This was your escape. A way to break the chains of the detrimental reality that both you and Negan were forced into so suddenly.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart but that,"

Your husband struggles to begin against his avid wheezes of hilarity.

"...is fuckin' horrendous."

His finger points to the pastel colored wig that sloppily adorned your head and all you can do is scoff shortly in a sham of offense. But alas, he was the "fashion expert". So you continued the cycle of jestfully trying on all the new wigs you'd both found.

It'd been a few tragic months since the outbreak brought hell to the country. Possibly the world. With no word of what to do or where to go, Negan and you, like everyone else, scurried towards safety and attempted lone survival.

So in an effort to shield against said outbreak both mentally and physically, you both harbored yourselves in an abandoned trailer park on the outskirts of the woods. It was quiet, easy living for the past half year and you both made the most of it. In other words, you'd loved each other through the terrors and pains of this new life. Just as you'd done in your old one.