AUTHOR'S NOTE: I cross-post my works here (FFN), AO3, and Wattpad under the same username (alexanderavery998). If you find my works somewhere other than these 3 websites, please let me know, because that means they have been stolen and reposted without my permission.

This was inspired by two prompts from the 2020 Open Novella Contest on Wattpad: "Well, that's a New Year's Eve kiss you won't forget anytime soon," because I've been dying to write a New Year's Eve Hannigram fic, and "You meet someone who seems to be perfect for you, but after digging into their past it turns out a string of crimes has been following them. None of those crimes have officially been solved," because let's be real, this is basically what Hannigram is. I probably shouldn't be starting yet another fic right now when I haven't finished Fortune's Fool or any of my other WIPs, but here I am, making bad decisions. Enjoy!

~ CHAPTER I ~

Will Graham stood near the edge of the room, holding his glass of champagne as if it were a lifeline in the middle of a raging ocean. In a way, it was; he hated crowds, people, and being sociable, and attending a New Year's Eve party checked all three boxes.

He still wasn't sure why he was there. Maybe it was due to guilt for turning down all of Dr. Lecter's prior invitations. Maybe it was because the two men had grown closer recently, what with their shared near-death experience and all. Maybe it was the idea of spending yet another New Year's Eve with only his dogs and a bottle of whiskey for company that pushed him over the edge. Whatever it was, he was here now.

He already regretted it.

Will sipped his champagne and let his eyes roam over the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. He didn't know most of the people in attendance. The majority of them were rich urban socialites, flitting from group to group with artificial politeness and saccharine smiles. That woman over there was pretending to laugh at a man's joke, but her wandering eyes betrayed her boredom. An older man and woman with their arms linked possessively were both checking out other people. A group of five or six nearby chuckled and clinked their glasses together.

The only person Will didn't see was the host. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a well-known and respected psychiatrist in the Baltimore area, with a love of the arts and throwing elaborate dinner parties. Will didn't know if it was possible for two people to be more different. If Hannibal was eccentric, refined, and formal, then Will was antisocial, unpretending, and blunt. Yet somehow they were friends.

Will had initially resisted Hannibal's attempts at friendship, and for good reason — Hannibal was his unofficial psychiatrist. Besides the general murkiness of such a relationship, Will hated having people in his head. There was already far too much speculation about how his mind worked. Psychiatrists salivated over his supposed empathy disorder and mental instability, and he was too aware of the tools they used to pry into people's minds for therapy to work on him.

But he hadn't had a choice. Until a few months ago, Will had been a professor at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. Then Special Agent Jack Crawford had roped him in to help solve a tough case in addition to his teaching. Suffice to say, profiling the killer, not to mention fatally shooting him to save the killer's daughter, had taken its toll on him. The only way that Jack could get Will to see a psychiatrist was if it was unofficial. Hence Hannibal was brought in.

Under any other circumstance, they would never have met. Will certainly didn't want to be his friend. But Will appreciated that he didn't force himself into his head like other psychiatrists. Too many of them were clumsy, fumbling around up there like a child given free reign in a candy shop and knocking down all the displays in their eagerness. Hannibal was more subtle. He seemed to find Will's abrasiveness and deflection amusing rather than rude. Even better, Hannibal didn't judge him, even after he admitted to sleepwalking, hallucinations, and vivid murder fantasies. (The last one he had been sure would be a deal-breaker on the no-judgment thing.)

Despite his initial reluctance, Will had begun to enjoy the doctor's company. Hannibal was his paddle in the roaring rapids of his subconscious. Will continued to work for the FBI; profiling serial killers continued to take its toll on his psyche; and Hannibal was there through all of it, even as Will feared that his grip on reality was leaking through his fingers like sand. It was almost as if they were…well, friends.

Their friendship was solidified after they were attacked by a serial killer during the most recent case. Realizing the FBI was closing in on him, the killer had murdered two police officers. In the resulting struggle, Will managed to get a shot off and graze the killer's ear, but he escaped. Then he murdered one of Hannibal's patients and attacked Hannibal. It had been a good stroke of luck that Hannibal was able to get the upper hand and kill the killer before he could harm anyone else.

Since then, their friendship had a new sense of intimacy to it; Will might even call it genuine affection. He wasn't sure what to do with it. It was only recently that one of their colleagues, Dr. Alana Bloom, had rejected Will's poorly-timed romantic advances. He was still reeling from that rejection, and he was generally unaccustomed to friends, even less so the intimate kind. Not to mention that something about his feelings for Hannibal strayed too close to the line between romantic and platonic — too close to where his feelings for Alana resided — for comfort.

Will downed the rest of his glass of champagne and took another off the tray of a passing waiter. He didn't want to think too deeply about whatever the fuck his feelings for Hannibal were, psychiatrist, friend, colleague, or otherwise.

As he considered whether or not he wanted to get drunk or merely tipsy, Will spotted Jack and his wife, Bella, across the room. The Crawfords were an attractive couple, a shining example of what soulmates could be in a perfect world. Jack Crawford was a well-built man, broad-shouldered and stocky. He was also powerful and intimidating. If Jack radiated power in an aggressive manner, then Bella's power was more refined and regal. She was a beautiful woman, with thick dark brown curls, full deep red lips, and razor-sharp wit. They balanced each other out, and even many years since their initial meeting, they were madly in love.

