped catch the Minnesota Shrike, and worked on the Lost Boys case as well.”
“I heard about the Shrike,” Tan says, impressed, while Jonathan simultaneously exclaims, “A detective! Like on TV. Mysterious.”
“Well,” Bobby says as he reads over Jonathan’s shoulder, “apparently he’s really bad with people, crowds, and the spotlight. That presentation is going to have all three.”
“Working hard to keep all of us safe, but doesn’t want any gratitude,” Karamo muses.
“Well then,” Antoni says cheerfully, “that sounds like it’s time for the Fab Five to go to work!”
The whole car cheers as it turns left on the road to Wolf Trap.
Will has just come home from his weekly not-therapy session when he hears a car pull up. Frowning, Will shakes the last lingering thoughts about Hannibal as he saved that man in the ambulance a few days ago – the concentrated pull of his brows, confident and efficient movements, his elegant fingers working delicately – and peers out of his window. He doesn’t recognize the truck that pulls up.
The dogs start barking excitedly. Will walks out to the porch with narrowed eyes as the car comes to a halt and five men exit the vehicle.
The feeling of dread and suspicion is quickly replaced by confusion as Will studies the men. They seem to be a group of… friends? There is a chaotic but positive energy about them that implies they’re quite harmless. It could be a front, but Will doesn’t think so.
“Hello,” Will greets the five strangers, trying not to sound too rude, “who are you?”
“You must be Will Graham!” The tall, long-haired man speaks first, eyes glittering with excitement and arms moving wildly. “My name is Jonathan, and I’m your new—” The excitable man is pulled back by his arm by his dark-skinned friend.
Jonathan reminds Will a bit of a puppy. In contrast, the other man is calm and peaceful as he smiles at him.
“Hello Will,” he says, “my name is Karamo. These are Tan, Bobby and Antoni. We’re the Fab Five, and you’ve been chosen as a participant on this season’s Queer Eye!”
Will blinks. About half of the words in that sentence don’t make sense to him. “Wait, what? Who?”
Jonathan falters, but Karamo is undisturbed. “Your friend Beverly signed you up, and informed us you consented to participate,” he says politely.
Will blinks again. “Uh. Let me make a phone call, please. I’ll be back in just a moment.” Will disappears into the house, not caring that he’s letting them stay outside in the crisp autumn air, making sure the dogs do not slip out even though they’re barking in excitement – are those his dogs? I want to meet them, let’s go – not now, Antoni, Will clearly needs a minute – and calls Beverly.
“Will! What’s up?”
“What the hell is Queer Eye?”
Will can almost hear Beverly’s grin through the line. “They’ve arrived! Awesome! You remember, right? I asked if you were okay with me signing you up when you told me about your paper presentation a few weeks back…”
Will frowns. In the midst of the Lost Boys case, probably. He’d been sleeping awfully those days. There’s a good chance he’d consented to it without remembering. “Remind me what these guys do again?”
As Beverly launches into a short but thorough explanation, the happiness and excitement in her voice are evident. Beverly truly believes this will be good for him, Will realizes. That it will help him get his life back on track.
Beverly is literally one of the two people on this earth Will could call a friend – and the friendship between him and Alana has always been a little strained with her conflicting desires. The only other person Will would even come close to calling a friend is Hannibal, and the man is his goddamn not-psychiatrist.
Will sighs. Surely it can’t hurt. He has the next week off in preparation for the paper, anyway. And the Fab Five seem like good guys.
Will has always been an excellent judge of character.
“Okay, okay,” Will interrupts Beverly. “I’ll do it.” Beverly squeals. “Awesome! You won’t regret it, Will. And if you need anything from me, you need only ask!”
“Thank you,” says Will honestly, and hangs up. Stepping back outside, the Fab Five stop talking amongst each other and turn towards him.
“Uh,” Will says, awkwardly. “So how exactly does this work?”
He’s greeted with five blinding smiles. “Don’t worry, Mr. Graham,” a man who Will remembers is called Tan says, “we only went by to introduce ourselves and give you some time to prepare. Beverly said you would appreciate that. We’ll be here tomorrow at eight thirty with the camera crew. Then you can show us your house!” Camera crew. Oh god, what had he just agreed to? Is it too late to call it off?
“And introduce us to the dogs,” Antoni adds with excitement in his eyes.
