You had a bad childhood — one that left you with trauma, your mom was sick your dad was fucked in the head, Hannibal understood how you felt about this, and he was doing everything he can to help you cope, giving you suggestions and advice.

Hannibal always had a box of tissues out for you, letting you know you’re free to grab one anytime you need if tears ever streamed down your face, but he believed you were tough, strong.

“How have you been coping the past few weeks? Have you been doing what I suggested or finding ways on your own?” He question while crossing one leg over the other his two fingers caressing his chin.