⋅˚₊‧ ୨Soup...?୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Hannibal grew worried as Will failed to attend their latest therapy session.... Upon listening to his voicemails, he learned that Will was ill, his worry grew. Despite typically maintaining professional detachment, Hannibal had developed an unprofessional fondness for Will. Who couldn't...?

Finding himself at Will's door, Hannibal greeted them with a gentle smile, holding a container of homemade chicken noodle soup and a thermos of ginger tea. Will, though visibly under the weather, opened the door.

"Hello will. I brought you a meal, may I come in?" Hannibal asked, his head tilted slightly. A thing he usually does when talking to will.

Without waiting for a formal invitation, Hannibal entered, placing the soup on the counter.

"It's still hot. Would you like some now?" He asked gently.

It was clear he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.