The Ripper's Love

French Toast

the music bumped in your ears, almost keeping time with your heartbeat. You're curled up on top of the covers, eyes squeezed shut tight. You felt your fingernails digging into your legs, and you ground your teeth together.

After dinner last night, it was almost like a switch flipped. Suddenly a wave of depression flooded your mind, and the next thing you knew, you were curled up and hadn't moved since.

You curled into yourself tighter, feeling the beat of the music in your ears, focusing on that instead of the current thoughts trying to push their way into the fore-front of your mind.

You knew that this was just your depression flaring up, but every flare up felt worse than the one before.

The song stopped, and in the silence you hear footsteps. You want to move, get up in case someone sees you like this, curled up and small, but you can't find the energy. A new song started playing, the soft ukulele soothing.

You didn't notice as your door opened, and Will stepped in. He froze as he saw you curled into a ball, breath caught in his throat. He immediately knew what was wrong with you.

You felt the footsteps bump towards you, and you managed to sit up, and pull an earbud out. Will walked up to the bed, without saying a word. He crawled onto the bed, and behind you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him.

You curl into him, focusing on his warmth. The music playing in your earbud was background noise now, just a subtle bump.

"I know you don't feel like talking. I'll stay here with you for as long as you need. This feeling is gonna pass."

You only have the energy to nod, pulling your knees to your chest.

You feel Will pull out his phone, and you know he's probably telling Hannibal what was wrong.

"What time is it?" you ask, cringing internally at how small and weak your voice sounded.

"About 9 in the morning. You're gonna need to eat something soon, do you want Hannibal to make you something?"

You shake your head, another wave of tiredness washing over you. Will nodded, arms still wrapped around you.

For a while, Will just holds you, his breathing a soothing beat.

You feel your phone vibrate, and you see that (y/b/f) sent you a message.

"Do you want to read that-" Will asked softly, his breath fanning across the back of your neck.

"Sure," you say, making yourself pick up your phone and open it.

(Y/b/f): You haven't text me all day, what's wrong?

You struggle to get your body to comply as you move your fingers to type, aware of Will reading over your shoulder.

You: having a depressive episode, barely moved at all

You feel Will kiss your shoulder, and you feel yourself relax slightly.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" You shake your head at his question, resting it on his chest.

Your phone buzzes, but you barely notice as you drift off, Will's warmth radiating off of him, making you feel a fraction better.

*

After making sure you were asleep, Will moves, softly shifting you under the covers of your bed, plugging your phone up.

He opens the door quietly, glancing back to make sure you're still sleeping.

He walks downstairs quickly, panic gripping him. Hannibal was sitting in the kitchen, cooking what looked like french toast.

"She's- it's bad Hannibal. I don't know when it's going to get better, and I know she doesn't want to tell anyone at the FBI. If she gets called in I don't know what we're gonna do."