Imagine Book 2

The FBI Academy- Hannibal Lecter (Hannibal) Pt.3~ Studying

Fem Y/N

𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈

The library was quiet, its tall shelves filled with the weight of knowledge and the faint smell of old paper. Y/N sat at one of the large wooden tables, her FBI Academy textbooks spread out in front of her. The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated the pages, casting a warm circle of light over her notes. She was preparing for an important test, and her mind should have been focused on the criminal profiling theory she was trying to absorb. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting to the man sitting beside her.

Hannibal Lecter, her mentor, her professor—and, recently, something much more—sat quietly next to her, leafing through one of her textbooks. He seemed calm, composed as always, his presence both comforting and distracting. His crisp, perfectly tailored suit was a deep burgundy tonight, and the smell of his subtle cologne lingered in the air between them, making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything but him.

"You're distracted, Y/N," Hannibal said softly, his voice smooth and knowing, without even looking up from the page.

Y/N sighed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. He always knew. "I'm trying to focus. Really, I am," she muttered, tapping her pen against the table, feeling the tension growing in her chest.

Hannibal turned his head slightly, his dark, intelligent eyes meeting hers. There was a hint of amusement there, a glimmer that told her he was fully aware of what was going on in her mind. "If your mind were as engaged in the material as it is in other thoughts, you would have no difficulty," he teased lightly, closing the book in front of him.

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing as he leaned back in his chair, studying her with that same intensity she had grown used to—though it never failed to send a shiver down her spine. She tried to look back down at her notes, but the weight of his gaze made her skin tingle.

"I'm trying to focus," she repeated, her voice softer now. "But it's... difficult when you're sitting so close."

A slow, knowing smile spread across Hannibal's face, and he set his book aside, leaning his elbow on the table as he regarded her. "Perhaps I'm the one distracting you, then."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh quietly, shaking her head. "Maybe just a little."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with her honesty. "Then let me help you focus, Y/N." He leaned closer, his eyes sharp and captivating, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "What is it you're struggling with?"

She hesitated for a moment, then gestured to the chapter in front of her. "Criminal typologies. Specifically, how to identify which types of serial offenders fit certain patterns. It's a lot to take in."

Hannibal nodded, his gaze briefly shifting to the page before returning to her. "It's not just about memorizing the patterns. You must understand the mindset behind them. What drives a person to commit such atrocities? What need are they fulfilling?"

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to that hypnotic tone that always seemed to pull her in. "Think of it like art, Y/N. A killer leaves behind a signature, much like a painter leaves their mark on a canvas. Their actions are not random; they're expressions of who they are. Understand their needs, and you'll understand them."

His words were logical, precise, and exactly what she should be thinking about. But with Hannibal sitting so close, his deep, cultured voice curling around every word, it was nearly impossible to focus on anything other than the way his presence made her feel—heightened, alive, and drawn into him.

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "I think I understand," she said, though her voice faltered slightly.

Hannibal's eyes flickered over her face, reading her with an ease that always made her feel vulnerable, yet seen in a way no one else could. "Are you sure?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a deeper meaning than just the academic.