"I do." Hannibal assured Erik. "Much of my youth was spent in that state."
Now was not the time to discuss where and how he'd grown up. What he'd lost. He was listening to Erik's story of the opera house. He wasn't about to make this about himself. It brought a new depth to the building itself to hear that Erik had not only had a hand in constructing it, but that he'd done so with the intention of it being his final resting place. There was a fresh beauty that wrapped itself around the beams and ran through the brick. Love and devotion had gone into this place. Even if it had not been for a reason that was altogether happy, Hannibal could feel the joy in it. Revel in what it must have been like to see it finally completed.
Hannibal did as he was told, feeling the places where Erik instructed with the tips of his fingers positioned as if he were at the piano and not touching a wall. He did not apply any pressure, as he had no desire to unwittingly trigger a trap that would kill them both.
"I have it." He informed Erik, but he figured he probably didn't need to say it out loud.