Will you see?

Alcuin Delaunay sat at a small metal table in a police interrogation room, his hands folded tightly in his lap to stop them from trembling. The fluorescent light above him buzzed faintly.

He had dressed carefully that morning, choosing a dove-gray cashmere sweater and black slacks—simple, elegant, deliberately unassuming. His usual style, though today it kind of felt like a costume. He tugged at the cuffs, his fingers brushing the faint smudge of charcoal still clinging to his skin from sketching the night before. He hadn’t been able to sleep and had tried to distract himself, but his drawings had turned out like every other attempt for the past three days: dark, jagged lines, incomplete.

He had barely stepped out of his car at the studio lot that morning when two detectives intercepted him. Their tone had been polite but firm—Could he come down to the station to answer a few questions about Anafiel Vessar?—and the polite veneer didn’t fool him for a second. He had agreed, of course; refusing would have only made things worse.

Alcuin rubbed his thumb along the edge of his palm, an old nervous habit, as he replayed his last moments at Anafiel’s house for the hundredth time. He had been careful, hadn’t he? The door locked behind him. The lights off. He'd already admitted to the police that he'd been there that day, and (convincingly, he thought) expressed his uncertainty about the exact time. Perhaps someone had seen him to pinpoint it more exactly, in a way that might be damning? A neighbor? A camera? Or even worse, had he left behind some damning piece of evidence in his panic? His fingerprints all over the house could be explained easily enough...

His breath hitched at the thought. You could have saved him, a small voice in his mind whispered, insidious and relentless. If you’d stayed—if you hadn’t run—he might still be alive.

Thank God, he thought, that was an actor. He thought he'd gotten through that interrogation pretty well, but they'd told him to stay put, that someone else would be coming to talk to him.

Alcuin left the WSS building in a daze. His vision even seemed a little blurry.

He started walking, quickly, not even sure where he was going, and then realized it was in the direction of home - and he stopped in his tracks. He couldn't. What would he say? What would he... oh, god.

He walked a bit farther, until he got to a bench, and sat down on it, dropping his head down between his knees. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He realized he was probably having a panic attack.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But...

With shaking hands, he got his phone out of his coat and sent a text to Aaron: I need you, can you come get me? Please. And then shared his location from google maps.

As soon as he sent the text he felt even more panicked. Why had he done that?

This past week had been rough for Alcuin just in terms of his jumble of emotions and all the big decisions he felt like he was making. He'd reconciled with Hannibal and things had done so well... even the way Hannibal had handled the situation with Nyx had been so respectful and suggested a real shift in their relationship. Maybe things were back to good with them? Though at the same time, Alcuin was interviewing for a job at WSS and hadn't said a word to Hannibal about it. And he also kept thinking about Aaron.

He couldn't do this for much longer, caught in this utter indecisiveness. He also continued to feel so guilty thinking about Aaron, and how he must be stringing him along. Aaron deserved to be free of him. Maybe he and Kersen could ride off into the sunset together. Well. After sunset.

So when he asked Aaron if he could come over, he did so with the intention of breaking things off with him. Setting him free. He knocked on the door.

When Alcuin had gotten a second phone, aware now that Hannibal was using his to track his location, he'd given Aaron the number. And it was on that one that Aaron had texted him to check in on him, and suggested he come to tea.

Alcuin left his other phone in his room at the brothel, and quietly slipped out one evening, and went to the chapel. He felt anxious, still. Guilty. But he did feel better than the last time he'd been here.

Alcuin had never done this before, and he realized that it might be a bad idea when one of the girls who worked at the brothel talked to him for a few minutes, then gave the person working the bar a Look and then went down the hallway in the direction of Hannibal's office. Where she informed him that Alcuin had been drinking gin martinis at a steady clip for the last hour.

... he really should have gone somewhere else. Or just gotten a bottle of gin and brought it to his room.

When he heard Hannibal's familiar footfalls behind him he said without looking, "I truly hope you're not here to scold me."

Alcuin got back to the brothel later than he had originally intended, since it took a while for him to leave Aaron.

He went straight to Hannibal's office.

He closed the door and leaned against it. Looking at Hannibal. The last time he'd seen him, Hannibal had had his blood all over his face and Alcuin was bleeding profusely when Hannibal left him in the alley.

Alcuin was smiling. Almost smirking.

Alcuin came back fairly late after his night with Aaron. He hadn't known it would go so well right away - from the bar to Aaron's place to the good possibility of seeing him again. But he'd also been a bit relieved to have something to do that evening since Hannibal had been quite occupied with fucking a vampire in the library when Alcuin had gone to tell him about having a lead on Aaron's location.

When he got back to his room, he was surprised to find Hannibal asleep on his bed. In his clothes, as if he'd fallen asleep unintentionally. It was getting close to dawn (not that it was dangerous since the windows were all backed out) so he supposed that wasn't odd, except to the extent that Hannibal didn't typically sleep in his room.

He walked over and put a hand lightly on his shoulder to rouse him.

The next day, after telling Hannibal what he'd learned from the thoughts of the low level WSS employee who had come into the brothel, as promised he went to hang out at the coffee shop where all the people who worked there frequented.

He sat in the thick of it, sipping a flat white long enough that he expected it to last a while. Opening himself up to the thoughts of those around him, listening for anything.... interesting.

Days later, Alcuin couldn't stop thinking about it.

He knew there were cameras in the brothel, of course. One of his tasks was ensuring that the computer stayed up and running. When he'd first come here, barely sixteen, he'd of course spent some time watching. How could he not? He learned a lot about vampires in the process, too. He didn't mention it to Hannibal, but assumed that he wouldn't mind. And these days, it was all fairly par for the course, and he simply didn't notice whoever might be on one of the screens when he went in, typically late at night.

Though that night when he'd gone in, he'd seen something unexpected: Hannibal.

He had no idea why Hannibal might be using one of the rooms in the brothel instead of his own bedroom, but that wasn't really the important part. The important part was that Alcuin was transfixed. He watched as Hannibal removed every inch of the young man's clothing, and then bit him, drinking from his throat, before fucking him with an intensity that seemed to come straight through the camera.

At one point... was Hannibal looking at the camera? No. Coincidence.

Alcuin knew it was wrong... he knew it was shameful... but he wouldn't help himself. He locked the door, dropped his trousers, and... well. And when he was done, he carefully cleaned up, finished his tasks, and went back to the other house and his own room. Grateful that he did not run into Hannibal on the way.

But now, he couldn't stop thinking about it. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about Hannibal this way before. But now... his eyes kept going to his mouth, to his crotch. And he was analyzing every look Hannibal gave him. While they ate dinner together at the gigantic dining room table. (Well, while Alcuin ate and Hannibal drank wine.) While they sipped coffee in the kitchen in the morning. Was it his imagination, or was Hannibal touching him more often?

He knew it could ruin everything, but he had to find out. One night before dinner, Alcuin took great care with his appearance. White shirt, v-neck cut low. Hair braided, baring his neck. A single earring with a red gem dotted at the bottom.

He was pouring the wine when Hannibal walked in.

The day after his... encounter with Dillan Jacoby, Alcuin still felt... something. He wasn't even sure what he felt. Hannibal had helped, he really had. And ultimately Alcuin was glad he'd told him, even though he very much hadn't wanted to.

He just felt so many things. Violated, yes. And angry. But in all honesty the anger at himself was perhaps more profound than the anger at Jacoby.

Also somewhere in there was a sense of comfort and relief at what he truly did believe was Hannibal's unconditional love.

The jumble of emotions were enough though to make him want to be alone. So he went back out to the lake, and just sat there staring at the horizon, his feet in the water.