will wakes up from his sleep walking in the middle of the field behind his house, once again. the grass is dry and meets his knees, which he can see even through his bleary eyes.

“jesus.” he whispers, looking around quickly. it must be the middle of the night, he determines. this sleepwalking has been becoming more and more common, as well as the nightmares of abigail hobbs's father getting more frequent.

his grey shirt is covered in sweat, and the soft curls of his hair are plastered to his face.

fuck. he needs some help. he'll probably have to schedule a new meeting with hannibal. because he can't quit his job. he saves lives.

except he did kill. he killed garrett jacob hobbs, and he isn't good, he isn't-

“will?” he hears a familiar voice shout to him from across the field.

your voice - you're will's new neighbour, living next to his pretty much isolated house.

you're nice, he thinks. normal, but he only knows you through surface level greetings and those cupcakes you brought over to introduce yourself.

“are you okay? it's two am.” you continue, and he turns around to look at you. he must look a fool, sweating when it isn't even that warm out, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“fine.” he responds, shouting across the space between you. he rags a hand through his hair, then over his face. “i'm fine.”

he scans around the vast expanse once more, wondering how much time he had lost from sleeping until this moment when he woke up.

then, he carefully walks back to his house, every step measured. he's barefoot, and the grass scratches against the flat of his feet.

he clutches into the wooden beam on his porch for support, closing his eyes against the throbbing headache that has started to press behind his eyes.

when he opens them, you're there. he almost groans.

“you look sick.” you say, frowning at him.

you're so pretty, it shouldn't be allowed. maybe that just his hazy mind talking, but god, you're fucking holy. a complete contrast from anything will has done and will ever do. he's not a holy man. he's killed. he experiences what it's like to be a killer for his job.

“astute observation.” he sasses, but his voice has lost all strength. it's weak. shaky, almost.