Irresistible Danger

Active Imagination

Stopping by your room on the way upstairs, you grabbed Negan's sweatpants and his copy of The Scarlet Letter. They were now tucked under your right arm, while you used both hands to carry the tray of lasagna.

It felt like a lifetime ago when you first borrowed that book, the day the two of you had played chess. Your lips tilted upwards at the memory of kicking Negan's ass and winning the bet. A bet which, technically, was still not fulfilled, since he hadn't taken you on a third outing, yet.

Reaching the fourth floor, you almost stumbled when you saw someone else in the hallway, coming towards you. It was a tall man who was wearing a button-down tan shirt, dark pants, and one of the boldest moustaches you had seen since the apocalypse began. It was Simon.

At first, he looked like he was angry and about to tell you to turn around and go back the way you had come. However, he appeared to quickly recognize you, his eyes glancing down at the tray in your hands, before he gave you a warm smile.

"Bringing dinner for Negan?" he asked, even though it was pretty obvious that that was exactly what you were doing.

Nodding, you gave a firm, "Yes, sir," in response, which caused him to chuckle.

"Have fun," he said with a wink, as the two of you passed by one another.

Turning your head to watch his retreating form, your brows furrowed at his words. What the hell did he mean by that?

Telling yourself that you were just being overly paranoid, you turned and continued down the hall, thankfully reaching Negan's door without any other encounters.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you gave a sharp knock. A muffled, "Come in!" caused you to grab the knob and open the door. At first, you were surprised to see that Negan wasn't alone, but then you remembered his earlier promise to have Dr. Carson look at your head, again.

The doctor was standing off to the side, frown lines around his ginger-bearded mouth, showcasing his discomfort at being in Negan's office. Looking across the room, you made eye contact with Negan, who was leaning against the front of his desk, arms spread out on along the dark wood on either side of his hips. He gave you a slow grin before pushing off the desk and coming over to take the tray out of your hands. Feeling incredibly awkward, with his pants and book still tucked under your arm, you moved a few steps to the side, in order to place them down on the nearest edge of the leather couch.

You turned to see Dr. Carson watching you, and hoped he didn't make any assumptions about the pants. Although, he knew you had spent the night in Negan's bed last night, so it wasn't like there was much use in trying to hide that the two of you had something private going on. Even though, you still weren't sure what that private thing was, at this point.

That thought was interrupted by Negan's gruff voice. "Well, the fuck you waiting for, doc?"

The words jolted Dr. Carson forward, and he walked up to where you were standing, his blue eyes full of nervous energy. It was apparent that Negan had threatened him in some way, to do this correctly, and you felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault you had ran out into the woods and hit your head, and you knew that there wasn't any needed treatment, since you already felt majorly improved from less than 24 hours ago.

Carson took out a little pocket light and shone it in your eyes, telling you to follow the light as he moved it in various directions. You must've been successful, because he nodded and clicked it off, before asking if you had any current pain. You admitted to a slight, residual headache, but said that was all. Your ankle still give the tiniest of twinges, if you were on your feet for a while, but you weren't even about to mention that, in case Negan got the dramatic idea in his head to put you on bedrest. Glancing over, you saw that he was ignoring the food in favor of watching you closely, as if to make sure that the doctor's examination was thorough enough.