“That’s nice of you,” Will says, touched despite himself at their thoughtfulness. He’ll probably need the whole night to adjust to this idea. “It’ll give me some time to tidy my place,” he mutters, only to be interrupted by Bobby holding his hand up.
“Please don’t,” he says and Will knows he is not lying. “We’d like to know the real you, messy house and all.”
Will nods, a little perplexed. Well, if it matters so much to them, sure. He’s not sure what exactly there is to get to know about him, except that he’s halfway towards going completely mental.
That night Will goes to sleep feeling like his life is spinning out of his control. There is a very obvious cause. For once, it’s not murder.
He sleeps easy that night.
“You have absolutely beautiful locks!”
Jonathan’s gasp is genuine as he pets Will’s hair gently. Will is leaning on the counter in his bathroom, feeling too awkward to shrug Jonathan off. It would be like kicking a puppy. That’s one thing Will could never do.
“Thank you, I guess,” Will says uneasily. He looks in the mirror. Jonathan is looking confident and, dare he say, fabulous. Will looks wrong next to him, like someone forgot to take the trash outside. His hair is messy and unkept, his eyes alight with a strange glow. He did shower that morning, which should count for something.
“And you have such smooth skin,” Jonathan marvels as he touches the back of his hand to Will’s cheek fleetingly. Will barely stops himself from shuddering – it’s the most non-violent skin-to-skin contact he’s had in weeks. Months. Maybe even longer.
People don’t often manage to pierce through his outer defences. Will allows it even less.
“What’s your regimen?”
“My what,” Will asks flatly.
“Your skin care routine,” Jonathan explains, flipping his long hair over his shoulder. It looks soft, and smooth, and healthy. Will is only a little jealous.
Jonathan starts opening the few cabinets and cupboards in his bathroom. There’s not much aside from a lot of painkillers and some toothpaste. Will side-eyes the cameraman standing just outside the bathroom door nervously. It’s kind of hard to ignore.
“I don’t have one,” Will says after too long of a pause. “I wash my face with water before I go to sleep and after I wake up, and that’s it, really.” Will can’t help the feeling of embarrassment rising up inside of him. He’s living like a brute. There’s probably so much hygiene or skin-care he should be doing like any other normal person, but no, he can’t even be normal like this, what will Jonathan say, never mind what someone like Dr. Lecter would say—
“That’s amazing,” Jonathan interrupts his spiralling train of thought. “Most skin care products can actually upset the pH balance in your skin, and though most people do need some extra hygiene to prevent their pores from clogging up or their skin from chafing, it looks like you don’t need it at all! I’m so jealous,” the man sighs drastically.
The awkward embarrassment fades, turning into a warm embarrassment instead.
Improvement.
“That’s good,” Will says shyly.
“And what about your hair and beard?” Jonathan asks.
Will simply shrugs in response.
Jonathan hums, brushing through Will’s hair once more. The man is looking at himself in the mirror, twirling his own hair around one finger, playing with Will’s hair with the other, making silly faces as he does so. It does looks kind of silly, and Will can’t help but smile.
“You do look like a low-maintenance guy,” the barber says seriously, “so I’ll keep that in mind for your haircut. The outdoor and rough vibe suits you, by the way. You’re so handsome!”
Will feels a little colour rise to his cheeks. “It’s my life,” he shrugs, ignoring the second part.
Jonathan steps away from Will, fluttering around the bathroom like he has enough energy for a whole army. “And it’s so lovely, such a beautiful house in such a beautiful place, silent and remote, and so wild.” The purr in his voice is playful and makes the last word far more dirty than it should be. Will clears his throat, not knowing how to react.
“I will enlighten you by introducing you to a beard oil, darling,” Jonathan says as he bends down to pet one of the dogs that has wandered in, nosing around curiously. “It’ll cost you less than a minute to rub it into your beautiful beard every morning, and your beard will turn so soft and smooth and smell absolutely amazing, it’ll make you even more handsome than you already are!”
Max noses at Jonathan’s leg. “Oh,” the man says, “and let’s not forget you, of course you’re a good dog, of course you are!”
Jonathan is successfully distracted by Max. Will’s grateful; it means the other man can’t see the blush rising on his cheeks.
“Do you keep all your clothes here?”
Tan is standing in front of the single dresser next to Will’s bed. His face is neutral, his tone friendly. Will still feels bad. The cameraman next to him makes the feeling even worse.
“Yeah,” he says.
Tan hums. “I can see your clothes are very organized,” he says as he starts opening drawers, “and you take good care of them.”
