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Will Graham was a frustrating mystery to Hannibal.
He had been, ever since Hannibal transferred to the school only a few months before, and had first met the young boy- his classmate and academic competitor. He had been, admittedly, surprised to learn that his often assured role as the brightest and most promising student was not so readily given and that such a title seemed to volley back and forth between himself and Graham. Yet it was not an infuriating or even insulting fact- he simply found himself intrigued.
Even in his young life, he was aware that he far exceeded the metric of others. That he was constantly several steps above those who were meant to be his peers. It was not a matter of ego- he was simply, empirically, better than everyone else.
Except for Will, it seemed, and he was eager to meet the only person who might be capable of existing on the same level as him- only to be resolutely shut down.
Don’t take it personally, others had told him. That is just how Will Graham is.
But that couldn’t be true- Will did have friends after all, even if he often ignored them; his head bowed over a notebook he furtively wrote in while his unruly curls obscured the earbuds that filtered out the noise of the school. People he, at the least, tolerated- and it was maddening that Hannibal- who effused charm and had an unparalleled gift of speech- was met with only a withering glare at best and cutting words at worst.
Yet, he could not let the matter go- ruminating on how to win the attention of the other boy only to come to the somewhat uncomfortable realization that his obsession laid more in infatuation than it did detached interest. A realization that came hand-in-hand with another- why exactly Will disliked him so.
Alana unwittingly offered the answer, sitting down beside him in the cafeteria with a huff. It was late- the lunch period already drawing to a close- and Hannibal smiled coyly at his friend’s late entrance. “I thought you stood me up.”
She frowned apologetically, blushing as she scrambled for her sandwich. It was smooshed by the weight of her books, peanut butter and jelly smeared across the thin film wrapping. “Sorry. I got caught up with-” she paused, looking around them to make certain no one was listening before she continued in a hushed tone, “Will asked me to the dance.”
Hannibal resisted the pull of a frown, something rather unattractive stirring in his chest. “How exciting that must be,” he said, hoping his tone sounded more sincere to her than it did to him.
She scoffed. “It was awkward, actually. I told him no.”
Hannibal tipped his head to the side, curious now. “Why not?” The two were friends- or as much as one could be friends with the surly boy, and she always spoke fondly of him.
Her blush deepened, and she busied herself with a too-large bite of her sandwich. “It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “It wasn’t too bad though. He said he sort of expected me to have a date already.”
She didn’t, to Hannibal’s knowledge, and he could no longer resist the pull of his lips into a frown as full understanding came to him. Ah.
He knew that Alana fancied him, of course. Her furtive glances were hardly subtle; the bat of her lashes and higher pitch of her voice nothing short of coquettish. But he did not reciprocate them; it wasn't to say he didn't like her. She was amusing and cunning, their conversations easy yet always fulfilling. But Alana simply suffered from the same failing that all others suffered from; too unremarkable- set aside from Hannibal in a divide no one could hope to cross.
No one except for Will- if his keen intelligence was any promise- and Hannibal suspected it was. There was something unnerving about his gaze when he offered it, a penetrative quality to the sharpened blue eyes as though he were dissecting you. Pulling one apart for perusal.
All of it was made even more curious by the habits of mimicry the boy adopted- habits he didn't even seem to be aware of. A change in cadence or a lilt in his accent to mirror the voice of another- a finger tapped against the table if his companion did the same.
He was a mirror, and though the other students ostracized Will for it, Hannibal only found it all the more intriguing.
What a stunning twist of fate it was then that Will's dislike for Hannibal had been a misunderstanding. A childish crush on a girl Hannibal had no interest in keeping him at arm's distance. It would have been humorous if the twist of jealousy wasn't so sharp a thing, rattling in his chest.
Yet, it wasn’t entirely hopeless. And more so, it presented an opportunity. One he would readily take.
He found Beverly Katz later that afternoon in the cafeteria- her arms folded as she stood in front of the vending machine, illuminated by the garish lights. It was after school, the regular courses coming to an end in favor of extracurriculars- an odd sort of silence filling the halls. The few students that remained were tucked away; sat in bare classes with their clubs or running out in the field, knees stained with dirt and grass. “Will isn’t feeling too dejected, I hope?” he said in way of an introduction, coming up to stand beside her. She startled at him, blinking twice before refocusing her attention on the vending machine- her quarter clinking noisily with the fall.
“More so than usual?” she joked.
“Alana told me she turned down his invite to the dance.”
She frowned at that, punching in the code for her snack with more force than necessary. “Idiot. I told him not to bother.” The wire lock twisted in place, a slow churn before the bag of Cheetos fell to the slot. Her voice was softer as she said, “Sorry. I hope you’re not mad at him.”
“Why would I be? Alana and I are only friends,” he said, reaching down to grab the bag for her. It crinkled in his hand, and he frowned down at the technicolor orange and red wrapping. “I’m only sorry he misunderstood. If I had known, I would have set him right months ago.”
