(will graham voice) How do you know Hannibal Lecter?
such a serious face, this man has — the lines of his mouth are drawn tighter than catgut strings, jumping every so often via the tightening of his jaw, the long, sand paper swallowing of his throat. sweaty and fingers clenching and unclenching, hot and nervous, as if he’s fighting a particularly vicious impulse.
no, she corrects, azure gaze settling into his with that perception she’s always had but hannibal training, staring into the brown eyes that were once warm, that are now at once glassy and over-clear, like a picture drawn too suddenly into focus. he’s fighting something else. fighting for — control. control of himself.
❝ — He’s my therapist.”
and she says it so carefully, coloring it with that childlike sweetness that all adult men expect. she is perceptive, wicked smart — but this man’s intent evades her, tucked away behind the slate of his weathered features.
( she does not know why, but he is — striking, in the way that doctor lecter has always been. and that is as intimidating as it is novel, that in six words she feels as if this man is more than the ordinary. )
❝ Are you a — friend of his?”
she already knows the answer is no.
( hannibal doesn’t have friends. he has patients, and then he has lunch. )