“I do,” Will says.
“You do not have a lot of clothes for a man your age,” Tan says neutrally. “Is this out of choice or out of necessity?”
Will grimaces, catching on quickly. “Money is not the problem,” he says quickly. Truthfully, living as sparsely as he does on his salary, money is the least of his problems.
“I’m glad,” Tan says, and moves on to another subject. Will feels his stomach unclench. “I notice two things – you have a lot of night shirts?” It’s more of a question than an observation.
“I sweat a lot,” Will says, unwilling to elaborate, side-eying the camera.
Tan simply nods and makes a soft noise. “That’s good to know,” he says. “Second, I see flannel. A lot of it.”
Will finds himself chuckling, rubbing the back of his head. “I like flannel,” he says simply.
“You’re so handsome when you smile,” Tan says unabashedly. An honest compliment, not a come-on. Will feels himself frown in reflex. “No,” Tan insists, “you are. You have a lovely smile.”
Will swallows. His throat feels strangely thick. “Thank you,” he manages at length.
Tan has obviously decided to have mercy on him, busying himself with laying out all the different kinds of flannel he can find on Will’s bed. “Look at that,” he’s saying to the camera, drawing its attention as Will composes himself, “a good eye for colours and combinations, though the quality is,” Tan frowns as he inspects the clothes, “subpar.”
Will flinches without meaning to, and Tan turns to him. “What I mean with that,” the fashion expert says, “is that they seem to be of decent quality, but not the right size. The shirts are a little too large, a little shabby. There’s no definition, no fit. Are you used to hiding yourself away behind baggy clothes?”
Will blinks. It’s usually him doing the profiling. It’s a weird feeling.
“Yes,” he says.
“Well, stop!” Tan exclaims, stepping closer. “You are beautiful and wonderful and you deserve to show that off – and get appreciated for it!”
There are some facts that are important to consider, right now.
In Will’s daily life, kind words or encouragement are a rare event. Once in a blue moon. Something to be savoured.
Alana’s concern, the occasional you’re looking well, today with the underlying implication of unlike yesterday. Jack, after closing a case, good job catching this one, as if it would erase his stressed and harsh words from only hours before, or the fact that there will always be the next and the next and the next.
These facts might explain why Will is currently unable to speak.
Instead of replying, Will just looks at Tan, who is laying more and more clothes on the bed with a thoughtful expression on his face. Will watches it like it is happening to someone else; a stranger in his own body, in his own house.
Buster noses against his leg, licking his limp hand. Will blinks. Exhales.
It’s not a moment too soon. “You really rock the outdoorsman look,” Tan says as he finally seems to be done with Will’s wardrobe. “We’ll build on that for sure. I’m also thinking of getting you something nice.” At Will’s expression, Tan laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says, pinching the air with his fingers, “just one little thing. For when you want to show off to someone.”
The expression on his face turns mischievous. “Don’t you want to show off to someone?” Tan asks slyly.
“Maybe,” Will says, thinking about Alana with her soft hands and sparkling smile, a curious light in her eyes – then suddenly he’s thinking about Hannibal’s confidence, hands inside of Devon Silvestri’s victim, working steadily, a pillar of strength in the FBI’s sea of chaos.
“Maybe,” Will repeats to himself, softly.
Before he knows it, Will’s whisked away once more. This time, it’s to his study, and Bobby is the one pulling him along.
Will tries to ignore the way the camera is following them. He’s getting better at it.
He knows Bobby is the one with the interior design. The profiler readies himself for the inevitable disapproving questions – bed in the living room? Dog beds next to it? Will bites his lip.
“What made you decide to design this house the way it is?” Bobby asks casually as he gestures around his study, wide arms including the rest of the house in his question.
Will looks away. He doesn’t know if that question is better or worse. “This is the way I was when I brought it,” he says carefully, bracing himself for Bobby’s reaction. Somehow, within less than an hour of meeting these guys, Will has already started to yearn for their approval.
Pathetic.
Bobby clearly wants to gasp in shocked affront. To his credit, he keeps it mostly off his face. If only it could escape Will’s empathy.
Still, he is reminded of Hannibal in his best psychiatrist-pose when Bobby asks politely, “was it all like this? Or were there elements you added yourself?”
Will blinks. “Some,” he admits. “I added the desk,” he says as he waves to his fly-fishing equipment, “and all the stuff for the dogs, obviously.”
“Your dogs are amazing,” Bobby gushes. “I want to steal all of them!”