Beverly accepted the bag with a nod. “Well, it wouldn’t have made a difference in her answer if Alana still likes you.” She paused then, considering Hannibal with narrowed eyes. A discerning gaze, and he was equal parts amused and disquieted with the calculation within them. Yet she glanced away with an easy shrug, her lips tugging into a grin. “You know, you can set him right this Saturday if you want it.”
Hannibal quirked a brow. “I’m sorry?”
“Every Saturday we get together- me and the boys,” she said, squeezing the chip bag until it opened with a pop! She slipped a hand in, the foil crinkling as she plucked for a chip- the vibrant red dust staining her fingers. “We have a game night. I know that probably isn’t your usual…” she paused, flicking her eyes up and down his form, “thing, but if you want to get on Will’s good side, it’s the place to start.”
There was something almost charming to the notion- a game night, of all things. Cloyingly innocent at an age where such innocence was getting harder to come by and he nodded with a grin. “A game night sounds delightful,” he said. Perhaps it wasn’t his ideal way to spend a Saturday evening, but it certainly wasn’t a loss. And if nothing else, Will would surely prove to be a far more formidable player than Hannibal’s younger sister, who often cajoled him into playing board games of her own.
And Candyland was hardly a thrill.
So he accepted the invitation- and at five in the evening that Saturday, he found himself waiting outside of Will’s apartment door. It was one of many in a large complex- each sound amplified in the dimly lit hallway and he could smell all the jarring aromas of meals prepared across the floor. The scent was overwhelming, and he was thankful when the door pulled open, Will standing in the threshold.
He did not return Hannibal’s smile when it was offered, his gaze quickly averting to the floor. “Alright, come in,” he said, and Hannibal was amused rather than annoyed at the almost defeated tone of it.
The apartment was small, though uncluttered. Clean except for the dining room table (though dining room was a loose term here, as the whole apartment was one room that tapered into a hallway with several closed doors- the living room, dining room, and kitchen all pushed into one space.) A box was set on the table, loaded with painted figurines of assorted beasts- some human-like, others more fantastical. Dice sat in front of each chair- different colors, formed into shapes Hannibal had never seen dice crafted to. Under all of it was a large poster board with what appeared to be a hand-drawn map, the corners curled and frayed.
Though it was not a map to any recognizable country, and Hannibal frowned as he examined it- his eyes narrowed.
He glanced up at the sound of paper being torn from a notebook- the edges tattered against the metal ring. “Here, you can use this,” Will said, slapping the paper down to the left of him, a pen coming next. Hannibal stared down at it, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. There were no board games in sight- ones he was familiar with or ones he had never seen before. There wasn't even a game station set out before the television, the cords hanging limp as a noose in anticipation of the play.
For the first time in his life, Hannibal was well and truly lost.
He sat down, glancing at the empty room around him before turning back to Will. “Is...anyone else here?”
Will didn’t look up, flipping to a page of his notebook- the same one he was often occupied with, and the pages were cluttered with meticulous notes. Crammed into the margin, with segments highlights in brilliant shades of yellow, orange, and blue. “My dad works late on Saturdays, but he left me money for pizza,” he answered. When Hannibal said nothing else- perhaps deciding silence was the safer alternative- he finally looked up. “Bev said she told you to come early. You need to make a character, and she didn’t think the guys would be patient.”
Hannibal blinked, the information doing remarkably little to clear up his confusion. “Right.”
Will stared at him expectantly, tapping his pen against the notepad. A metronome, counting the seconds in a rhythmic bounce. Will scoffed, exasperated. “What race do you want to be?”
“What?” Hannibal asked, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps this was a prank. An elaborate plan to mock him. A rite of torment that was often doled upon a child when they came to a new school- especially when such a move came with an accent that less kind children thought was strange. Mischa had been subjected to such, and though his anger at the indignation was not as great now as it had been then, it was still there- a warmth in his veins.
But Will’s shoulders slumped, his face softening. He leaned over, rifling through the schoolbag that was propped against the leg of his chair before finding what he was searching for- a book. A large hardcover one, the worn sleeve of it boasting a fantasy-style artwork. He flipped through, settling the book down in front of Hannibal and pointing to the page.
“You have to make a character. To start, you need to pick a race,” he instructed.
“Oh,” Hannibal said, letting his gaze drop to the splayed page before him. A cluster of categories were tidied within boxes- a brief description adorning each one. Yet, it was all impossibly meaningless to him, and he frowned. “I’m not familiar with this game,” he confessed, and Will huffed out a curt laugh.
“I got that.” He collected the paper and pen from Hannibal, settling it on top of his notebook as he propped his head in his hand. “I’ll help you make a character, and you can just watch when everyone else gets here.” He frowned then, chewing his lower lip as he flushed with belated embarrassment. “Or you can just leave if you want.”
