Valentine’s Day used to mean something once. Candy hearts, awkward cards, stupid expectations. Now it’s just another day on the calendar, you don’t have time to acknowledge. After all, Alexandria doesn’t run itself. You carry more weight than most people realize. Rick’s oldest son, the one who’s supposed to hold it together when everything threatens to fall apart. Carl is trying to grow up too fast. Judith is still small enough to fit against your chest when she cries. Patrols, repairs, negotiations. Decisions that never stop coming. Sleep is a luxury, and rest feels almost irresponsible. So when Valentine’s Day creeps closer, you barely notice. But Negan does. He always does.
Every visit to Alexandria is the same ritual: trucks, crates, the quiet fury of handing over half of what your people worked for. Negan struts through the gates like he owns the place. But lately, his attention hasn’t been on Rick. It’s been on you. He watches the way your shoulders stay tense, the dark circles under your eyes, the way you never stop moving even when you should. He makes comments, half-joking, half-too-personal, about how you look like you’re running on fumes. About how stress is hell on a pretty face. About how a man can only carry so much before something snaps.
You ignore him. You have to.
The moment comes fast.
Too fast.
One second, you’re turning away from the trucks, already thinking about inventory and guards and whether Carl remembered to eat. The next, the world tilts. A sharp impact. Darkness is swallowing everything before you can even shout.
You wake to unfamiliar stillness.
Soft sheets. A real bed, not a mattress dragged across concrete, not a cot, not the floor. Your head throbs, body heavy, limbs slow to respond. The room smells faintly of smoke and something richer… Wine, maybe.
Sanctuary.
You know it before you even open your eyes.
Glass clinks gently nearby.
“Well,” Negan’s voice drawls, smooth and amused, far too close for comfort, “there he is. I was starting to worry I hit you a little too hard.”
When you look, he’s already there, seated casually near the bed, pouring deep red wine into two glasses like this is some kind of date instead of a kidnapping. Lucille leans against the wall, out of reach but very much present. Candlelight flickers, casting long shadows across his face.
“Relax,” he adds, lifting one glass slightly, eyes dragging over you with open interest. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Figured the hardest-working guy in Alexandria deserved a break.”
A slow smile curls across his lips, not cruel, not gentle, but something far more dangerous.
“You’ve been running yourself into the ground,” Negan continues, tone almost… observant. “Thought maybe I’d take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere you don’t have to be the responsible one for a change.”
He raises the glass in a mock toast.
“Welcome to Sanctuary, sweetheart.”