---

Clarice watches his eyes flick to the door confirming their privacy and she takes it as a good sign.

"Hypothetically." She repeats, the inflection placed on all the wrong syllables to alter her actual intention, but it was something one might not pick up if they weren’t listening close enough.

She slowly walked to the opposite side of the desk from him letting her finger trail over the papers and files. It felt intimate to her, standing in his usual space, and she looked up at him taking him in. Will seemed altered now somehow. The change she witnessed had been gradual since his lectures had commenced, and there was a tingle on her skin when she thought she could see the darkness seeping around the edges. It was his subtle use of ‘us’ that intrigued her, and she rolled the words silently over her tongue like something delicious emboldening her to go on.

"You like to talk about justice…or getting justice for the victims. Sometimes…things slip through the cracks, the perp gets off on a technicality, or there isn’t enough hard evidence even though you know who did it." She replies, her eyes narrowing slightly and there’s a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "But I’d never use FBI cases….too close to home…traceable. I’d use cases with no known association…something local, that anyone could read about in the paper." She watches his face for a reaction and can’t help but add, "What about you?"

---

     it’s more than that though.            charles realises this almost as soon as      the words leave will’s lips,  dripping like half-truths in the space between      them. there’s a tension, not yet palpable but very much there, in the lines      of charles’ shoulders,     and feet ache to curl toes in towards the ground. 

                             his toes remain still and charles wheels forward, eyes                              bright in the dim lighting of the lecture hall.   fingers no                              longer shake,     but clench the slightest bit around the                              rim of his wheelchair.   will’s mind is a minefield,  and                              he’d        much        rather       avoid       an       explosion.

                               ❝ it’s wonderful work you do, my friend,                                        though not the easiest, i presume. ❞

----

How endearing. Pestilence was curious, of course, in the most sinister way possible, but it was curiosity nonetheless. Flashing a charmed glint of teeth in a smile, the Horseman inclined his head. The time would come to introduce himself - properly, at that - but it wouldn’t pay to scare him. 

"—Oh, I’m no one important. Promise."

"I’m a doctor. ID specialist. But I like to dabble here and there." 

"One could argue that a doctor is...an important person," he notes. "Unless you feel your work is, mediocre. Or you are simply attempting to sound modest."

--------------

█ ▌ ✖ » She’d made the call on a whim- fingers brushing over the old ad she had clipped quite some time ago. Chances were the poster had already adopted out all the dogs they wanted to, so this call would be pointless; but she forced herself to try anyway. One hand held the phone to her ear, while the other drummed fingers on the tiled counter in a rhythm that matched the still ringing phone. There’s a sigh, and the blonde considers hanging up, but then someone answers, and Bedelia collects herself as quick as she can.

                             ❝———This is probably a long shot, but you                                              posted an ad in the paper a little while                                              ago, wanting to adopt out dogs ? If you’re                                             still accepting, I’d love to help you out with that.❞ She had always been a woman who got straight to the point, often coming across as abrupt, but it was simply how she was- she hoped that Harris didn’t think her rude for not bothering with introductions just yet. She couldn’t say she wouldn’t be somewhat disappointed if Harris turned her down- it was becoming apparent to her that she needed to sort her life out, hiding away in her home for the rest of her days wouldn’t be her any good, and a dog was as good excuse as any to get out that front door.                              ❝———Unless you’re not looking to adopt                                              them out any more,in which case I’m                                             sorry for bothering you.❞

<

Either the joke flies over Ciel’s head or he’s neither amused nor offended enough by it to react; he idly leafs through the pages until he comes upon the last few, which have nothing in them, and then flips the photobook closed again.

"It’s my company now," he shrugs. "If anyone has anything to say about it, it isn’t my problem."

<

"More than informative, honey. It was enjoyable."

He seemed quiet. Pestilence, of course, didn’t blame him — the topic of Graham’s other work came to mind but he brushed the prospect of mentioning it aside.

Best to play it nice.

"Of course, I’m not a pathologist, but I do find it interesting.”

Will didn't even bat an eyelid at the nickname, though he couldn't stop a faint jaw twitch at hearing it. Endearments, using compliments, features found within others that wanted to make a connection, to tie themselves to  another - to socialize. 

                    ”Bad news; you’re dying. Good news; I know how to                     save you.”