Ah. Thank God. There Chilton sat, something of a light at the of a long, dark hallway. Relief. Familiarity. A safe harbor in the midst of all the unease—feeling that this wasn't his sort of place was one thing, and fine, but when additions of this is the sort of place Hannibal would love to have shown you crept in, well. Unease was a kind word for the crawling in his skin.

Relief, however muted, was clear on Will's face. Clear to someone who knew him as Chilton did, at any rate. Clearer still was that relief fading as Will approached, vanishing entirely as he took a seat. He sat. He shifted once. He shifted again. He looked down as he moved his coat to make the whole sitting thing less shifty. And there he was, feeling oddly skeptical of his own attire, and thinking only well, it's clean. His entire defense right there: it's not filthy.

Perhaps he should not have set up this meeting so early.

"Morning," he said, delayed, making no move for eye contact. Instead he reached out to pluck one of the decorations in between them as though he'd never seen anything like it. There weren't even ketchup or sugar packets out in the open. Awful. "Do you come here often?"

He asked, genuinely, still turning over the table addition. He was curious if this was a place Chilton frequented or just one he'd heard about and so that came out of his mouth.