Irresistible Danger

Logic Over Instinct

                  

Negan was in your bedroom. Negan. Was in. Your bedroom.

Speechless for the moment, you watched as he stood by the door, Lucille in hand, and scanned the room.

The space was small, barely bigger than a dorm room. You weren't complaining because at least the space was solely yours. Most compound members had to share a room, either with the rest of their family or with random roommates. You weren't sure how you had been lucky enough to arrive at a time when a single room was unoccupied, but thank God you had.

The walls were an ugly off-white color, and you didn't have any decorations to cover it save for the round mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed. There was a rickety wooden chair by the door that had a mixture of clean and semi-clean clothes strewn all over it, and the rest of your clothes were hastily folded and stacked in some wooden crates that served as your armoire. There was a small black trashcan at the foot of the bed and a short stack of books sitting in the corner. Beside the head of the bed was a small nightstand currently holding a blue desk lamp, the copy of Poe, and a box of band aids for your injured finger. The bed was twin-sized with an old wooden frame and worn gray sheets.

The room was tiny to begin with, but Negan's presence made the space seem even smaller. You had so many conflicting emotions about the fact that for the first time it was him invading your private space and not the other way around. Emotions that you couldn't identify right now for all the points in the compound.

Negan had stopped scanning the room and was now staring silently at you curled at the head of the bed with your back against the wall. Clearing your throat, you asked, "What brings you here?"

"Sherry said you almost cut your fucking finger off and were rushed to the medic. Figured I better see how long my lead cook is going to be out of commission in case we need a replacement."

Eyes narrowing, you replied, "I'm not going to be out of commission. It was just a little cut, nothing major."

"A little cut that has you fucking bed-ridden?" he taunted.

"Not willingly," you grumbled.

Looking around the room again, he seemed to be contemplating whether or not to sit down. His eyes drifted over to the wooden chair but it was occupied with too many clothes. The only other place for him to sit was on the mattress with you, and you were not offering that. Whether or not it was impolite, there was no way that you were tempting fate by sitting on the same bed as him.

Suddenly the decision was taken out of your hands when he set Lucille down on the chair and proceeded to walk across the short space towards the bed.

You almost forgot how to breathe when he sat down on the edge of the mattress right beside your hip, the bed dipping underneath his weight. Your bodies were so close that you curled your legs upwards and scooted closer against the wall in a vain effort to put a couple more inches between the two of you. The random and utterly ridiculous thought entered your head, Dear god he's sitting right on top of the spot where I hid the note.

You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled off the thick leather gloves and laid them across his thigh. "Lemme see it."

A spark of heat rushed through you at the command, and it took a couple seconds before you realized that he meant your finger, not another part of your body. Get your head out of the goddamn gutter.

You held out your hand and showcased the finger currently covered with a band aid. It must've still been oozing a little bit of blood, because there was a slight red spot showing through.