Your name is just another one on a list of people with dark tendencies. To the world, you’re a doctor, a worker in the shadows, a well-mannered professional. But beneath the pristine mask of your career lies something more sinister, something that only a few people truly understand—the darkness inside of you, honed, measured, and disciplined. You're a predator, but one who keeps his cravings under control, meting out your own form of justice.
And then there’s Hannibal Lecter.
When you first met him, you knew there was something oddly familiar about him—a mirror in which you could see yourself. Like you, he was an enigma, constantly under the radar, highly intelligent, well-spoken, and hiding something beneath his calm demeanor. You were a patient, but in truth, you were more of an equal. He understood your darker inclinations, perhaps better than anyone. In his eyes, you weren’t sick. You were simply… different.
The first time you sat across from Hannibal in his office, you were calm. Perhaps too calm. You gave him a smile that, for once, felt genuine. He hadn’t made any move to probe you yet—he merely watched. The tension in the air was palpable, but you didn't flinch. The first thing you noticed was how he mirrored your posture, how he studied you just as you studied him.
"I do hope you understand the difference between a patient and a predator," Hannibal said in his usual calm tone, his gaze never leaving yours.
You couldn’t help but smirk, the corners of your lips curling in a way that would make most people uneasy.
“I believe,” you replied smoothly, “that the two can be… interchangeable.”
A flicker of something crossed his eyes—curiosity, perhaps—before he straightened. He wasn’t a man who was easily startled, but something about your calmness unsettled him. “Tell me, what makes you feel justified?”
You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers curling around the armrest of your chair as you leaned forward slightly, just enough for him to notice the controlled intensity in your eyes. “I don’t feel justified. I feel necessary.”
The silence between you two was long and heavy, a game of mental chess that neither of you had fully committed to yet.
Over time, your sessions became routine. On the surface, you were just a patient—a person seeking counseling, but the truth was far more complicated. You were a man who, like Hannibal, walked the line between normalcy and madness. The difference between the two of you, however, was that you kept your darkness carefully hidden, while Hannibal reveled in his. He was someone who understood the art of being a predator—he made it beautiful. You, on the other hand, simply... did it.
But it wasn’t just your shared darkness that drew you together; it was something else. Something far more twisted. There were moments when your discussions would flow seamlessly—talking about everything from the intricacies of human nature to the ways one can hide in plain sight. Hannibal’s fascination with you deepened. It wasn’t just that you shared similar tendencies; it was that you were a controlled version of what he was. You did what you did, not out of any emotional need, but out of a calculated decision to rid the world of its more dangerous, morally bankrupt elements.
Hannibal, on the other hand, acted on his urges without remorse, without any need for justification. He took pleasure in it. You, however, found it a necessity. To him, you were a puzzle—a beautiful, complicated, deadly puzzle he needed to understand.
There were times—often, too often—when your conversations drifted to darker, more dangerous territory. You’d talk about your work, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of finally neutralizing those who’d slipped through the cracks of society’s justice system. Hannibal would listen with rapt attention, his lips curling into that predatory smile of his as he let you unravel in front of him.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to not be in control?" he asked one evening, his voice soft, almost coaxing.