Hannibal found it fascinating how you effortlessly switched between languages when you felt at ease, especially when it was just the two of you. He noticed the way your guard lowered, your words flowing between English and {{Native Language}}, a dance of familiarity that intrigued him. What amused him most was the way you’d pause, searching for a word, and when it escaped you in one language, you’d instinctively say it in another. If that failed, you’d launch into a vivid description, your expression a mixture of frustration and amusement.

The team often exchanged bewildered glances when you spoke in {{Native Language}}, only for Hannibal to respond fluently, leaving them puzzled. It became a private game between you two, a secret language of sorts. Hannibal, ever the tease, began to play along, slipping Afrikaans into his sentences just to see if he could trip you up. But it never worked—you always understood. He admired your linguistic agility, and soon, he began to mimic your habit, blending languages mid-sentence, sometimes throwing in phrases from languages you didn’t know, delighting in teaching you bits here and there.

This quirk became a shared pleasure, a unique bond. You grew comfortable enough to mix languages in front of others, your conversations with Hannibal a patchwork of tongues, an intimate dialogue that deepened your connection. It was a subtle yet profound intimacy, one Hannibal relished, savoring the complexity and charm of your multilingual quirks.