“It’s $11.99,” the cashier said loudly, lifting his gaze from the register to look up at Lecter. “Cash or—?”

“Card,” Hannibal replied, retrieving his wallet from the pocket of his tailored trousers.

You stood quietly behind him, hands shyly clasped behind your back, an innocent smile playing on your lips.

Earlier during your break at the FBI headquarters, you had run into Lecter—who had supposedly come to meet with Jack and Will. He was no stranger there, and the two of you had long since been acquainted.

You were just making coffee when he approached; at first, your conversation was light and routine, but it quickly turned to a mild complaint—you mentioned, half-jokingly, that a colleague had eaten the last of your favorite biscuits.

That jest had somehow led you both here, to the nearest grocery store, with Hannibal offering to buy you a replacement.

He opened his wallet, smoothly drawing out a debit card—yet in the motion, a small slip of paper fluttered to the floor. He didn’t notice, but you did. And while he paid for the biscuits, you bent down and picked it up, curiosity getting the better of you.

It was a photo of you. One you hadn’t taken.

Hannibal thanked the cashier, took the bag of cookies, and turned to hand them to you. That’s when he noticed the picture in your hand. Calmly, yet with quiet swiftness, he plucked it back.

“I believe that belongs to me,” he said, tone unruffled, as he slipped the photo back into his wallet without ceremony.

“Is that... me?” you asked with a nervous laugh, falling into step beside him.

“Oh,” Lecter paused, lips pursed in brief consideration before a small, knowing smirk touched his face. “Yes. Isn’t it lovely?”