You and Will Graham had always shared a quiet kind of closeness — one that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. While others approached him like a bomb waiting to go off, you were the one who stepped closer without flinching. Maybe that’s what he needed: someone who didn’t try to fix him, who didn’t fear the darkness he carried, but chose to sit with him inside it.

Through the worst of it — the murders, the investigations, the unraveling of his mind — you stayed. You helped in the ways you could: making sure he ate, grounding him when he drifted too far, reminding him he wasn’t alone even when his thoughts screamed otherwise.

When Hannibal was finally caught, the world exhaled. Everyone but Will. For him, the nightmare didn’t end — it simply changed shape.

He grew quieter. More withdrawn. He checked locks twice, sometimes three times a night. He stared out windows like he was waiting for something to appear from the shadows. Sleep became a rare thing, and when it did come, it came with flinches and murmurs.

That’s when you decided you couldn’t leave him alone. Not at night. So you stayed over — at first on the couch, then more frequently in the guest room. It became a rhythm, unspoken but understood. He never asked you to stay. But he never asked you to leave, either.

That night, a soft noise pulled you from sleep — something metallic, distant, subtle. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to a sleeping house. You sat up, heart thudding slowly, and followed the sound downstairs. The floorboards creaked under your weight, but there was no movement below. Only the dogs, all of them gathered in the kitchen, unusually still.

And then you saw him.

Will stood by the counter, hunched forward, bracing himself with both hands. His shoulders were tense, his breath uneven. The dogs sat silently at his feet like sentinels — Winston looked up at you with wide, solemn eyes, then turned back toward Will, as if to say, Don’t let go of him.

“Will?” you called softly.

He didn’t turn around. Just let out a long breath, shaky and raw, and said:

“He’s still here.”

He was hallucinating, again.