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Mellifluous 50's tunes emanated from the record box in the corner, gathering dust while letting off a subtle cracking, static noise. Winona curled up in the blankets with her aching foot and closed her heavy eyes. The one hour nap hadn't done her much good. Negan was still gone from the room – hopefully for good – and her injury was still sending jolts of pain through her leg. Behind the sheer blue curtains was a darkened sky.
With a delicate gash in her foot and half asleep body, she stumbled to the dresser at the back of the room. The grimy, archaic oak held a set of tea light candles scattered over the surface. Grunting, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a lighter. Flicking her thumb over the spark wheel, she hovered the flame above the candle and set a few of them atop the bedside table.
After a few moments she had about six candles lit. She reached for her seventh one and ignited the flame, placing it carefully over the wick.
"Jesus, what the fuck is going on in here? A satanic fucking ritual? Never seen so many goddamn candles in my life."
Winona jumped and caught her finger on the flame. She winced and jerked her hand back, pressing it to her cold lips. That would leave a nasty mark.
The door slammed behind him. "Well don't go fucking injuring yourself again. We don't got free fucking health care."
"Motherfucker," she muttered, eyes darting around the room for a bottle of water. Something to pour over the burn.
"Well hello to you too." He grinned, the corners of his lips nearly touching his ears. "Nice to fucking see you again."
"What do you want?"
"Good question. How about a little fucking gratitude for tending to your goddamn wounds earlier like the kind fucking gentleman I am?"
Winona applied pressure to her finger and dropped back onto the mattress with a wince. "I give you all my appreciation for your gallant and selfless ways earlier today. I will forever be in debt to you."
Negan sneered and shrugged off his leather coat, strewing it over a chair along with his steel toe boots. He adjusted his pants and let out a rudiment sound from the back of his throat, strolling to the other side of the bed.
"Excuse me." She cocked a brow, looking him up and down.
"Yes, darling?" A slight smirk played at his lips. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.
"Don't you have your own room to get back to?"
He reached for his belt buckle and played with it until it came undone. "Well pardon fucking me, but if I recall correctly I'm the one that discovered this goddamn room. Now I might not have an exceptional fucking memory, but I'm not brainless, contrary to your beliefs." He shrugged his loose jeans down his legs and Winona hurriedly brought her hand to shield her eyes. "And you've done this place up pretty nice. Candles, a dimly lit room, and shit... is that little fucking Richard? Well, that fucking seals it. I'm staying."