“Careful,” Will says, “I am licenced to carry a gun.”
Bobby laughs. Will feels pleased.
The designer is a little distracted by petting Winston, who has been circling around Will and now Bobby himself, but looks like he’s in deep thought. “The dogs’ beds and supplies are high-quality and well-chosen,” Bobby says after a while. “It seems like you put a lot more money and energy into them than you did into yourself.”
“Maybe,” Will says.
Without realizing it, Will has pulled his arms around himself, holding on tightly. He’s made aware of this as Bobby steps closer, putting one hand on his arm.
“Your house is to you as your body is to your mind,” Bobby says gently. “It is the shell which houses the truly important thing – yourself. The state of your home directly influences your mental and physical health. It’s important to take good care of it, that it feels right to you, like your mind belonging in your body.”
Will swallows. Some days, he doesn’t even feel like his mind belongs to his body. The feeling of the house truly feeling like his is an alien thought.
“Don’t worry,” Bobby reassures him. “We’re here to help you with that. Tan mentioned you sweat a lot?”
Will nodded, not meeting Bobby’s eyes. “Yeah.”
“We’ll find sheets and a bed that can be rinsed easily and don’t absorb the odour,” Bobby says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And, then there is another, even more important thing.” He looks at Will as if waiting for him to finish the sentence.
“Eh,” Will says.
“You have an entire unused second floor!” Bobby exclaims loudly.
“What?!”
Bobby’s shout resonates around the house, and soon, the other Fab 5 come calling. Bobby drags Will upstairs, the others buzzing around him in exited movement.
Will allows it. He’s smiling as he does so. The positive energy is rubbing off on him – his empathy functioning at it’s best.
The mirrors in your mind can be used to reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.
Will doesn’t think Hannibal intended for his words to be applied in this situation, but what the hell.
Why not.
After the Fab 5 have sufficiently gawked at the unused space of his upper floor, Will finds himself outside, sitting at his front porch. The air is refreshing, Winston dozing at his feet. The camera, just out of sight, is easy to ignore.
Karamo brings him a cup of tea.
“They can be a bit overwhelming sometimes,” the man says fondly as Will clasps his cup in both hands and shoots him a grateful smile.
“A bit,” Will says, “but it’s not a bad thing. They are very happy, and that makes me happy as well,” he admits honestly.
It’s true. Will’s feeling lighter than he has in months.
“Beverly told us a bit about your empathy,” Karamo prompts.
Will sips the tea, not wincing when it burns his tongue just a little. He looks out over his property, the trees moving gently in the spring breeze.
“It’s a useful tool,” Will says. “Helps me see into the mind of killers.”
“Just killers?” Karamo asks.
Will smiles, glad to be asked instead of telling, for once. “Everyone,” he says. “The lady at the supermarket, this weeks’ latest killer, my boss, you guys…”
Karamo cocks his head. “It must be hard maintaining your own boundaries when you constantly look at things through the others’ point of view.”
Will closes his eyes. Of course. Another psychiatrist.
Somehow, it doesn’t install as much dread in him as usual. Maybe because Karamo seems more like a successful television lifetime coach than a true shrink. Or maybe his not-sessions with Hannibal have shown him not all shrinks are bad.
“I don’t often say no,” Will says softly.
Karamo leans closer. “Maybe you should,” he says, not unkindly. “I imagine people are apt at pushing your boundaries when they need to, especially when they know about your empathy.”
Will’s fingers twitch. Like Jack.
“Who are you thinking of?” Karamo asks, astute.
Will sighs. “My boss,” he says, hoping to hell Jack won’t see this. On the other hand, maybe it’ll be good for him to see what Will really thinks. Will has never been able to say these things to Jack’s face, empathizing too much with the man whenever he’s in the room with him. He knows Jack’s not a bad guy, he’s just… driven. Forceful.
“He knows I’m the best, so he pushes me to do my best. We save lives.” The words feel rehearsed, even to his own ears.
Karamo does not move. “It’s still your boundaries that are being pushed. You deserve to have your limits, and for those limits to be respected. It’s a good thing to say no, sometimes,” he says, sounding a little bit like Alana in that moment.
Will chuckles wryly. “There are lives at stake,” he says remotely.
“Your life is at stake as well,” Karamo says.
Will doesn’t reply, sipping his tea. If he drinks enough, maybe it’ll dislodge the lump in his throat.