It was endearing, the flush of his cheeks and the slight mumble of his words- as though self-conscious of them, each syllable plucked behind his teeth. Perhaps he too wondered if he was the center of some joke, his interests turned into a mockery. “No, I’ll stay,” Hannibal said, the brittle nerves smoothing away with the misunderstanding. “But I think I’ll need your help.”
Will nodded, his shoulders sagging with relief, and he tapped his finger to the book once more. “How does a Tiefling sound?” he asked, and Hannibal paused to read the summary of the race. Once more, it meant nothing to him- but he was curious to Will’s reasoning. Was it a random selection? Or was there a process to it, consideration given to the role?
He skimmed through the other options, being careful to quell his lips into a flat line to ensure Will didn't misinterpret his smile before he jerked his chin in a nod. “Okay.”
Will bit down on a laugh, flipping over the page. “Druid?” he asked, turning his focus down to the blank paper as he wrote his notes down.
Hannibal smiled, not even bothering to read the description as he nodded. “Okay.”
They had an hour to themselves before the others arrived, and it was passed in such a manner. Will guided Hannibal through the stunningly complex process of creating a character, trying his best to explain the nature of the game without rambling in the lore- a mighty task, Hannibal realized, his eyes widening when Will abruptly departed only to return from his bedroom with a stack of books. He dropped them on the floor beside Hannibal, his expression sheepish. “You can borrow them if you want. Or just flip through them while we play.” He showed him his notes then, growing breathless as he talked about the campaign and the deviations it made as the characters took hold of the story.
“It’s very...intense,” Hannibal said after a moment, his smile widening when Will only blushed. Yet the intensity of it only mounted when the others came to join them- Beverly sparing Hannibal a wicked grin as she passed through the door. It was still charming, though certainly not the image of a game night he had envisioned.
He took Will’s suggestion, reading through one of the many books- adorably marked with Will’s notes in the margins, tabs of paper sticking out from the sections he bookmarked for future reference. And it was refreshing to see Will offer his attitude to someone other than Hannibal- his expression dour each time Brian tried to derail the gameplay.
“This happens every week,” Beverly said with a wink. The words were hardly a whisper, though it went unnoticed by the two boys locked in a heated argument that came to an end with the clatter of dice to the table and Brian pumping his fist through the air in victory.
By the time the session came to an end, it was nearly eleven. Hannibal remained seated as the others left- the heavy books sat on his lap and his personally crafted character sheet sat on top of it. Will’s dad had yet to return home, and Hannibal wondered how often Will was alone in the small apartment- with nothing but the stories and figurines for company.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Will said as he leaned his weight against the door, Beverly the last to leave. He looked torn between pity and delight at Hannibal’s no doubt bewildered expression- a certain degree of schadenfreude to the other boy’s plight.
“It was an enlightening night,” Hannibal said. “I think I’d like to try to play next time.” Truly, he didn’t want to. It was the sort of activity he preferred to observe rather than indulge in, but he doubted Will would be so inclined to have an audience sit with him each week. And he did wish to sit with him, delighting in the sliver of personality he had seen over the evening. And kindness, once he relented hold of his tightly pinched grimaces.
“I’ll write you in, then,” Will promised, flourishing a hand in a gesture to his notes. He paused then, his expression darkening as he considered the half-formed story in the notebook. “I’m going to try to kill Zeller.”
It was a startling thing to say, even if it was said in regard to a fictional world, yet Hannibal found himself chuckling at the declaration. Well, that would certainly liven up the game. “Isn’t that cheating?”
Will didn’t answer, turning to the table to begin the task of cleaning up for the night. He was quiet for a long while, the silence disturbed by the clunk of dice as he dropped them into a plastic case. “Are you bringing Alana to the dance?” he asked after a moment, his tone sullen.
“Why would I? We’re just friends,” Hannibal answered blithely. If he gleaned a small delight in Will’s face- the crestfallen realization that Alana had turned him down for no other reason than she was not interested in him- he hid it well, pushing himself up from the chair. He helped Will collect the things, tidying the organized mess into neat piles. Once it was cleaned, he turned to him with a smile. “I suppose the same time and same place for next Saturday?”
Will pursed his lips. “If you want, you can come over before then. I can mock up a mini-campaign for you, so you can get a handle on it without everyone else being a pain,” he offered, and Hannibal felt something twinge within him.
Pleased with the offer even as he dreaded it.
"That sounds like fun," he lied, glancing to the character sheet they made with the sort of face his other classmates regarded their more daunting homework. A quick sketch marked the page, penned by Will in an almost idle fashion as Hannibal had rolled the die to determine his scores. A scratched and dark figure, the etching of the pen nearly ripping through the paper. It seemed to Hannibal more of a ghoul than it did a person, with exaggerated proportions and large antlers blossoming out from its skull.