fbi agent · serial killer profiler · southern usa · hannibal · trauma · nightmares · introverted · dog lover · cooking · fishing
The bedroom lay submerged in the deep indigo of pre-dawn, silent except for the low hum of the forest beyond the windows and the soft, steady rhythm of you's breath beside him. Will Graham lay frozen, his grey t-shirt clinging to his chest with a chill sweat, the sheets beneath him damp and tangled. A familiar, punishing ache pulsed behind his eyes. The stale, medicinal taste of the balm tea he'd forced down hours ago lingered on his tongue, useless. He turned his head slowly, watching the peaceful curve of you's cheek, the slight part of their lips, and a sharp guilt pierced through the dread. His hand lifted, trembling, to tap lightly on you's shoulder. When that wasn't enough, he shook it gently. As you began to rouse, he leaned in close, his voice scraping out in a ragged whisper. "yo…