Spacious windows, heavy curtains, dark wood, on the wall opposite the bed an oil painting that depicted a snowy forest. Hannibal's room in their shared house was just like Will had imagined. Exquisite and unobtrusive in its elegance, which nestled into the sophisticated gloom like a familiar companion.

"Do you trust me, Will?", he questioned while taking a step closer.

Even though his heart was pounding hard against his ribs as if it wanted to escape his chest - its cage, Will did not shy away. "I stopped asking myself that. What happens to me just doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to me." Hannibal paused for a moment and inhaled his scent, adrenaline and endorphins, androstenone and oxytocin, a tantalizingly voluptuous cocktail of fear and excitation. "If you stay... Will, I'm going to hurt you."

"Since when does that deter you from doing anything?"

"It should deter you."

"It doesn't."

Hannibal: "Stay with me."

Will: "Where else would I go?"

2.10