Karamo sips his tea as well, peaceful, not pushing. Will is grateful. It takes a moment before Karamo reaches out, squeezing Will’s bare lower arm with his hand gently. The contact burns, sending his whole body alight.
Will is mortified to feel tears starting to form in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Karamo says softly. Will cannot help but meet the other man’s gaze, and is startled by the earnest care and gentleness he sees. “You are a man who constantly sacrifices himself for others. How important those lives that you save are. From what I hear, you don’t get told often enough how important your life is.”
Will blinks, and blinks, and blinks. The hand stays on his arm, steady and warm.
Winston nudges Will’s knee, whining softly. Will starts petting him as a reflex. It’s calming.
A full minute passes before Karamo retreats. Winston takes this as permission to cuddle up to Will even closer.
Karamo smiles happily at the dog. “Your dogs love you a lot,” he observes.
“And I them,” and Will’s grateful his words are steady.
Karamo’s smile turns mischievous. “Are there any other people in your life like that – any lovers? Partners, of any kind?”
Will keeps his gaze on Winston. “Not really,” he confesses. “I’m not the best with relationships. Had some flings, back in the day, but it’s difficult with my empathy.”
“Boys, girls, or both?” Karamo asks. There is only genuine curiosity in his eyes.
Again, Will thinks, why not, and shrugs. “Both,” he says, “though mostly girls. None lasted more than a few months.”
Karamo hummed. “You see too much, too soon,” he states. “Most people aren’t ready for others to see them so clearly.”
Will nods. He doesn’t think there’s more left to say.
But Karamo is not done with him. “Is there anyone you like right now?”
Will bites his lip. “Yeah. I think so,” he says, thinking of Alana.
Karamo raises an eyebrow. “You think so?”
“Sometimes, I’m not sure if I like her, or if she likes me so much that what I feel is an echo of that desire,” he confesses. It’s the first time he’s said that aloud.
It’s strangely freeing.
Karamo is silent for a moment. “Let me ask you this,” he says eventually, “when you think about how you like her, or fantasize about kissing her,” Will looks away shyly, “when does this happen? When you are in her presence, or outside of it?”
Will thinks it over. “Mostly within her presence,” he realizes. “Though sometimes also outside of it.”
Karamo hums. “And when you think about the two of you, do you think of it from her perspective, or from your own?”
Will is silent.
Karamo gives him a moment and does not draw any conclusions, nor ask anything more.
If only I’d met Karamo when I was sixteen, Will thinks, maybe then I wouldn’t have been so fucked up.
“Is there anyone else?” Karamo asks, digging.
Will shakes his head. His eyes flicker to the camera, hovering unobtrusively on the edge of their conversation.
Karamo picks up on it and turns to the camera man, flicking his hand. “Just a minute,” he says, and the cameraman leaves without question. When Will raises an eyebrow, Karamo shrugs. “Sometimes, these conversations are a little too private for the camera. They understand.”
Will makes a noise, but Karamo is not done. “Now, tell me,” he demands gently, and Will cannot help but give in.
“It’s not someone I should like,” Will admits. “I don’t think people would approve of me and him.”
“Why not?” Karamo asks.
“We have a working relationship,” Will says, keeping it vague. “And he’s… different than me. Sophisticated. Elegant. Better. We wouldn’t fit.”
“Being different doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Karamo says. “If you don’t mind, and he doesn’t mind, then what’s stopping you?”
Will’s eyes flicker to Karamo’s face, searching, before returning to his shoes. “I don’t think he likes me, anyway,” Will says.
Karamo puts his hand on Will’s shoulder. It’s comforting. “Let him decide that,” he says, and Will wants to believe him.
“Do you cook a lot?”
Will shakes his head. “Not really. I would lie and say I don’t have the time,” he says with a smile, and is pleased when Antoni laughs, “but I just don’t have the energy… or really know how.”
Antoni nods. “That’s okay. A lot of people don’t know much about cooking, but it really doesn’t have to be difficult.” Will snorts, thinking about Hannibal’s elaborate meals – not difficult?
Meanwhile, the brunette is opening cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, pulling out all kinds of different equipment. The camera follows him dutifully.
“Your kitchen is reasonably clean,” Antoni compliments him, “which is actually a big compliment for a single guy – don’t laugh, it’s true!”
Will stifles his laughter and Antoni grins at him. “And,” the chef says, “what are these for?” He pulls out the equipment Will uses for his dogs.
