Hannibal weaved a brush through your roots, being careful not to tug or cause the child before him, you, any pain whatsoever. After being sewed through different foster homes, you finally landed in Hannibal's care, who treated you like his own. He got you ready for school each morning and let you visit the ice cream shop every Saturday. It was a simple routine with a gracious effect on your usual changing schedules.

He even offered you your own room, though you usually ended up back in his bed after a nightmare or such of. He didn't mind the presence of another. It was almost comforting to have something other than himself to care for.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, his accent soft as he pushed your hair to the side, tucking it behind your ear neatly just for you to go mess it up once more as soon as you entered the car.