As they approached Will, however, the appearance of perfect conjugal bliss melted away. Wrinkles were becoming a semi-permanent feature of Jack's face. Bella's grip on her husband's arm was tighter than usual, and she leaned some of her weight against him.

"Will. Good to see you." Jack shook his hand, smiling even as his eyes betrayed the heaviness of his soul. It was one of the many reasons Will disliked eye contact, and he looked away as soon as he could. "We didn't expect to see you here."

"Jack didn't expect you to be here," Bella corrected, her tone equal parts amusement and tired resignation. "He has yet to learn that he can only speak for himself."

Jack dipped his head. That seemed to be enough for his wife, because his next words were straight to the point: "Forgive us, Will, but we must head home. It's getting late."

"You're not going to stay for the ball drop?"

To his credit, Jack didn't glance at Bella and kept his answer neutral, leaning on the royal we. "We'd like to be home before midnight."

Bella smiled tightly. "Ever the gentleman. Jack wants me home before midnight. Doctor's orders."

Will nodded awkwardly. Bella had been recently diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, and since then, Jack had fussed over her and worried himself into premature wrinkles and graying hair. It was always a sad thing when someone lost or was in the process of losing their soulmate, but at the rate Jack was going, Will wondered if he was planning on worrying himself to an early death so he could go out with her.

The silence stretched between the three of them, and Will realized too late that he was expected to say something in response to Bella. The Crawfords' body language was enough to tell him that. He cleared his throat, fishing around for the appropriate response.

"Uh, well, have a good evening."

It was a lame response, but it seemed to satisfy them — Jack especially, since he worked with Will on a regular basis, and so expected nothing more from him. The Crawfords bowed out, and Will was left alone again, adrift in a sea of strangers. He sipped his champagne as he kept to the edges of the room. He hadn't seen the host of the party since arriving and letting the hired doorman take his coat. Hannibal had welcomed him warmly, his dark brown eyes shining at the sight of him, which was almost enough to keep him from regretting coming.

Almost.

Eventually, Hannibal came into view. He was an oddly handsome man, tall and lean, with sharp, angled cheekbones and slightly graying hair. He dressed primarily in three-piece suits, and tonight was no exception: he wore an all-black suit with a deep golden tie and matching pocket square, his hair slicked back neatly.

For a moment, Will considered going to join him, despite his desire not to trail after him like a lost puppy. But before he could come to a conclusion, he spotted Alana and his mind was made up for him. She was in a black lace dress and heels, stunning as always; but it was the way that she matched Hannibal's outfit, the gentle hand Hannibal had placed on her waist, and the parting of her lips in a laugh as Hannibal murmured in her ear that made Will's stomach twist. He turned and pushed his way through the crowd in the opposite direction, fingers white around the stem of his glass. It was only once he found the kitchen and stepped out onto the freezing patio that he could breathe.

He didn't know why he was upset. Sure, it had only been a few weeks ago that he'd kissed Alana and she'd rejected him. Even though he already knew the answer, after she'd left, Will had searched in vain for the appearance of a soulmate mark on his skin. He didn't bother asking her if a mark had appeared for her; if they were unrequited soulmates, she wouldn't be the one left out to dry. Will had terrible luck when it came to relationships. And if the tightness in his chest was any indication, that bad luck was continuing.

Will cursed himself silently, his breath furling out in front of him in the cold night air. He was being ridiculous. Alana was allowed to flirt with and pursue other people. He didn't have any claim over her; they weren't soulmates, they weren't dating, and she'd already turned him down. But to see her with Hannibal…

After the disastrous kiss with Alana, Will had driven an hour and a half in the snow to tell Hannibal about it. As embarrassing as that impulsive move was, Hannibal was patient enough. He'd dismissed the kiss as a desperate clutch for balance and then served him dessert. He didn't seem to care that Will had shown up jittery and unannounced, and his dismissive nature was enough to convince Will that he was overreacting.

So what was this? Had Hannibal decided to pursue Alana now that Will had failed?

Will took a deep breath and held it, relishing the way the cold burned in his lungs. It didn't matter. Hannibal was no more obligated to Will than Alana was. Hannibal and Alana could do whatever the fuck they wanted, and Will would just have to deal with it. Maybe it would turn out that Hannibal and Alana were soulmates. The thought hurt more than he'd anticipated.

He stood on the patio, hands stuffed in his pockets, letting the cold seep into his bones and bite at his exposed flesh. Large fluffy flakes floated from the darkened sky and danced on the light wind. Everything was covered in two or three inches of snow. Inside, the party continued, none the worse for his absence. Will stood there until he began to feel numb, and then longer, until he lost track of time. He could've been outside for many hours, for all he knew.

"Will?"

Will started and turned; Hannibal was standing in the doorway, patio door half open.

"How long have you been out there? Come inside. You're going to get hypothermia."