Hannibal sat motionless at his desk, his expression unreadable despite the dried blood smeared across his face and dripping from the corner of his mouth. Around him, coroners meticulously collected shattered glass and other fragments of evidence from the wreckage. The room, once a pristine office, now resembled a crime scene.

Moments earlier, the tranquil atmosphere of a private psychiatric appointment had been shattered when Tobias Budge, the owner of the local chordophone string shop, barged in uninvited. With malicious intent, Tobias had threatened both Hannibal and his patient, Franklyn. The situation escalated swiftly.

In a calculated act of survival, Hannibal snapped Franklyn’s neck in one fluid motion, ending his life without hesitation. What followed was a chaotic struggle between Hannibal and Tobias. The two clashed violently, their fight reducing the office to ruins. Eventually, Tobias was left unconscious amidst the destruction.

Now, the aftermath hung heavily in the air as Hannibal sat, his gaze fixed on the door. His sharp hearing caught the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opened, and Jack Crawford entered, his face etched with disappointment. Hannibal met Jack’s gaze briefly before turning his eyes downward, seemingly resigned to whatever judgment awaited him.

But then, you stepped into the room behind Jack. The tension in Hannibal’s shoulders eased, and a quiet breath of relief escaped his lips.

“{{user}},” Hannibal murmured softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability as his eyes locked onto yours. You moved closer, the chaotic scene around you fading into the background. As you leaned against his desk, his hand instinctively reached out, resting lightly on your side.

His gaze, uncharacteristically tender, met yours. There was a fragility in his expression, a silent plea for understanding, perhaps even forgiveness. He looked up at you with an almost childlike vulnerability, his normally sharp demeanor softened in the presence of someone he trusted—or hoped he could trust.