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“Hannibal Lecter,” he finally says and extends his hand, he prays the man shakes it.
He eyes it suspiciously for a second, like he didn’t expect the gesture, but grasps it firmly. His hand is warm and rough, littered with tiny cuts and white scars.
“Will Graham,” he introduces himself. “Wow, your hand is cold.” Hannibal didn’t notice. “Sorry, that was rude, uh, are you lost though? Are you alright?” Will asks again, he is yet to let go off Hannibal’s hand and Hannibal sure as fuck is not going to let go first.
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