ELEANOR . NEGAN

028.

Eleanor forgot to close her curtains.

She forgot to close her fucking curtains.

After hours of an unrelenting attempt to fall asleep, she finally managed. Just to be awoken again when the rising sun beamed through her window only hours when she finally got some shut eye. Piss take. With an annoyed groan, she pushed away her blanket and started to get ready for the day.

Alexandria was quiet this morning. No one outside to attend to their jobs, their duties. No echoing walker growls, or the clanging of pots when Maya attempts to make a nice breakfast—it was silent.

Great.

Eleanor shivered at the frosty air from and headed straight for her wardrobe, pulling a jumper over her bra and tank top. Autumn was coming along now, she knew it was. The days ended quicker and each leaf that fell from its branch would be a sign that it was almost there. Sometimes, if it was a shit day, you could even see your breath.

Wonder how Negan feels. His cell room wasn't the cosiest of places, and definitely not the warmest when his window is just three thick bars. Elle sighed and rummaged through her wardrobe once more to find a jumper for him. Nothing too snazzy, but just a cotton navy jumper that was three sizes too big for her.

"Good enough..." She mumbled.

She pushed a pack of cigarettes into her cargo trousers, noting that she needed to steal a new pack from Daryl's little house here since she was running out, and pushed her lighter in her front pocket.

Elle likes the routine of getting ready. The only thing in this apocalyptic life that stayed the same. Well, at least now. Safety in Alexandria opened up possibilities of a normal life, and she wanted to take advantage of it. Her childhood was her growing up too soon to simply to look after herself. And even after that, she joined a place known for forced routines and training. Not much choice in that profession.

But this? This is something she liked. The domesticity of it all. The waking up in a comfy bed, to getting changed in her own room, to brushing her teeth in her joint-bathroom. It was all very real—she loved it. 

Before she left her house, she made sure she had everything. A once look over. Her bag had the navy jumper, a bottle of water and two breakfast bars, her pockets filled with keys, cigarettes and a lighter, and a pistol lodged between her waistband.

Sorted.

The feeling of the rising sun now beaming down on her was euphoric. It made her feel cozy and warm despite the frostiness in the air, a perfect juxtaposition. Elle would scrape her feet across the floor, not in a way like she didn't know how to walk, but in a way that it made noise so she didn't feel so lonely.

When she reached Negan's cell, she could already hear a humming through the window of a specific song that still hasn't left his mind even six years later. "Pathetic," Elle dragged when she pushed the door open. "It was six years ago, Nelly. Stop."

Negan's humming stopped as soon as he heard the door open, but then a smile pulled on his features when he saw who it was. Eleanor, by far, was the highlight of his day. Even if she became more sarcastic and slightly meaner, she was still the one who made him genuinely smile.

"Good morning, doll." He'd say with his pearly whites on pure show and his brown eyes softer when he'd look at her.

She'd respond, "Morning, Nelly." And even if she didn't smile as often, her eyes would tell the same story. Always on guard, her hand near her gun—calculated and smart. But when she'd see him, she felt an annoying force of comfort and her guard would break down second by second.