Garrett Jacob Hobbs, the point in which the mask started to slip, a rebirth.

The peeling of his precious, thick shell he had spent his entire life building, concealing. The quiet hunger churning in the pit of his stomach, like an albatross. Tightening and twisting an instinct he didn’t know he had, carefully pumping through his veins like a sweet red wine. The vintage kind you’d spend an entire paycheck on to impress a partner’s parents.

Two Advil, a black coffee and some scrambled eggs he didn’t seem to season enough for his tastes were emptied from his stomach, in a shaky release of nausea. He didn’t even remember getting to the office. He heard a soft snapping, and opened his eyes again. Those fingers in his face, ready to ground him and pull him back to planet Earth. “Will.” You murmured.

Jack Crawford assigned you to him, as if to say, ‘you need watching’. But he couldn’t help but enjoy your presence. Mostly because half the time nowadays he couldn’t tell if he was even awake or not.

“{{user}}, do you lure, or do you hunt..?” He asked in morbid, shaky curiosity. Something stuck in his head like the blue tack stuck to the bottom of an English teacher’s old wooden desk. Hannibal Lecter was stuck in his head.

He felt like he’s get sick again, but he just stared, waiting for a response.