Running From You I Negan x Maggie (ENGLISH VERSION)

Chapter 30: Keep your pretty eyes off me

"Did I disappoint you?
Will they still let me over
If I cross the line?"

Gloved fingers drummed rhythmically against the metal table, each tap calculated, each second dragging in a silent countdown. Outside, the world waited. That moment, that exact moment, was the last breath before the show began.

Negan rose slowly, muscles stretching beneath the leather jacket, the crack of his spine echoing in the suffocating silence of the trailer. The air carried the dense scent of cigarette smoke and aged leather, a memory of something old, perhaps even forgotten. But him? He never forgot.

He took a few steps toward the microwave hanging on the wall. His reflection stared back at him in the stained glass, the shadow of a lazy smile growing as he ran a hand through his hair, slicking the dark strands back. Every detail had to be perfect. After all, it was the goddamn season premiere.

It wasn't often he allowed himself the luxury of enjoying the moment before stepping into the scene. But today? Today was special.

He could feel it.

Something at his fingertips, perhaps, or a subtle shiver—he couldn't quite tell, but yes... oh yes, tonight something was going to happen.

Power pulsed beneath his skin, vibrated down his spine like an addictive thrill. Adrenaline came like an old friend, the one who whispered in your ear before a big play, before the first strike of a decisive game.

Ah, Negan loved a good game.

The show was set. The audience awaited. And him? He was ready to set the rules. His rules.

Negan heard Simon's dry knocks at the door. His fingers gripped Lucille's handle a little tighter as he gave himself one last glance in the reflection—half vanity, half dramatic entrance.

Simon would wait with the patience of a loyal dog awaiting the order to attack, but Negan never rushed. He liked to savor the moment, let the tension marinate in the bones of the bastards kneeling outside.

The trailer door creaked as he pushed it open, a long, metallic whine that only added to the dramatic entrance. The yellowish glow of the headlights hit him head-on, casting a long shadow behind him, larger than anyone else there.

He blinked against the brightness, feeling Lucille settle on his shoulder like an extension of himself. Natural. Instinctive. As if the damn thing were a part of his own body.

Negan drawled lazily, stretching the words as if savoring each syllable:

— Are you already pissing your pants?

He took a few more steps, the gravel crunching beneath his boots in the heavy silence that swallowed the forest. He didn't need to count. There were so many kneeling there that it wasn't even worth the effort.

Some figures, however, stood out.

A boy with a hat and an eyepatch—what the hell happened to this kid? Then there was a redhead with a ridiculous mustache, second only to the chubby hillbilly with the mullet. The woman with dreads had that dangerous stance, the kind that said she could take his head off if she wanted to. But not as much as the man with blue eyes, graying beard, and the posture of someone who thought he could stare him down.

Ah, yes. That one was going to be the hardest to break.

But, fuck... breaking them was always the fun part.

And then... he saw her.

Head down. Short, messy hair stuck to a sweaty forehead. Too pale, too thin. She looked sick. No real threat, no more than a leaf about to fall from a tree. But something about her was unsettling.