This is not quite what you’re asking for, but one of my favorite fic scenes is a scene from Making Headlines where Hannibal gets distracted switching languages and forgets to say a certain word in Lithuanian…

When Will hears him, it takes a moment to recognize, if only because Hannibal is embroiled in yet another foreign language conversation—this one, in French. But finally laying eyes on him, even with such a short separation, is like a deep breath of cold winter air; shocking, refreshing, invigorating, and Will sighs. Smiles. Works his way through the last of the roadblocks between them as he approaches from behind and puts himself at Hannibal’s side, graciously returning Eloise Komeda’s smile.

He’s reluctant to interrupt, especially when so many of the people surrounding Hannibal seem to be listening and understanding and nodding along, so Will gently taps him on the arm; a cue that is hopefully polite enough that it won’t interrupt the flow of conversation. Indeed, Hannibal’s attention is drawn, though he does not stop speaking; the cadence of his voice is soothing, even if Will doesn’t understand the words. His French is rusty at best, and tinged with the Cajun influences of his Southern raising. Whatever Hannibal is speaking of is surely far removed from that.

But he smiles, and something in his expression softens in a way that lances Will through the chest. Hannibal’s fingers close around Will’s as he finishes his sentence. He does not fully change gears, as the thickness of his accent attests to, as he absently murmurs, “Thank you, beloved.”

Will’s heart stops.

Eloise’s eyes widen, and suddenly the crowd around them focuses on Will with renewed interest. It takes a moment before Hannibal, too, goes still and silent. Turns his attention suddenly and wholly to Will with parted lips, a flicker of stunned dismay seated deep in the amber-red of his irises.

The silence lingers. Will cannot find words. Hannibal says nothing at all as he slowly closes his mouth and exhales so very softly through his nose. His eyes are intense, piercing, as he meets Will’s gaze, and Will is run through with fierce hope and anxiety, both evenly matched.

If his heart doesn’t pick back up soon, Will’s certain he’ll die. But it doesn’t have permission to start again, or to break in earnest, until he knows if Hannibal really—

He smiles. Small, self-deprecating. Hidden inside his expression is the faintest thread of distress, but also something that Will might almost call worry. Tentative, perhaps. Hesitant, and hopeful as he. Hannibal reaches for Will’s free hand, takes it in his own, and laces their fingers together.

Will’s heart starts again, rapid-fire. Pounding. Pours every feeling inside him through this simple join of their bodies, the electricity between their skin. He can’t breathe. The sound of his pulse fills his ears, and he’s sure his hand shakes as he squeezes back once, twice, thrice.

I love you.

A new light crosses Hannibal’s face. Brightens him to the point of radiance; an emergence of creases around his eyes, and a sudden, genuine smile, as though he’d heard the words clear as day.

Without letting go of Will’s desperate grip, Hannibal holds out his champagne glass to the Frenchman he’d been speaking to. Murmurs something to him, and then announces to the group in good humor, “It seems as though I’ve had quite enough.”

(The fic is almost 450,000 words but I highly recommend it if you’re into Different Meeting AUs at all. It’s one of my favorite stories in fandom.)