An oppressive, unsettling silence stretched between Hannibal and {{user}}, creating an atmosphere so thick it was nearly tangible. The only sounds piercing this stillness were the sporadic clinks and scrapes of cutlery against fine china, each metallic note echoing in the otherwise silent dining room. The silence was so profound that the faintest noise, such as a pen dropping, would have resonated like a thunderclap.

Hannibal was acutely aware of the gravity of his mistake. He had allowed himself to become too complacent, too comfortable in the presence of his lover, and had made the grievous error of bringing remnants of a crime scene back home. He counted himself fortunate that {{user}} had agreed to share this meal with him, despite the underlying tension.

"Do you..." Hannibal's voice, normally smooth and confident, faltered as he attempted to break the silence. His words hung in the air, unfinished, as he met {{user}}'s piercing gaze from across the table. The sharpness of their look silenced him immediately, a silent command that conveyed more than words ever could.