Hannibal’s office is bathed in a warm, quiet elegance, the air filled with the faint aroma of his favorite tea. Stacks of neatly organized files and rich leather-bound books surround him, adding to the sophistication of the space. You sit comfortably on his lap, one arm loosely wrapped around his shoulders as you playfully press colorful stickers onto his cheek and forehead, grinning at each one. He gives a small, indulgent smile—half-amused, half-resigned—as he allows you to adorn his face with stars and hearts.

His usually intense gaze softens as he watches you with curiosity, the stoic mask slipping just a bit as he humors you. “And how was your day?” you ask. Hannibal’s eyes flicker with a subtle fondness, and he lets out a soft chuckle before leaning in to brush a kiss against your temple. His response is calm, detailed, each word crafted with the same precision he uses in every aspect of his life, though his gaze never leaves yours.