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Will huffs out a laugh as he watches Hannibal swipe the alcohol wipe over the meat of Will’s outstretched thigh, his focus unwavering from the task.
“You know that I can do it, right?” Will asks, chin propped up in his hand. He’s perched on the closed toilet seat, arm resting against the marble counter as he peers down at Hannibal where he’s knelt in front of him. “I’ve been doing this since I was like, thirteen.”
Hannibal hums in acknowledgement, tossing the wipe into the trash.
“I’m aware that you’re capable, Will.” Hannibal says, plucking the syringe from off of the counter, removing the cap so that he can slide the needle into the rubber top of the bottle.
Will watches the way Hannibal draws back the plunger with practiced ease, filling the barrel.
“Great, then why are you doing it now?” Will asks, eyebrow raised. It’s not that he minds, really. It’s just a little strange, suddenly having someone offering to help with something that he’s done privately for several decades.
“Would you prefer I didn’t?” Hannibal asks, flicking the side of the syringe to work out any remaining air bubbles.
“I didn’t say that,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “Stop dodging the question.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Hannibal replies, finally looking up at Will. “I thought it might be nice to have the assistance; not because it’s a necessity, but because I enjoy helping you. It felt like a simple but intimate experience.”
Will blinks.
Hannibal manages to catch his gaze for a moment before Will’s eyes inevitably skitter away again.
“Is that alright?” Hannibal asks, resuming his work even as he asks.
“Yeah,” Will says, voice strained in a way he knows is far too telling. “That’s fine.”
The corners of Hannibal’s mouth quirk up into a small smile. “Good.”
Will watches Hannibal push down on the plunger, just enough to push out the remaining air and get a tiny spray of the Testosterone through the needle.
“When was the last time someone assisted you with this?” Hannibal asks almost conversationally as he pulls Will’s skin taught.
Will grunts, shaking his head. “Shit, probably… I don’t know, probably the nurse when I got my first dose?” Will says, trying to think back that far.
“No one since then?” Hannibal asks, and Will can’t decipher the tone in his voice, exactly. Surprised, maybe. Possessive seems more likely, though.
“No, Hannibal,” Will drawls with a chuckle. “My father and I didn’t hold hands and do my hormone shots every Friday night, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” Hannibal says, smiling fully now, sharp teeth on display. “Noted, though.”
Will refrains from rolling his eyes again.
He doesn’t even flinch when Hannibal eases the needle into his thigh, pressing the plunger down in a slow, fluid motion until it’s run dry.
“How’s that?” Hannibal asks, quickly removing the needle and pressing a cotton ball gently over the site.
“Barely felt a thing, Doctor,” Will teases, and feels something warm and satisfied in him bloom when the remark makes Hannibal smile.
“Good.”
Hannibal caps the syringe again before promptly depositing it into the sharps container on the counter. “Hold this,” Hannibal says, letting Will take over cotton-ball-duty. “Thank you.”
Hannibal readies a bandaid before removing the cotton ball and smoothing the bandaid over the spot.
“There,” Hannibal says finally, standing up again with a pop from his knees. “All done.”
Will stares down at the circular bandaid on his thigh and feels a strange swell of emotions. It’s stupid- it’s a simple action, something Hannibal’s done a thousand times before when he worked in the medical field.
This shouldn’t feel so different.
“Thanks,” Will says belatedly, as Hannibal tidies up the mess spread across the counter.
“Of course,” Hannibal says easily. “My pleasure.”
Will looks over at him, his chest tight.
Will has always been capable, even when he was very young. Maybe that’s why no one ever thought to offer their help with little things like this, they assumed it was unnecessary.
It never was necessary, technically, but Will’s whole body aches with fondness for being asked now.
Not because he couldn’t do it alone, but because he didn’t have to.
That was the difference, wasn’t it?
His father never even asked if he needed help, much less if he wanted it. That was fine. Will would never beg for that man’s affection. This feels better, though. Real.
Will stands up off of the toilet seat, leg aching in that familiar way he barely notices anymore. “Really, though,” Will says, even though the words feel tight in his throat. “Thanks.”
Hannibal turns to face him fully, eyes searching as he looks over Will.
Hannibal smiles so gently that it hurts, and that Will feels tears stinging behind his eyes for no real reason.
“I would do anything for you,” Hannibal says, so earnest that the words are hard to swallow around. He cups Will’s cheek in his hand, warm and calloused.
“The enormity or subsequently infinitesimal size of the task means nothing to me,” Hannibal continues, thumb stroking along Will’s cheek. Will sucks in a shaking breath. “I do them because I want to, and accompanying or helping you brings me no small amount of joy.”
“Okay?” Hannibal asks after a small lapse of quiet, pressing his lips to Will’s forehead, along the line of scar tissue there.
“Okay.” Will croaks softly, tilting his head up to catch Hannibal’s lips with his own.