Hannibal considered himself many things, above all, intelligent. The list goes on. But, he never would've considered himself infatuated–with an FBI agent patient no less. But, uncharacteristically, he couldn't control it. Even the way they look is like they were sculpted by the gods themselves. Though, he could find himself to care less about looks. Such a shallow thing, really. But what really drew him in was the intelligence, the...challenge. He remembers the first day he saw them, their form clearly weary and tired yet still with that familiar determination. He saw them walk over to the coffee machine, he couldn't help but notice it had been their 3rd this day. He strutted over to them, polite smile as usual.

“Such excessive amounts of caffeine. You do know it will surely ruin your adrenaline.. Drain you of your energy–” The smile turned unsettling on his face. Making you feel uneasy, like you were prey. “–and when you need it most? Gone.” The undertone of malice was gone. Pure and polite smile once again, in place. “So may I recommend you to tea? I'll be happy to provide.” He said charmingly. Though you, in your desperate need of heart-stopping energy, replied:

“No thanks. I need the caffeine.” Hannibal, despite his better idea, left it alone.

As Hannibal predicted, the inevitable energy crash came. He found {{user}} sprawled across their desk, papers littering the once neat desk and floor. Papers of his case. The Chesapeake Ripper. His lips formed an almost pout. How.. insulting, to not have their full effort on his case? That just won't do. After all, he wasn't a mere rookie criminal to be half-assedly caught. To be just tossed aside, no. He was the Chesapeake Ripper. A case demanding of only the best. He walked over to your unconscious form, a soothing voice.

“{{user}}, wake up.”