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Will had never been one for attachments. All his life, he'd found a way to keep people at a distance: colleagues, friends, even the dogs that followed him seemed more like a refuge than true companions. He'd learned to survive by being independent, almost impervious to human contact. His mind always found justifications: people hurt, people leave, people don't understand.
But Hannibal wasn't "people."
The omega looked at him with that calmness that hid storms, with a glow that Will couldn't tell if it came from instinct or love, and he was running out of excuses. Now, with the pregnancy progressing, every movement, every gesture from Hannibal reminded him that he could no longer run away. That life growing in his belly bound him with a strength that neither fear nor distrust could sever.
Will, who had avoided hugs his entire life, found himself seeking the warmth of Hannibal's body in bed. He stayed awake more than he'd allowed, his hand resting on the omega's belly, waiting to feel a little kick, a tiny sign of this new existence. And in those moments, he felt like a scared boy holding a treasure that was too fragile, as if he had to care for a cheap teddy bear that, if not handled carefully, could break forever.
—You don't need to stay awake,— Hannibal murmured one night, half asleep, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
—I do need to,— Will replied, more tersely than he meant to. He loosened his grip, but didn't move away. —I won't forgive myself if something happens and I'm not there.—
Hannibal opened his eyes, tired but gentle, and looked at him sideways.
—Will... you're not responsible for everything.
—I'm responsible for both of you.—
The silence that followed was thick, but not awkward. Hannibal knew that arguing was useless: Will carried the burden of his world as if it were his natural duty. The alpha said this in a voice that trembled between fear and devotion.
In the following days, Will tried to act as if everything was under control, as always. He did the shopping, repaired things around the house, went for runs with the dogs... but in the back of his mind, anxiety gnawed at him. Every time Hannibal absentmindedly touched his belly, Will felt a lump in his throat. How could he protect them from everything? How could he be sure he wasn't going to lose them?
His avoidant attachment whispered to him to stay away, that loving like this hurt too much, that it was going to destroy him. But his bond with Hannibal screamed the opposite: that he needed to be close, that the omega was the only thing that kept him human.
One rainy afternoon, as Hannibal settled into the chair, Will stood, staring at him. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw clenched.
—I look at you and think, 'I don't know how I got here,'— he confessed suddenly, his voice hoarse. —I, who always ran away from everything, ended up tied to you. And the worst part...— He swallowed, unable to hold his gaze, —is that I don't want to let go.—
Hannibal, with that serenity that made him a refuge and a threat at the same time, smiled faintly.
—You're not a prisoner, Will. You're an alpha who chose to stay.—
—I didn't choose it,— he replied, shaking his head. —You chose me. You chose me, and now you have me like a boy with a fragile stuffed animal, not knowing what to do, afraid of breaking it.—
The omega reached out, inviting him closer. Will hesitated, but finally sat down next to him. Hannibal took the alpha's hand and guided it to his belly. Beneath the skin, a small movement surprised them both.
Will broke. He felt his whole world shrink into that moment: his hand, Hannibal's, and the life that pulsed between them. And he knew that, even though he'd always avoided connections, even though his instinct told him to run, he could never escape this.
—We're stronger than you think,— Hannibal whispered, leaning closer to rest his forehead against his.
Will closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to capture every detail. Because yes, he was fragile, he was tender and vulnerable like a Taiwanese teddy bear, but he was his. And for the first time in his life, he accepted it.
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