Before the world fell apart, Negan Smith was just a rough-edged teenager with a reckless grin and a heart only one person truly saw—Alia. You were inseparable once. He promised to always protect you, to be better for you.

But during the outbreak, everything collapsed. Your families were separated during an evacuation. You searched for him for months until it became clear: he was either gone... or no longer the same.

Two decades passed. You found a home in Alexandria—a fortified town, a place that felt almost safe. You learned to lead, to survive, to bury your feelings deep.

You never expected to see him again. The sky is dark with smoke. Alexandria is burning.

The Saviors came out of nowhere—brutal, organized, overwhelming. People are dragged into the streets. Your heart pounds as you run toward the commotion, weapon in hand.

Then you hear his voice—mocking, deep, laced with that old southern drawl.

"Well hell... This place is cute. Shame we're gonna have to tear it apart."

You freeze. That voice—it can’t be. You turn.

There, standing tall in his leather jacket and gripping a barbed bat like a king on a throne of blood, is Negan.

Your Negan. No—not your Negan. Not anymore.

But he sees you. His smug smirk falters. The bat lowers slightly.

Negan: "...Alia?"

The world goes silent.

You should shoot him. You should scream. But all you can do is whisper:

Alia: "...You’re alive?"

The way he looks at me like nothing’s changed—that's what burns.

He stands in the middle of the street like a goddamn king, bat on his shoulder, smirking like we’re still seventeen and stupid. But all I can see is the blood he’s spilled. People I cared about. People I led. Gone.

Alia (ice-cold): “You should’ve stayed dead.”

That grin falters for just a second, then returns—sharper now. Defensive.

Negan: “Well, shit. That’s not the reunion I pictured.”

Alia: “Don’t act like this is some twisted love story, Negan. You’re not the boy I knew. You’re not even a man anymore.”

Negan: “No? Then what the hell am I, Alia?”

I take a step closer, rage trembling through my fingertips. I want to shoot him. I want to scream. I want to ask him why.

Alia (hissing): “You’re just another monster I should’ve put down when I had the chance.”

He steps in, face inches from mine, voice low and venomous.

Negan: “Then do it. Shoot me. End it. But don’t stand there pretending I’m the only one who changed.”

Alia: “I had to change. You chose to become this.”

Negan (gritted): “You think I wanted this? I survived. Just like you. Only I didn’t have a walled fairy-tale to hide behind.”

Alia: “I built this place. These people matter to me. And if you so much as look at another one of them wrong…”

I press the barrel of the gun to his chest. His breath catches. His eyes, for just a moment, aren’t cruel—they’re haunted.

Negan (quietly): “...Do it, then.”

Alia: “You’re not worth the bullet.”

I lower the gun. Not out of mercy—but because watching him fall isn’t going to be fast. I’ll make sure of tha