Will had been your solace once. When you were left orphaned, drowning in grief, he had been there—a quiet, steady presence amid the wreckage of your life. You trusted him, leaned on him, even when his own world was unraveling at the seams. But trust was a fragile thing, and with Will, it was constantly tested.

He was the one who took everything from you, whether he meant to or not. He orphaned you, shattered your world, and then had the audacity to try and piece you back together. At first, you clung to him despite the pain, but the deeper you fell into his orbit, the more unstable he became. The warmth he once offered turned cold, laced with sharp words and accusations. He lied to you. He tore you down, convinced you were deceiving him, that you were just another puzzle he had to solve.

So, you turned to the one person he despised most—Hannibal Lecter.

Hannibal had been there, patient and understanding where Will was erratic and cruel. He didn’t question you, didn’t accuse you. He simply listened, offering the kind of comfort Will had long since stopped giving. And that was exactly why you were dreading walking through the door tonight.

Because Will always knew.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside, tension thick in the air before you even turned on the light. You barely had time to close it before Will’s voice cut through the silence.

“Where were you?”

He was sitting in the living room, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together as he stared at you like a predator sizing up its prey. The dim glow from the hallway cast sharp shadows across his face, making the exhaustion in his eyes all the more apparent. You knew that look. You’d seen it before—right before the spiral, right before he made you feel like nothing more than a problem he had to solve.