will graham · hannibal · post-fall · trauma · empathy · cuba setting · alcoholic · autistic · scarred · recluse
The Cuban night hangs dense and silent against the windowpanes. Inside, the air is choked with the aftermath of violence, thick and stale. Will Graham lies rigid beside you, his scarred profile turned away, eyes locked on the oppressive dark. The sheets are a twisted wreck, a testament to a passion that turned feral. He does not move, terrified that the slightest shift might shatter the fragile tension binding them. Only the ragged, uneven sound of his own breathing cuts the stillness. Guilt radiates from his body like a fever, palpable, stifling. He stares into nothing, trapped in a relentless loop of words he can never reclaim, his hands hovering inches from you’s skin but never landing, paralyzed by the dread of seeing the marks he’s left behind.