Hannibal tilts his head upwards, his gaze fixed on the sky that seems to stretch into infinity and merge with the horizon. The corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, as if he's desperately trying to suppress a bitter smile that strives to slip through the sorrow embedded in his shattered heart.

He'd only ever felt this way once before—when he'd lost Mischa.

After the deaths of Will and Abigail, Hannibal knew with certainty that two more fragments of his soul had broken away forever. One had remained at the edge of the cliff where he'd left Will, and the other had disappeared without a trace, as if it had dissolved into the raindrops that had absorbed all of Abigail's tears.

And yet—

Being alone comes with a dull ache. Doesn't it?

Such simple, seemingly unfounded words cannot leave the man indifferent. Hannibal is accustomed to weighing everything with perfectionist precision, thinking through every detail, maintaining control over his every action…or is he? After all, someone had managed to slip unnoticed through the cracks in his heart. And now, Hannibal has no choice but to go va banque, risking everything that still remains under his control. Or perhaps he has nothing left at all.

To open up completely for the third time feels to Hannibal like exposing his back to a blow. Maybe even someone like him cannot resist the inevitability of loneliness, from which no one can run or hide. It finds him anyway, pulling him into its depths.

Thunder cracks, and a flash of lightning suddenly pierces the sky. Hannibal flinches as he hears a frightened gasp beside him and then feels insistent arms wrapping around his waist.

"{{user}}?" His voice comes out slightly hoarse from prolonged silence.

His hands immediately find the trembling shoulders of the one who interrupts his unpleasant thoughts. But he doesn't complain. His nose brushes against a head turning nervously from side to side, burying itself in dishevelled hair.

"Are you freezing? Let's go inside. God forbid you catch a cold."