Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
–
Negan was pallid. The first glimpse she caught was the bandage taped to his bare chest and the way he sprawled uncomfortably across the infirmary bed. His eyes were shut, so she trotted in quietly and allowed her father to close the door. Carson shot up from his chair, appearing almost as haggard and beaten as Negan.
"Vada," he greeted.
As soon as Negan heard the name, his head whipped toward the door. He was sprawled over the bed, coated in a thin layer of sweat glistening in the dimming sunlight, with a lazy smile stretched across his cheeks. Simon wasn't lying; he was awake, albeit ashen and hollow-eyed.
Simon was grinning ear to ear, elated, joyed that his best friend would live. Rick was stoic, gaze flickering from the bandage to him smiling at his daughter, like she was the greatest thing he'd seen in years.
She didn't realize she was shaking until Simon placed a hand on her arm. All the worry, the stress of wondering whether she'd see another moment with him, ruminating on terrible words they shared, reflecting on beautiful things they'd done together – it was too much.
She hurried toward him before pausing at the side of the bed, casting a worried glance toward Carson. "Can I touch him?"
He laughed, sounding more relieved than amused, and nodded. "Yes. Be Gentle."
She crouched down and wrapped her hands around him. He slung an arm over her back and leaned in, whispering in his lowest voice, "I fucking missed you."
"You missed me?" She let out a relieved huff. "You were unconscious. Do you know how worried I was? Negan, I-"
Before she could continue, he brushed his callus thumb over her lips. She expected to see a hint of pain, worry, but there was only fatigue and bliss, an unlikely pairing. "You talk too much."
Holding back a laugh, she suppressed the urge to nudge him. She didn't know what hurt. "Fuck you."
"Mhhmm," he muttered. His thumb hovered from her lips to the lining of her jaw, brushing up and down. "You're fucking beautiful, you know that?"
She shut her eyes, afraid tears would spill if she kept them open, and cupped his hand in hers. She leaned back up and kissed the top of his fist. He was still smiling lazily, grinning up at her as if she were the only person in the world.
She placed her hand on his stomach, just below the wound, as gently as possible, treading around it to be sure she didn't cause him any pain. "Does it hurt?"
"Like a motherfucker."
She didn't know whether to grin or frown. Instead, she leaned down and placed a fleeting, almost chaste kiss to his lips, making sure not to linger too long since her father was in the room.
