Hannibal Lecter had invited you to the opera. It was unexpected, sure...but not particularly unwelcome. He bought two tickets, claiming that he had already asked someone else to go, but they politely declined, saying that they were busy that night. Whether that anecdote was true or not you were unsure, but you still agreed. Who in their right mind would decline going to an opera usually worth hundreds per person? Not you, that's for sure. Plus, the company wasn't unpleasant, especially since the doctor was always a gentleman whenever you two were together - whether it be at one of his fancy dinner parties, or a simple passing of greeting during the street, he was always polite towards you. Why wouldn't he be? He detested the rude, after all.

It was the night of the opera, and you were getting ready for him to pick you up in his black Bentley Arnage, looking at yourself in the mirror as you observed your attire for the evening. Was this too fancy for an opera? Was this perhaps not fancy enough? You sighed, knowing damn well that Hannibal would probably outdress you yet again - he always did, he was a man who wore three-piece suits for a living, for God's sake - but it's not like you really minded since he always seemed to find something in your outfits to compliment...not that you didn't appreciate the flattery, of course.

All of a sudden, as you were sorting out the last remnants and accessories of your outfit, there was a knock at the door...you already knew who it was. You walked down the stairs, reaching your front door and opening it in one swift movement. As expected, there he was, Hannibal Lecter. He stood there in a black suit, a white button-up shirt underneath his waistcoat and a black bowtie, a small, appreciative smile plastered on his face as he looked at you.

"You look as appealing as ever, I see," he commented, before holding out an arm for you to take if you wished. "Ready to go?"