“I make my own dog food,” Will explains happily. “The shit they sell at the stores is awful, and since I have so many, it’s cheaper as well.”
Antoni narrows his eyes. “You put more effort into feeding your dogs than feeding yourself,” he says. It’s not judgemental. Will still feels bad. Little things like this remind him how abnormal he really is.
“Maybe,” he says.
“What do you usually eat?” Antoni asks.
Will shrugs. “Microwavable meals,” he says, “fish, sometimes, whenever I catch some.”
“That’s awesome!” Antoni exclaims, clapping his hands. “I can definitely do something with that! Teach you a few dishes that go wonderfully with fish, and when you’ve caught it yourself it’s always better!”
Will smiles, the earnestness catching. “And it’s not all bad,” Will says. “I do cook some basic meals for myself, then and again. And sometimes I even get multi-course meals forced upon me,” he adds self-deprecatingly.
Antoni claps him on the shoulder, friendly. “That’s what friends are for! Who is it? So that I know who to call when I need a hero,” he jokes.
Will chuckles. “His name is Hannibal Lecter,” he says, stomach fluttering nervously. How does his explain their relationship without using the words off-the-books shrink who sometimes pressures me into letting him cook for me? “He’s a colleague,” is what Will ends up with. “He’s a psychiatrist by profession, but could’ve been a chef if he wanted, for sure.”
Antoni gasps. “Wait. Hannibal Lecter? I know that name! I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard his dinner parties are legendary,” he says, pulling out his phone and typing something quickly.
“Uh,” Will says, “I guess. I’ve never been to one,” he admits.
Antoni finds what he is looking for, and his eyebrows fly up to his face. “Will,” he exclaims drastically, “you forget to mention he’s hot!”
Will hides his face in his hands.
At that moment, Jonathan bounces into the kitchen, curiosity clear on his face. Bobby trails behind him, drawn by the commotion. “Did I hear someone say hot?” Jonathan asks.
“Look,” Antoni says, and the three friends look at Antoni’s phone, camera moving in behind them to catch a glimpse. “This is Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist, socialite, chef, handsome, and most of all, he’s single. Or at least, that’s what Wikipedia claims. Oh, there’s even a rumours section!”
“He’s a bit old for me,” Bobby says, “and not really my type – but I can’t deny his charm.”
“Oh,” Jonathan says dreamily, “I don’t mind at all. He can be my daddy all he wants,” to which Bobby slaps Jonathan playfully, Jonathan battering his eyes obnoxiously at his friends.
Will is trying his hardest to sink through the floorboard.
Antoni hums, but he’s smiling widely. “I will say that I’m happily married,” he adds in his own two cents, “but a guy like that and he can cook? You’re lucky I’m not single,” he warns Will playfully.
“Wait a minute,” Jonathan says, eyes locking in on Will. “How does he know our darling Will again? Do I need to step in to defend his honour? I’m always ready for a sword fight.”
“Will here eats dinner with Dr. Lecter every so often,” Antoni tells his friends gleefully, “just the two of them.”
“It’s not like that,” Will groans, though he can’t deny the feeling of heat in his chest at the framing. Surely Hannibal doesn’t think of him like that. Right?
“Sure it isn’t,” Jonathan says, before being dragged out of the kitchen by Bobby, protesting loudly all the while.
Will sputters and busies himself with petting Winston.
“So,” Karamo says to his friends as they leave Will’s house that afternoon, “what do we know about Will Graham.”
“He cares a lot more about his dogs than about himself,” Bobby says.
“About anyone else, not just his dogs,” Karamo says. “I really think he has difficulty guarding his boundaries, especially from his boss. I don’t think he has a lot of positive energy in his life – given his work is catching killers, this is less of a surprise than it should be.”
“He’s used to hiding himself away,” Tan adds. “Both literally and metaphorically. Which I don’t understand, because he’s so handsome!”
“Very handsome,” Jonathan agrees. “And sweet, as well! He shouldn’t need to hide it.”
“And,” Antoni says with a smirk, “I think our dear Will has a crush.” At Karamo’s questions look, he says, “that Hannibal guy?”
“Is he a colleague?” Karamo asks neutrally, ignoring Jonathan swooning in the background.
“I think so, yeah,” Antoni says. Karamo hums.
“Do we know enough to get to work?” Karamo asks his fellow Fab 5, aware of the camera’s rolling.
“We do,” Tan says, “though I think it’s also time to call in some assistance.”