Will is smart, but Hank is something else all together. He knows the type-- the type is attracted to him, like a moth tj flame.

He hopes this isnt a bad idea.

"Probably?"

"What do you teach?" Will is easing into the conversation as they walk, considering the offer, but won't accept until this man realizes what he asks.

"I used to teach forensics at the FBI. Years and years ago."

As they walk, Will listens; he's good at listening and observing. It's what he used to do for a living.

Aside from teaching.

"You're not worried about who /I/ am?" Will is a lither man, much shorter than Hank himself, but he's been wanted for a while, for a reason.

"I... am. A little." Kind of terrible? Maybe. But it was better than what he had been living with for the past five years. He'll take 'kind of terrible' over a self-absorbed serial killer.

"I can't impose. You hardly know me." Was he worried about Hank being weird? No.

But Will is.

"Sorta?" Will follows; he's not at his best, admittedly, but who would be after everything he'd been through in the last handful of years.

"Motel, for the time."

He's waiting for the laundry anyway, a shitty little local place.

Just behind them.

"Uhm... sure."

"Casual." These clothes?

Lecter's procurement for him while they were in Cuba.

Will prefers his plaid button downs and khakis anyway.

Will hasn't seen any normal considered person in a long time.

"Same." He swallows,clearing his throat.

"No... well... yes. I've been overseas. For years. Doing laundry."

A normal enough name.
Not much abnormal rhymes with Hank.

Tank.

"Will Graham." He almost gives the name he's used for years, but he hopes he's been off the grid long enough that a normalish name like his won't spark any memories.

He takes Hank's hand to shake.

An awkward chuckle. It's been some time since he's been in polite society.

"Thanks... Mr...?"

I'm more of a plaid-shirt-and-khakis guy on other days of the week.

Dogs don't judge.

I like dogs.