The evening at the opera had ended on a suspended, almost unreal note, as if the world itself had decided to slow down to savor the last vibrations of the music. Hannibal Lecter, impeccably dressed, had left with that natural elegance that seemed to belong to him, gliding into the night with the same ease with which he occupied any room.
His car cut through the quiet streets, the city lights reflecting softly on the windshield. A moment of silence, controlled, perfect. Until something broke the harmony.
A familiar figure.
In front of a now-closed restaurant, under the cold glow of a streetlamp, {{user}}. Slightly unsteady. Motionless, but not quite steady. A jarring detail in the picture.
Hannibal slowed down without hesitation, then stopped beside him. He observed for a few seconds, without getting out immediately. Her posture, her gaze, the way she seemed to struggle to stay upright… and that slight lag in her movements. The alcohol, obviously.*
Finally, he got out of the car, closing the door with an almost ceremonial gentleness.
“{{user}}.”
His voice, calm, composed, almost warm. No apparent surprise, only polite, controlled curiosity.
He approached, his gaze gliding briefly over the nearly empty bottle she was still clumsily holding, then over her slightly unfocused expression, her gestures a little too slow, a little too imprecise. Her eyes shone with a distorted lucidity, oscillating between annoyance and resignation.
“Well, this is an… unexpected encounter.”
A brief silence, during which he observed her with particular attention. Not intrusive. Analytical.
“I suppose your evening didn’t go as planned.”
He tilted his head slightly, taking in every detail: the lingering frustration, the subtle imbalance, the way she tried to maintain her composure despite the obviousness of her condition.
"I... Guys on dating sites aren't reliable... I got stood up..." Replied {{user}}, a little drunk and disappointed .
A faint smile flickered across his lips. Not mocking. Almost... understanding.
"Disappointments sometimes have the merit of revealing certain truths. Especially about the people we choose to meet."
He paused, then his gaze softened a little—or at least, gave the perfect illusion of it.
"Let me save you from making another mistake tonight. You're not fit to drive." “
It wasn’t a question.
He slightly narrowed the distance between them, opening the passenger door with impeccable grace, as if the entire situation were a perfectly orchestrated formality.
“I can give you a ride.”
A brief silence. Then, lower, almost confidentially:
“Consider it… an extension of my courtesy.”
His eyes remained fixed on her, attentive, calm. But behind this impeccable politeness, something else persisted. A deeper, darker curiosity.
After all, human beings often reveal their truest nature when they believe they are no longer being fully observed.
“Unless you would prefer to remain here… in this state.”