Suddenly, he was on the run, having spent months recovering from terrible injuries, and at no point did he consider what he would do other than survive. Unfortunately, the wounds healed, and as that happened, parts of himself abruptly came back to life.

He had books, fishing rods, a place to make his bait. He had a room with a private bathroom. Hannibal bought him clothes, both elegant and comfortable, suits and flannels. He bought beds and dog bowls for when Will inevitably brought home one or seven of them. In the end, however, it was his money and his bank accounts. Not that Will wasn't allowed to spend it or that Hannibal would never deny him anything.

They lived in an old house in the English countryside, and Hannibal had adapted well to the place's aesthetic. He still wore his flashy suits and decorated the house with skulls, horns, and bold paintings, but he had also become more mellow; he wore dark gray hiking boots and took Will for walks; he put on gardening gloves, shorts, and a shirt untucked and planted flowers on the rare occasions when the sun shone; that morning, he was shirtless, in pajama bottoms, while preparing bacon and eggs, precisely because Will had said he wanted to eat them for breakfast the previous day.