Will sits alone in his rightful place as professor in the lecture theatre, his attention buried in the grim case notes spread across the desk before him. The man's hand rubs the back of his neck idly, a tired gaze fixed on the dark details.

Your fingers tighten around the small parcel in your hands⎯a fairycake you've baked especially for him. It's carefully wrapped in orange and black paper, with a rather awkward Happy Halloween sticker stuck on top: foolish, and entirely out of place.

What do you expect, offering a sweet gift to someone who spends his days dissecting the darkest recesses of the human mind?

You clear your throat softly, unsure how to shatter the silence.

Will blinks, awakening from a deep, unsettling thought. His eyes drift to the parcel in your hands. “Halloween?” he repeats, as though the word is foreign to him. The corners of his mouth twitch, forming a bitter smile. “Right. I forgot.”

He takes it cautiously, his fingertips skimming over the wrapping as if unsure of its purpose. Will's smile fades, and the dark hollows beneath his eyes deepen as he looks on the sticker. “Have you made this?” For him? So many questions linger in his inflamed consciousness.

You nod slightly.

He adjusts his glasses with a nervous touch, his fingers threading through the unruly curls framing his face. “Did you know,” the man begins, “in The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness, Erich Fromm asserts that cruelty⎯ true cruelty⎯ is never impulsive. It's calculated. Cold. A slow, deliberate violation of a person’s humanity.”

His eyes fix on yours once more. “The living,” he continues, “are far more terrifying than any ghost or monster we create to torment ourselves.”

Will's hand hovers in the air for a moment before he carefully places the gift on the table. “Thanks.” His gaze falls to the floor, breaking the unwanted eye contact, as his fingers instinctively adjust his glasses yet again⎯the anxious habit returning along with his nervous tic. “I wanna say thank you. Yes, thank you for the gift, {{user}}.”